Horizons
I long for Beauty, to breathe in it — and feel nothing beside. At one point in my life I dreamt of being a luthier, bending the Earth’s greenery to craft echoes of beauty, and in a way that is just what I have become. But now if I were asked what I might dream of doing should no limit be placed upon me, I might say I would be a cosmologist, a watcher of the skies, a delver into the alchemy of the heavens. It is similar to my fascination with mathematical theory, despite my impatience with calculating numbers. It is not so much the thing that interests me, so much as it is the ability to explore the essence of reality. Indeed in this sense, the poet, the philosopher, the mystic, the star-prophet, the mind of calculation; are alike in their wonderment at this essence, and the truest of each all delve into the wilderness surrounding it, applying their genius to know and capture it. The secret of life’s very fabric is just as present in the embrace of some quiet ecstasy as it is in the very fringes of human reason. The mirror of the lover and the telescope both echo the same truth, the same divine reality. All indicates The All. That black holes can explode, the universe contract, infinities engulf infinities, or that quantum mechanics can dispell any notion of static certainty are all of a oneness to me; they are all explorations, flights of inspiration that try to trace the Divine’s signature in His creation, just as the poet lifts his pen to justify to God the ways of men.
Letter (excerpt), Oct. 3, 2009
