We are beautifulWhen we know the real depth of beauty. We are rich When we want what we have and not much else. We are strong When we needn't prey on the innocence of others. We are honest When we face the lies we tell ourselves. We are wise To remember the limits of our wisdom. We are great When we realise how small we really are. We are smart When we overcome that which divides us. We are friends When we care for each other, near or far. We are loving Only when our love knows no boundaries. We are kind When we let our conscience be our guide. We are selfless When we forsake ourselves for others. We are truly ALIVE When BY LIFE we abide.
The feeling of awed wonder that science can give us is one of the highest experiences of which the human psyche is capable. It is a deep aesthetic passion to rank with the finest that music and poetry can deliver. It is truly one of the things that make life worth living and it does so, if anything, more effectively if it convinces us that the time we have for living is quite finite.
The beauty of that June day was almost staggering. After the wet spring, everything that could turn green had outdone itself in greenness and everything that could even dream of blooming or blossoming was in bloom and blossom. The sunlight was a benediction. The breezes were so caressingly soft and intimate on the skin as to be embarrassing.
Up there in that room, as I see it, is the reading and the thinking-through, a theory of rivers, of trees moving, of falling light. Here on the river, as I lurch against a freshening of the current, is the practice of rivers. In navigating by the glow of the Milky Way, the practice of light. In steadying with a staff, the practice of wood.