Friday, February 27, 2009

holy writing from my religion

At least, it's spiritual for me:

Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars -- mere globs of gas atoms.
I too can see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more?
The vastness of the heavens stretches my imagination --
stuck on this carousel my little eye can catch one million year old light.
A vast pattern -- of which I am a part...
What is the pattern, or the meaning, or the why?
It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little about it.
For far more marvelous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it.
Why do the poets of the present not speak of it?
What men are poets who can speak of Jupiter if he were a man, but if he is an immense spinning sphere of methane and ammonia
must be silent?
This was a footnote in one of physicist Richard Feynman's books, The Feynman Lectures on Physics. It's become one of my favorite poems ever.

(And I'm being a little silly, I don't really have science/nature/wonder as a religion, so much as that it's just a major source for things spiritual in my heart.)

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