"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

The miracles of life

Miracles of life--moss, and fungus, and lichens, and more, abounding on what was once alive.
The more I travel, and look, and wonder, and read, and age, the more I'm astounded at the miracles of life on this planet. 
The seasons of life are brief.
We humans seem to think that we are the center of creation, and the last, best stage of evolution, but that is so egotistical and short-sighted, and frankly perhaps a stupid insult to both God and science.
A brochure about the Flint Hills in Kansas listed the various numbers of wildlife in a square mile...birds, reptiles, etc. It added there were 10 million insects in that small area.
I was reminded of the comment about life flourishing on earth if man went extinct, but ceasing if insects were exterminated.
As you study more about God and come closer to the Native American view that God is in everything, that all life and earth is part of God, that we are all connected, you begin to realize how small and insignificant we are. As you study science, especially the facts of our DNA, you find that we're infinitesimally different from all other humans, and even have 97 percent identical chromosomes as Chimpanzees, for instance.
The seasons of life are long.
As you look at the small things around you, at the beauty of the creation, at the age and permanence of life and the earth, I think it is possible to see God,  for what are you looking at, but God?
A walk in Rock Bridge State Park in central Missouri this last week made me more aware of how brief our life is, how much we are part of a whole, how much we should enjoy the moments we have.
Like creek water over stones.
It's an ever-changing journey, like creek water over stones, glistening in the sunlight. It's filled with mystery, and wonder, and discovery, part of a larger whole beyond our comprehension, but of an existence we are privileged to be part of.



A journey of mystery

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