“Die before you die,” said the Prophet
Have wings that feared ever
touched the Sun?
I was born when all I once
feared – I could
Rabia Al Basri
If man was so political, would he ever be enthralled by nature? If I thought for one second that the light of the sun, and the depth of the ocean had nothing to do with me, with my origin and telos, I would never be happy. The twinkle, the gleam, the glowing persistence with which the orange fireball gracefully ascends the sky is no small beauty. Photographers rise in a futile attempt to capture one hundredth, nay one- thousandth of its image. Sleepy eyes blink open to its sight, at once ephemeral and etched into their memories. Their human memories. They never stop. Generations begin and end, and the same patterns of awe at the blueness, the richness, the brightness, feelings of rapture and longing and belonging are clear.
Somehow, what is most salient to me, becomes what I take for granted. What is most beautiful, blends into the mundane of an everyday routine. And yet, while disembarking a bus, walking in between classes, or staring aimlessly out of a window, I see it again. I remember, that this beauty, and you and me, we aren’t accidents. And so I peer into the ocean, I look up at the sun, and my jubilation only increases. To live in the presence of such beauty is to live constantly reminded that we are all in the embrace of everlasting love. Alas, how could I ever forget, then?