The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is;
everything that ever will be, is - and so on, in all possible
combinations. Though in perceiving it we imagine that it is in motion, and
unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful.
In
the end, or rather, as things really are, any event, no matter how
small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run
full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones
are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that
have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and
accessible; and, when all is perceived in such a way as to obviate time,
justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but something
that is.
Mark Helprin, Winter's Tale
(One of the most beautiful books ever written)
This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is
never dried all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever
rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and
continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but
through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the
substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and
the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird
song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of
the mountains is our song, our very own...
John Muir
