a question has been burning itself into my mind for years.
say that a wildflower blooms in a meadow, far from civilization, in a place where no one will find it. it sprouts, blossoms, blooms, and dies; without once being observed or noticed.
what keeps me up at night is if this miracle of nature, this manifestation of beauty, has any value.
i think some would say that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. i think some would say that the wildflower only has value when it is observed by someone else. that without somehow changing the world and its chaotic goings on, there is nothing valuable in existence at all.
such a perspective fills me with sadness and grief. why do we place so much importance on changing, on effecting, on action and doing? what is our obsession with change and movement, that we find stillness repulsive?
i hope - no, i dare - to believe that simply to exist at all is Immeasurably Valuable. that even a frail and delicate existence, one that may not be fully understood or even seen by others, carries so much inherit value and beauty that the Universe would not be as full or as lovely without it.
