A bag of large questions — Hair Shirt Chronicles

Gratitude spilling over the side of an exposed heart like a crashing wave and then receding being replaced by the next one. Then grief. Then gratitude.
That soothing sussurating blend of motion-action and pattern, and then its mirror image of terror.
Poets in the time of tumultuous revolution used to locate the sublime in nature - in craggy peaks and epic landscapes.
To say that the habitat of the sublime has been reduced to screens is probably too much a value judgment. And one behind which I stand, fully weighted.

And yet:

once we admit that there is room for newness – that there are vastly more conceivable possibilities then realized outcomes – we must confront the fact that there is no special logic behind the world we inhabit, no particular justification for why things are the way they are. Any number of arbitrarily small perturbations along the way could’ve made the world as we know it turned out very differently… We are forced to admit the world as we know it is the result of a long string of chance outcomes.“

P. Romer