It has become extremely plausible that this trip between the maternity ward and the crematorium is what there is to life. But, when you consider this attitude, you know, what is the poetic counterpart of it …

Man is a little germ, that lives on an unimportant rock ball, that revolves about an insignificant star on the outer edges of one of the smaller galaxies. Darn it, what a put down that was.

But, you see, I don’t know what question to ask when I wonder about the universe. It isn’t a question that I’m wondering about, it’s a feeling that I have. Because I can not formulate the question that is my wonder.

The moment my mouth opens to mutter it, I suddenly find out I’m talking nonsense. But that should not prevent wonder from being the foundation of philosophy.

Well, as Aristotle said, wonder is the beginning of the philosophy.

Because it strikes you that the existence is very, very strange. And then more so, when this, so-called, insignificant little creature has inside his skull a neurological contraption that is able to center itself in the midst of these incredible, expansive galaxies and start measuring the whole thing! That is quite extraordinary.

And, furthermore, when you realize that in a World where there are no eyes the Sun would not be light, and that in a World where there were no soft skins rocks would not be hard, nor in a World where there were no muscles would they be heavy. Existence is relationship and you are smack in the middle of it.