Grays Peak (Continental Divide, photo: Chris Keller) |
The beauty of nature is almost too much to bear. It can be
like a reprimand, if it’s disconsonant with one’s inner condition. But beauty
is also a challenge. What's one to do with or about it? No matter the state of mind, it dominates the conversation. You go to the Grand Canyon
or the Alps, to the South Shore of Long Island or the Great Lakes and you’re
dumbfounded and dwarfed by it. Wherever it appears, it tends to be the only
show in town. There’s something about beauty that's almost like watching too
much TV. It makes you passive, since you defer to it and realize there’s
nothing you can do in the face of it. Also, it can be boring. How long is one
going to go on about a star filled sky or about the Aurora Borealis? In some
senses beauty lacks dimensionality since in its purest form it's lacking in
conflict or that kind of turbulence
which might be equatable with human intention. When you’re caught in a storm,
which can be beautiful, you, at least, are put in the position of a competitor
who now has his or her work cut out for them. During hurricanes and typhoons
nature shows its dark side and anthropomorphizing it, you find yourself in a
battle where you have to escape its supposed wrath. But nature in its most
beauteous manifestations is benign and leaves one feeling like the beneficiary
of unearned wealth. You have inherited something you’ve done nothing to earn, that, in turn, creates an inherent feeling of
helplessness.
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