How can I express the incredible wonder I feel when I think about how magical our world is? But at the same time it seems as if we have, in making order from chaos, by classifying and explaining everything, killed or at least maimed and defaced some of the natural beauty that hides behind the veil of mistery. In doing so, we have also distorted our own image, because are born from chaos, made whole by it, and given shape by it. Our own minds are not the tools we use to make ourselves, or change ourselves, the consciousness only fills the mold which is left graciously and lovingly for us by the infinite power of chance. Why fear the darkness that streches on forever, for it is the only constant truth we can trust in our lives? Why avoid destruction if destruction is our mother, the precursor of creation?