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The Physicality of Faith
It is the art that betrays the artist. For in the painting of a landscape or a portrait, or any other thing which may please the creative eye with its beauty in design. There does come a passion in the mimicry and artifice. Such that every emotive stroke of brush, on palette or canvas, does take away a piece of the artists soul. All this that we may stand and look in wonder, or perhaps in mere apathy at what we see, yet rarely understand.
So it is with God, as it is for the one who strolls and admires the seeming of the sky, and yet stops, that the birds may be allowed their song. Until it is they that solely break the silence, while the steps of man do not. And it is the one, whose face does smile at the grandeur of the trees, whose very mind, tamed by the vastness of the seas and the mysteries of the stars, whom may thence stand unafraid; much as child, unknown to darkened places.
It is this one that slowly comes to realise, that all he is and all he sees is that graced by the hand of the artist. And the skies, and the seas and the fields and the stars, are thus all the more beautiful to him. To this end it is the fear of his death that warms his heart; for he has looked deep into the mind and soul of his creator, and, in silent rapture, is much comforted therefore.
“There is beauty in the world around us. It is those who ask why, who are doomed to the clutches of faith.”