Loving the mystery

Life is all about translation and interpretation. The very act of perception is translation of an obscure reality into waves of light and sound and sensation that our sculptor minds shape into form, then, stepping back like a critic, interpret and create a web of references that we call meaning. We insist that life itself should have a meaning, and bemoan the fact that it does not yield up that meaning readily, and may not have one at all. We are all like the frustrated lover who wants nothing more than to plunge into a consummation with beauty, but is tantalizingly held at arm's length. Perpetually we are in love with the mystery, but we will never solve it.