As sunset falls on the inscrutable stylized faces, one thinks again how appropariately, in the event of man's passing, they would symbolize the end of this age.  For the faces are formless, nameless, they represent no living style.  They are therefore all men and no man, and they stare indifferently upon the rolling waste which has seen man come and will see him fade once more into the primal elements from which he came. No tears are marked upon the faces, and when at last the waves close over them in the red light of some later sun than ours, the secret of mankind, if indeed man has a secret, will go with them, and all will be upon that waste as it has been before.  A flight of sea birds will wind away into the west like smoke.  The stars will come out.  There will be no one to ask where we, or the stones on which men tried to inscribe their immortality, have gone.  There will linger momentarily only a dim sense of something to tragic and too powerful to endure imprisonment in matter or long suffer itself to be reproduced in stone.  This is the message from the transcendent heart of man the seafarer and spacefarer, the figure always beckoning through the mist.

From "The Star Thrower"

by Loren Eisely

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Tags: Nature Harmony Peace Freedom