Not about nothing

I find it confusing that nature, in its random complexity infused with a geometric pattern and limitless color, can contain within its folds the human race, nearly without instinct, devoid of nature's expression, riding upon serenity as a blanket of anxiety, bereft of calm. I find myself an exceptional example of such distinction. In my struggle to recognize that which is necessary for survival, I fail to identify the elements before me, obvious, containing those essential ingredients of a life worth living. Rather, I succumb to my own frailties, peering within, shielding myself from the natural energy pervasive throughout the universe, awaiting my discovery. Still I linger without faith, fearful that my personal malaise, my lowering Purgatory, my dread and fear is nothing more or less than nature's design, fate incarnate, my destiny realized. Who am I but that which has run its course upon this living world? By what divine right should I expect more than I have been given? I respond that there is no divinity, only life and death, and that life cannot continue by looking only within, and that only an assimilation with nature, too rare an occurrence, must take place. All of these rarities combine to create a near impossible conclusion comparable to a miracle, equal to chance. To procure such a revelatory signature event requires selfless devotion to the concept that all is intertwined between man and nature, that quantum mechanics lays the track beneath the connection and that such intermingling allows for the rarity to become commonplace, continuous. The obstacles to success lie within, that entangled confusion obstructing free association between the two entities, self and nature.