“The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious,” wrote Albert Einstein. “Whoever does not know it and can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead.”
I can count only a few occasions during my first 58 years when I felt a sense of uncluttered, completely spontaneous awe and wonder: the birth of my daughter; the last three innings of the sixth game of the ’75 World Series; the ascent of thousands of sand hill cranes from the Platte River in Nebraska; the time I was driving on the highway and “Hellhound on My Trail” by Robert Johnson was played by a college radio station, literally one second after I had thought of the song.
So I have been quite surprised, lately, not only because I am able to feel wonder, but because of its unlikely source: the inner workings of my diabetic body. (more here)