The love of a mother for her child is a truth that simply is.
It’s mysterious, it’s awesome, it’s beautiful, and it’s something that we can’t figure out. The odd thing about things that we can’t figure out, however, is that they’re not untrue simply because we can’t classify them.
In other words, as a culture that extols science to the point of worshiping it, we have a tendency to discount the fantastic, miraculous nature of anything once we can count it, identify it, describe it, or classify it, as if putting elements into the cubbyhole we have created removes them of their mystery or awe.
“Oh, motherhood,” some people shrug. “All feelings are basically just chemical reactions – even love – so it’s not like they’re spiritual or extra special or anything.”
Such a boring world people like this inhabit, a world where nothing is awesome or mysterious, despite their claims that science is the pinnacle of all human thought.
In the artwork, Beachside Dive...