Excerpt from The Joyous Cosmology by Alan Watts

More and more it seems that the ordering of nature is an art akin to music - figures in shell and cartilage, counterpoint in fibers and capillaries, throbbing rhythm in waves of sound, light and nerve. And oneself is connected with it quite inextricably - a node, a ganglion, an electronic interweaving of paths, curcuits and impulses that stretch and hum through the whole of time and space, the entire pattern swirls in it's complexity like smoke in sunbeams or the rippling networks of sunlight in shallow water. Transforming itself endlessly into itself, the pattern alone remains. The corresponding nodes, nets and curlicues vanish perpetually into each other - "the baseless fabric of this vision". It is it's own base.

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