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There
is
in
all
things
a
pattern
that
is
part
of
our
universe.
It
has
symmetry,
elegance,
and
grace
-
those
qualities
you
find
always
in
that
which
the
true
artist
captures.
You
can
find
it
in
the
turning
of
the
seasons,
in
the
way
sand
trails
along
a
ridge,
in
the
branch
clusters
of
the
creosote
bush
or
the
pattern
of
its
leaves.
We
try
to
copy
these
patterns
in
our
lives
and
our
society,
seeking
the
rhythms,
the
dances,
the
forms
that
comfort.
Yet,
it
is
possible
to
see
peril
in
the
finding
of
ultimate
perfection.
It
is
clear
that
the
ultimate
pattern
contains
its
own
fixity.
In
such
perfection,
all
things
move
toward
death.
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