What is meaning, where should we look,
   in the collisions and shear of the earth's floating crust,
   in the slow rise of a mountain which crystals of water will demolish,
   in the swirling matter of an aged star, ready to explode and condense into
    new elements and new earths?       
This wild display, some billions of  years on stage, is nothing if not the delight of him who fashioned it.
Meaning and joy are one as God is one.                   

The antic manifolds of meaning crafted by God’s children is dense comedy.  
    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Is it strange that one should live forever?  Is it less strange that one should live at all?     
    Is one any more a miracle than the other?