(Jacobin) — Our world is a marvel. There’s a place in the Alhambra called the Court of the Myrtles, where at night the moon reflects off a pond teeming with goldfish and lights up the impossibly ornate fretwork on the arches above. With knowledge, materials, and time, a person can create their own new orchid hybrid, never before seen on Earth, or fashion a wooden automaton topped with a hand-carved figurine that twirls or dances on command.

Most people don’t spend very much of their time engaging with the world’s wonders. Instead, most people work, and when they’re done working, they attend to unnecessarily arduous life-maintenance tasks, and if they happen to have time left over, they’re often too exhausted to do much besides watch television or sleep.

This is a travesty. The world belongs to the living, and our lives are fragile and fleeting. More people should visit the Court of the Myrtles, or at least finally get around to learning the banjo or hitting the archives to flesh out that family tree.

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