“All of life and the cosmos can be seen as concinnous (harmoniously congruous, neat, elegant) wholes with a whole, unless in chaos; and, even then, chaos occurs (or is avoided) within systems (whether minute or vast) that are themselves balanced, or concinnous.”

—  Vanna Bonta

The Cosmos as a Poem (2010)

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Italian-American writer, poet, inventor, actress, voice art… 1958–2014

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“Poetry emulates the Cosmos perhaps because the Cosmos itself is the grandest conceivable example of rhythm, rhyme, harmony and concinnity.”

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The Cosmos as a Poem (2010)

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“These elements — rhythm, rhyme, harmony and concinnity — can inevitably be identified within whatever is proclaimed 'poetry.”

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“In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.”

C.G. Jung (1875–1961) Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist who founded analytical psychology

In allem Chaos ist Kosmos und in aller Unordnung geheime Ordnung.
http://books.google.com/books?id=hOUkAQAAIAAJ&q=%22in+allem+Chaos+ist+Kosmos+und+in+aller+Unordnung+geheime+Ordnung%22&pg=PA41#v=onepage
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Originally presented http://books.google.com/books?id=-5oJAAAAIAAJ&q=%22in+allem+Chaos+ist+Kosmos+und+in+aller+Unordnung+geheime+Ordnung%22&pg=PA213#v=onepage at an Eranos conference. (1935)
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“In that instant I could feel no doubt of man's oneness with the universe. The conviction came that the rhythm was too orderly, too harmonious, too perfect to be a product of blind chance — that, therefore, there must be purpose in the whole and that man was part of that whole and not an accidental offshoot. It was a feeling that transcended reason; that went to the heart of man's despair and found it groundless. The universe was a cosmos, not a chaos; man was rightfully a part of that cosmos as were the day and night.”

Richard Evelyn Byrd (1888–1957) Medal of Honor recipient and United States Navy officer

Source: Alone (1938), Ch. 3
Context: I paused to listen to the silence. My breath, crystallized as it passed my cheeks, drifted on a breeze gentler than a whisper. The wind vane pointed toward the South Pole. Presently the wind cups ceased their gentle turning as the cold killed the breeze. My frozen breath hung like a cloud overhead. The day was dying, the night being born — but with great peace. Here were the imponderable processes and forces of the cosmos, harmonious and soundless. Harmony, that was it! That was what came out of the silence — a gentle rhythm, the strain of a perfect chord, the music of the spheres, perhaps.
It was enough to catch that rhythm, momentarily to be myself a part of it. In that instant I could feel no doubt of man's oneness with the universe. The conviction came that the rhythm was too orderly, too harmonious, too perfect to be a product of blind chance — that, therefore, there must be purpose in the whole and that man was part of that whole and not an accidental offshoot. It was a feeling that transcended reason; that went to the heart of man's despair and found it groundless. The universe was a cosmos, not a chaos; man was rightfully a part of that cosmos as were the day and night.

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