Week XXXVI

I have a thought that I would like to explore with you all today. It was precisely yesterday that Gerard and I were praying to the goddess mother of everything that is beautiful. Today I am analysing this arrangement of beautiful flowers. And last week Michael shared Shakespeare's sonnet number 130 with the St Andrews Floral Review:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; 
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
   As any she belied with false compare.

  What does it all mean? What is Shakespeare trying to tell the modern millennial? What would the goddess mother of everything that is beautiful say about that sonnet? My interpretation is the following: you do not have to be the best at what you want to do to do what you want to do. I am not the best mathematician, in fact, Prof Ruškuc could answer all the questions I have been trying to answer much better than I can. So why even bother? Because being the best does not matter. Take Shakespeare as an example. His English is just all right when compared to Her Majesty The Queen's English, yet that did not prevent him from writing that sonnet, and he did an acceptably decent job. So my advise is the following: go out there and do it.
  Do not be intimidated by the beauty of the hydrangea, or the colours of the alstroemeria, or the metallic cobalt blue shine of the steel berries. You are beautiful. And that makes us all sons and daughters of the goddess mother of everything that is beautiful.