comprehension: the antithesis of beauty

Is understanding something robbing it of its beauty?

During a sunset, the sun’s rays travel through thicker layers of the atmosphere, filtering out shorter wavelengths, scattering them away, leaving longer wavelengths - red, orange, pink, to paint the sky.

Does that understanding now cheapen the concept of sunsets for you?

Can painting a picture ever elicit the same awe as an onlooker viewing without context?

I wonder why that is. Is it the mystery or freedom of imagination that adds to beautiful things, and in contrast, a thorough explanation is so concrete that it takes away from the complexity and makes it feel less special.

Is beauty the experience without the knowing? Can we fully experience while fully knowing? Is being able to predict exactly what will happen, in a way, robbing us of our life? For if you can predict exactly how your life will unfold to the exact second, is it really worth living?

Happy Sunday