the world is not indifferent to our music

I'm in the introduction of Out of Chaos Man's New Dialogue with Nature of Prigogine and Stengers, and there is a quote in the introduction by Pascal (1904)1 that reads Man must at last finally awake from his millenary dream; and in doing so, awake to his total solitude, his fundamental isolation. Now does he at last realise that, like a gypsy, he lives on the boundary of an alien world. A world that is deaf to his music, just as indifferent to his hopes as it is to his suffering or his crimes. This is a feeling I fell into in my later teens and all the way into my twenties, as I extracted myself forcefully from a world of rigid Catholicism with the act of both self-exile and "learning". This feeling that since the world is matter, then it is uncaring and uninterested in our activities and endeavours. I do not mean the world as in "the people around us", I mean literally the world of what we could colloquially define as inert (soil, stone, plants, etc). I thought that it is a cold and…