There is something to be said for simple chaos. A slight turn of the head and we see things in a different light. Turn the noggin a degree more and catch a hummingbird in the eye. There is chaos in everything. Even the most mundane of daily activities (turning the shower on in the morning, searching your pockets for the front door keys, licking a stripper) are strewn with the minefields of simple chaos. Nothing is as it seems; in fact, those things that seem the most like what they seem are more than likely the most unseemly of things.
You may be now scratching your head and watching carefully for rouge hummingbirds out of the corner of your eye. Allow me to delve into madness further....
I was once a zealot of control. With iron clad mittens I grasped hard onto reality and try to wrest it into submission. Nothing was outside my scope of power. My view was like that of an old school god, terrible and all encompassing. If you did not fall under my reason than you were a mortal enemy of the state of being. It was my job to tear heathenistic thoughts from the minds of the unwashed masses and shame them into accepting penitence. Wrong thought was not to be tolerated. I was in control and it was the way it was going to be.
And then control was not there. The death grip I had on it was nothing but an illusion. I was only digging into my own flesh, bleeding out confusion and fear. I was alone, unable to understand or stop this terrible thing washing over me. I held up my hands up against the flood and commanded it to stop. It did not. I wrapped my arms around my trembling body and demanded it to be still. It would not. I buried my fingers into my slipping mind and implored it to stay put. It could not. As I lay, powerless, and lost my control, the waves of chaos washed over me.
And I opened my eyes. And I saw the world in chaos. And I rose.
Chaos told me secrets; such as there are no secrets, no rules, and no reality. There were only perceptions, infinite perceptions, joined by simple chaos. The perceptions are the ectoplasm that molds and swirls and feels and loves and explains and lies. Chaos was the motivator, the movement, and the reason of being. Together, they hold and cradle us. Together, the thrash and beat us. They are the goddesses that both nourish us from their breasts and rend us with their great teeth. And there is nothing we can do about it.
So I fell from control, and accepted that control was only a load of glamour I had created to try to find permanence. No body is right, wrong or neutral. They are simple chaotic. And you can never trust the perception of chaos because you look with only one set of eyes, blind to the rest of it all. But that's OK, because there is nothing to be done about it anyway.
When you turn on you shower in the morning and only cold water comes out, don't stomp around and curse the water heater. Climb in and experience the coldness. When your are searching for keys and instead pull out a forgotten fiver, don't wonder at how it ended up there. Just accept that that is where it wanted to be until that time it felt like being found. When you lick a stripper, whether on purpose and by mistake, remember that only a chaotic series of events have brought you and the stripper together in the first place, so feel too ashamed the next morning.
I hope that helps. Watch out for the hummingbird.
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