Chaos

I am. I am confused. My mind becomes chaotic, I try to grasp some logic from the flotsam of my world. Each time I bring a sense of order to this life a contradiction comes to light creating strife within the well-constructed frame of truth and lies, the differences become obscure and order flies like particles of smoke in gusts of wind. The dark, a candle flame holds back, in symmetry: the wick of black, a cone of red then yellow hue, a smooth unruffled plume of gas takes flight above the point of light atop the flame and then dissolves in turbulence and chaos into dark. I must be an aberration or perhaps some strange mutation, so different from those who find relief and solace for their mind in resonance of spiritual belief and sacred ritual, in sophistry in truth or fact from guru or religious tract, for every time I think I’ve found a haven on the solid ground of argued logic or belief, complacency is all too brief as contradictions reappear to roil my mind but then make clear the lie of my ephemeral peace? The river’s water boils and swirls in turbulence of waves and curls and then just at the brink of fall, flows smooth, and I become enthralled by its nearness to perfection, yet I grieve the next inflection and its imminent dispersion into mist. Did Mandelbrot peer in and glimpse the eye of God or did Feigenbaum discern some rule of Chaos? Fractal branching shows in our veins, butterflies in China could bring rains, and strange attractors might explain our fluctuating climate, though in vain do we predict the future’s skein. How is it transcendental pi, does not in time transmogrify the circle’s perfect harmony? Computed to infinity it’s still not solved. Disaster strikes and aid is sent a continent away by people generous to those displaced by God. A cold and homeless man stands on the street, ignored by those who send their aid away. Mother Teresa’s hospice gives some dignity to those who live in pain and who, without the acolytes, would die alone. A passerby defies a flaming house to save a child and dies in the attempt. A stately raptor stoops to capture a fledging duckling from its place beside the hen that must await her dwindling brood’s eventual fate. Nearby three eaglets will survive due to her duckling’s sad demise. Transcendental meditation, Holy grace and dispensation, legal court and deposition, philosophic supposition, Buddhist chant and Yogic mantra, and still, each hour, a starving child dies. Capitalism, communism, socialism, protectionism, centralize, free enterprise, free trade, trade unions, GATT, NAFTA, World Bank, and IMF and half the world survives, on less than two dollars a day. My mind’s abused. I am confused. Perhaps the candle’s flame is all.
© David E. Moon, 2014 All rights reserved

Chaos

I am. I am confused. My mind becomes chaotic, I try to grasp some logic from the flotsam of my world. Each time I bring a sense of order to this life a contradiction comes to light creating strife within the well-constructed frame of truth and lies, the differences become obscure and order flies like particles of smoke in gusts of wind. The dark, a candle flame holds back, in symmetry: the wick of black, a cone of red then yellow hue, a smooth unruffled plume of gas takes flight above the point of light atop the flame and then dissolves in turbulence and chaos into dark. I must be an aberration or perhaps some strange mutation, so different from those who find relief and solace for their mind in resonance of spiritual belief and sacred ritual, in sophistry in truth or fact from guru or religious tract, for every time I think I’ve found a haven on the solid ground of argued logic or belief, complacency is all too brief as contradictions reappear to roil my mind but then make clear the lie of my ephemeral peace? The river’s water boils and swirls in turbulence of waves and curls and then just at the brink of fall, flows smooth, and I become enthralled by its nearness to perfection, yet I grieve the next inflection and its imminent dispersion into mist. Did Mandelbrot peer in and glimpse the eye of God or did Feigenbaum discern some rule of Chaos? Fractal branching shows in our veins, butterflies in China could bring rains, and strange attractors might explain our fluctuating climate, though in vain do we predict the future’s skein. How is it transcendental pi, does not in time transmogrify the circle’s perfect harmony? Computed to infinity it’s still not solved. Disaster strikes and aid is sent a continent away by people generous to those displaced by God. A cold and homeless man stands on the street, ignored by those who send their aid away. Mother Teresa’s hospice gives some dignity to those who live in pain and who, without the acolytes, would die alone. A passerby defies a flaming house to save a child and dies in the attempt. A stately raptor stoops to capture a fledging duckling from its place beside the hen that must await her dwindling brood’s eventual fate. Nearby three eaglets will survive due to her duckling’s sad demise. Transcendental meditation, Holy grace and dispensation, legal court and deposition, philosophic supposition, Buddhist chant and Yogic mantra, and still, each hour, a starving child dies. Capitalism, communism, socialism, protectionism, centralize, free enterprise, free trade, trade unions, GATT, NAFTA, World Bank, and IMF and half the world survives, on less than two dollars a day. My mind’s abused. I am confused. Perhaps the candle’s flame is all.
© David E. Moon, 2014 All rights reserved