We look for patterns in the chaos. I don’t know if any other animals do also. Even if they do, how would we know. Assuming we could, that’s for those who are far smarter than I to figure out.
I’m fond of finding patterns in the texturing on walls and ceilings. I found one, a cartoon face, in my ceiling while doing my crunches. The feature image of this post is of the texturing I’m talking about. Here’s a closer view, specifically of the part that grabbed my pattern-establishing imagination:
Now that I’m on the downward slope in this Journaling June thing, having just passed the halfway mark a couple days ago, I have finally huffed and puffed enough to knock the plaster off some of the walls.
I don’t know how the universe works, and I’m not sure I’m ready to fully endorse the idea of some “greater power” pulling strings to show me, Aeryk Pierson, some speck of nobody on the planet Earth, what it is that I’m supposed to do, know, etc. Yet, at the same time, it is a crazy coincidence that just as I’m struggling with getting in touch with my shadow, wrestling with how to become who I am, battling with my physical and mental issues, that I come across a blog post by Maria Papova in which she writes about Herman Hesse—specifically about his take on solitude and the value of hardship. And, additionally, how he is furthering Nietzsche’s own call for owning one’s pain and suffering in the pursuit of creating yourself.
Does anyone know if a partially dehydrated, barely moving worm on the sidewalk is all but dead? Does a splash of water and moving it to the grass help, like returning a beached marine animal to the ocean? I ask because that’s what I do and I wonder if that actually makes a difference. I don’t plan on stopping, I’m simply wondering if my intuition is correct.