The Paradox of Random Order.
Nature is random order.
The timing is random. But once the signs are evident, it’s easy (relatively speaking- I’m broad-banding here) to predict what will happen.
Case in point: you won’t know if it will rain at some time tomorrow (okay, pretend you didn’t Google just now. PRETEND) but once you see the clouds in the morning, you can, within reason, make a prediction off the signs that are visible.
Like lightning. DARK clouds. Thunder. Cumulous clouds blotting out the sun.
Rivers filled with blood…
Okay, JK, no apocalypse just yet. But you get my drift right?
While nature is random, there is an order for things. For ther to be rain, there must be clouds. We may not know when, but we know what based on the “heads up” that nature gives.
Sometimes there is a lengthy heads up. Sometimes, barely any at all.
But there is order in the chaos.
Cuz I ain’t got no “-Shame!!! Shame!!! SHAME!!!”
If you don’t get this, I’m guessing you’re not a Game of Thrones fan.
There’s a scene from GOT season 5 episode 9 or 10 where the Queen mother from King’s Landing is forced to walk the streets naked in atonement for her sins against… the 5 pointed star god?…Guy? Whatever.
As she walked around, there was a “nun” for lack of a better word, who would ring a bell behind her and yell “SHAME” every step she took.
It was a long ass journey. King’s Landing is huge city.
Bypass the fact that people are tossing shit at her, mocking, and overall bringing the Queen Mother to the depths of horror/shame/embarrassment.
Bypass all that. How low would your ego be at that point? Would you hide away in a dark closet and relive those moments over and over until you died? Or would you want to lash out at every last person who subjected you to such disgrace?
I wonder how often we do that to ourselves, though. And for things even less significant/embarrassing.
Sometimes, ya just gotta cut yourselves some slack. We’re only human!!
The next person who insists I should be perfect will receive an imperfect punch.
For real, my punches aren’t that great. And my “form” is nothing to write home about (it needs A LOT of work).
But that’s the point. Perfection is a load of bullshit. It’s impossible to meet and frankly is the road towards ultimate imperfection aka failure.
Imperfection = Happiest = Perfect
From my lips. Believe it.
I was at my most unhappy trying to be the “-Est”. Smartest, tallest, fastest…I won the est alright.
It’s called unhappiest.
Misery filling up the holes left inside
Too silent, too tied up to cry.
Hands on my throat, telling me that the end
Has arrived, have you reached the next bend?
Thought not, when life flashes past
There I am, dead last, dead at last
Or too dead to last, body cast.
Because it’s practically the point,
King I am not, no matter how much you try to anoint-
I’m not a king, I’m a master
And nothing you say will make me go faster
I’m at my pace, within my time
Two coins in my hand, lady luck and father mime
I gave away my mask, this is it, unfiltered imperfection
Walk away bitch, before I call collection.
“Hello? Yeah, I got your shit right here
Little brats called hate and fear
I’m giving them back to you
Keep them, you can do better than I ever could.”
Starting last year, I’ve given myself the greatest gift.
It’s called “PERMISSION TO FUCK UP, SIR!!”
And I’m happy to cross that line. Make it dotted. Optional. Take it or leave it. No harm, no foul.
Knowledge is dangerous, but I crunched through that apple to the sugar on the inside. And freedom tastes sweeeetttt bitch!
Now, if you’re religiously inclined, you’re probably thinking that freedom is a catch-22. No rules no freedom, no freedom no rules.
Sure, and yet, there is.
Random order. Organized chaos. Ouroboros. Even snakes eat their own tails.
Paradox. Yet, somehow it makes sense.