Order v Chaos


Have you ever wondered what makes birds fly in order? A constant echelon, a shaky diagonal, or a pulsing swarm of hundreds that almost seems to have a life of its own, unknowing of the beauty they hold.

Order is inherent in the workings of this world, calculating the uniform number of petals on flowers, the precise number of cells produced in meiosis and mitosis (do you even remember what these are? hehe). Mathematicians call it the Fibonacci sequence. I call it nature.

Yet, in this layered, structured and magnificently organized world, there can never lack room for disorder, chaos, havoc, mayhem. It’s ying and yang, the good and the bad, the light and the dark. Some fellow who got concussed by a falling apple also gave it a name; I just choose to ignore it presently.

Earthquakes, volcanoes, cancer, physical abnormalities: they are unlimited, some yet to be discovered.

Most significant of all is that across both divides, there is yet to be a full understanding of the workings underneath; the causes and effects. Well, we know most of the effects at least, though not all. And yet that’s the brilliance of it all: the unknown, the potential for adventure, for knowledge. For the insurmountable human exploit of uniting both chaos and order, breaching the unknown and finally being able to exploit either end to man-kind’s benefit.

There a reason nature has been given a feminine gender. Chiefly because she gives birth to and nurtures all, but also because she is complicated, a challenge to unravel and definitely very moody. (I wish to dissuade any closet-thinkers at this point that this phrase shall not be construed as being misogynistic in any manner). And as women were created not for us to fully understand them but for us to comprehend and exist alongside each other, so shall it always be with Mother Nature.

Marvel her unusual ways, her loving mannerisms, resilience and generally well-intentioned actions. She is the conductor of this orchestra, belting out one melodious symphony after the other. We ask not what her hand movements mean, and why the music seems to be attached to invisible strings held up by her hands, rising this way and that as a puppeteer of sorts. But we revel in the joyous sound she commands, and the joyous feeling it brings along.

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