Random Post

So I like to think about abstract stuff. This is not necessarily indicative of any great capacity to understand or even communicate what I don't understand, but it's where my mind constantly goes; just beyond the limit of my credulity.
I suppose that many (possibly most) thinkers on things mysterious are so inclined because they have a need to understand, almost a need to gain a measure of mental and/or emotional control. In fact, this is likely the very reason for so many of the landmark logical concepts, creeds, rules, laws, syllogisms and premises that give topography to the epistemological map that exists thus far. Many of the men whose thought processes I treasure and admire were problem solvers.
But that's not me.
What I dread most is a world that makes complete sense.
Often simple observations about a personal quirk of mine are what leads me to self-discovery and this is no exception.
I lay here on the living room couch in the wee hours, having fallen asleep early and thrown off my inscrutable REM cycle.
The Christmas tree is up, and is swaddled in lights that twinkle. I love these kinds of lights. It makes a Christmas tree interesting in and of itself. But I found myself trying not to notice whether there was any particular pattern to the twinkling. Even now I don't know but I sincerely hope there is no pattern (which I realize is unlikely ((electricians, hold your peace)) ) because then this peaceful thought provoking icon would become something I would probably begin to avoid.
I find the twinkling comforting, probably because it's evocative of the unpredictability of flame or lightning. If I were to discover a pattern to it my neuroses would feel manipulated. I don't like being manipulated. I like nature sound white noise UNLESS I can detect a loop. Then I'd much prefer to listen to a live chainsaw. I don't mind the faucet dripping if it's irregular. If it becomes predictable, it will drive me to extreme measures, such as fixing it, or putting in earbuds.
I have also often thought how refreshing it would be to be picked up by a passing tornado.
This is what excites me about the remote outdoors. When I can get in a place that is ruled by randomness, my mind can rest. Trees aren't planted on a grid. Rocks are not arranged. I thank God for wind, and feel at peace when I think of the Spirit of God brooding over the face of the deep, stirring the dead waters, or marching in the treetops as a covert signal to King David.
Chaos comforts me, because I don't understand it.
My soul can find peace, not always on the surface, but in the Mariana Trench, because I know my God is fierce, often brutal to my finite sympathies, far beyond my heavens and earth, limitless, eternally just beyond the limits of my understanding.
The song says We'll understand it better by and by.
May it please God, I sincerely hope not.