poetry-doggeral-et-al's name

Chaos is not chaotically defined--pretty straight forward, in fact. Below are the four main definitions.

1) (biblical usage) a chasm or abyss.

2) any state of confusion or disorder.

3) a lack of intelligible pattern or combination.

4) (Chaos Theory) a branch of mathematics and physics that deals with certain nonlinear dynamical systems.

I will leave the theological scholars to play with the first definition, but I will play with the remaining three defintions, Oh yes, I will ! I may wander overr to Singularity Theory, maybe even Fractals. The beauty of ignorance is I can expound on most anything, regardless of knowledge, experience, or anything more than surface-familiarity.

The capsule thoughts on the above:

2) The Universe is orderly, any perseption otherwise, or confusion, is in the eye of the beholder.

3) The Universe is all patterns and combinations, it is just some patterns are outside our "intelligible" wherewithal to be understood.

4) Chaos Theory is our attempt to align the Universe to and to make it fit, our level of understanding, rather than an a true viewing of the Universe.

My problem is Chaos Theory, is used to describe the "chaos", rather than perceive the actuality. I hope it turns out that it will self-destruct once it does not get a handle on these seemingly abstract patterns. And maybe that is why it is embraced now, as I have discovered, in my chemical career, things that do not work often give us more insight into what may. Early in my career, if a new product came easily, I gave it to marketing to take out to customers. Oft-times feedbgack was not as good as anticipated, and the product was re-worked until it met approval. As time went on, I bagan to notice that as new products, that kept hitting walls during development, gave me a more in-depth understanding of the product, and that once these products hit the market, they were usually readily accepted. I beleive failures that lead to success are far better teachers than initial surface-success. SO, again, I am hoping the ultimate failure of Chaos Theory will lead us closer to seeing the orderliness of our Universe.

A small digression, if I may, and since this is my babble, I can do this.... Man is exceedingly arrogant. Most theologians will promote, one form or another, of "God's" creation of the universe, of the Earth, and of man; they will then proceed to teach us "God's" desires as to how man is to live, think, and feel; they describe Heaven and Hell and tell us how we get there, how we will be treated, once there, and rewards or punishments we will receive. Sorry, but to claim to know the mind of "God" is the penultimate in arrogance to me. And I am know finding our mathematicians and physicists somewhat similar in bearing to these theologians, preaching their take on the Universe.

So bottom-line: There is no chaos, other than that harboring in ignorant minds. The Universe is orderly, pure, and the epitome of intelligible creation. The singularly most accepted proponents of chaos are those we see as incredibly intelligent, using the esoteric (arcane) tools of mathematics and physics, and by doing so, are creating a limited reality for mankind to exist within. As does the child emulate the father, so shall the children of the Universe. I find it detrimental to perceive the Universe as chaotic; it allows us to enthusiastically follow in pursuit. As we embrace chaos, we promulgate and foment chaos, and as an integral part of the Universe, we will become a cancerous lesion, to be excised. The idea: "If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem" will decree an orderly Universe to dispense with us. It is not so much the Universe will, with volition, erase us, it is more like there is no place in order for disorder or chaos, and as such we will just no longer be part of it. We might want to hope that "string theory" encompasses Universes of chaos, and some strains will continue on.

           Intimacy: many, if not, most men do not really understand; sadly, many women are starting to buy into the colloquial usage of this word, and in my opinion, incorrect usage of the word. To so many the idea of intimacy is tied with sex—a minor physical manifestation of but one facet of this wonderful state two souls entwining on a spiritual level.

            Too many people, the act of telling someone some deep, dark secret is intimacy; too others it is physical closeness, such as holding hands; and to others the mundane act of living together; and a cornucopia of such shallowness, ad infinitum.

            The above may well be correct in the eyes of the world, but I take exception to these superficial views of, what I consider, the ultimate expression of love, and the only way to communicate soul-to-soul.

            Sex requires only one person, though usually involves one or more partners, and the act usually brings a transitory pleasure—again, to one or more people. Telling a secret(s), or confession(s) at any level, is no more than the sharing of confidential information, not entirely unlike filling out a loan application, and can bring about pleasure, guilt, relief, or any of a hundred emotions, usually transitory. Holding hands, hugging, kissing, caressing, etc, is a pleasurable affirmation of physical affection, with the pleasure fading as the contact discontinues. And, believe me, two people can live together and never even look for intimacy, much less, experience it.

            I am not trying to diminish any of the above examples, I am just saying, that by themselves, these do not reflect intimacy—closeness, usually, intimacy, rarely when by themselves.

            Intimacy can only travel a road paved with love, whether love for one’s self, one’s God, one’s friends, one’s family, one’s significant other. The road paved with love reaches the innermost depths of a being, our soul, and intimacy is the communing of souls. Love is the only thing that truly reaches the soul and most of us realize that, at some level. We will even refer to a person, who through their actions, exhibit a remarkable lacking of love, or even more so, a remarkable penchant for expressing evil—we will label them “soulless”. So, cognizant, or not, we do know that the soul is love incarnate (I know the soul is not a physical manifestation, but I will take literary licensure to express it as such), and that as such, it takes a love-imbued connection to bring two souls into contact—hence, my construction of the love-paved highway.

            In my opinion, pleasure stems from physical sensory input; happiness from intellectual concepts we find agreeable; joy radiates from the soul and permeates our entire being. Naïve, I may be. If so, and it is said: “Ignorance is bliss”, and I wish to stay ecstatic, if I can possibly do so.

            So, I will continue on, believing that the simple act of rubbing a loved one’s feet is an act of intimacy, and an expression of love that far surpasses sex. I am, in no way, meaning to minimize or degrade sex, but certainly believe it is exponentially better when between two people who are truly intimate.

            I was just on FaceBook and someone had posted a sign regarding the need to be happy alone as a prerequisite to being in a relationship; that loneliness is not a valid reason to enter into one. I agree that loneliness alone is not a valid reason, but if one were not feeling lonely why would one want to add another person to their life? The idea that another can add happiness to an all ready happy life is definitely valid, but how does that preclude the ability of sensing some degree of loneliness? If there were not something perceived as being missed, why would a person add on that thing? Be it kids, religion, a flat screen television, or another person. In the connotative usage of missing would not a sense of loneliness for such an addition be synonymously used?

            Tonight, crossing the yard I looked up and saw Venus in all its shining glory. I appreciated it beauty. I was alone. Had I another with me gazing into the heavens, would they not see Venus through their own perceptions? And in doing so, is it not likely that the combining of our two visions of the same Venus would add to its beauty? This is but one reason I wish to not be alone. I am greedy. I want as much beauty in my life as is possible and I fully believe that women, in particular, see things from a variant viewpoint, and when shared with a man’s viewpoint, both see the world more completely. A somewhat pale example of my thinking: viewed alone the Grand Canyon might appear to have been filmed in 8mm, but when seen with another, it would seem more as if it were filmed in full-color PanaVision, or most likely, somewhere between the two.

            When alone, do I like me? Yes, most of the time I like me just fine. I wish I were perfect so I could say all of the time. When I feel lonely, do I like me? Yes, most of the time, but liking me does not seem to keep me from feeling lonely.

            All this said for the following: all of the trite adages and freely espoused psycho-babble that maintains that a lonely person neither loves him self nor can be happy is totally erroneous. Some may have a lack of self-love, some may be unhappy, and some may be both. Some may be lonely, some may not. Some may love them self, some may be happy, and some may be both. Some may be lonely, some may not. It boils down to each of us is our own person and will have our own thoughts and feeling regarding loneliness, and to assume our loneliness stems from our inability to be alone with ourselves is just ignorant.

            I would love the chance to share the wondrous beauty all around us with a mate, and I would be polite enough to not gloat when the single people see a somewhat paler vista than shall we.

(Note: Almost didn't post this as it was way too short to explain the demented thinking behind the hypothesis and is muddled, but I thought that in itself is how I feel about my life, so why not. I have always been a combination of pseudo-intellectual and muddled thinker, so if yer up to it, try to make sense outa it and let me know what I wrote. TY).

It’s funny, how the mind will illuminate something from the past and bring it to the forefront as if only yesterday, instead of yesteryear. You go along day-to-day, one day blending into another, more moving through life than living it. You seem to live your life vicariously through memory rather than dynamically through each days events at the time these events transpire.

As the days pass, life happens: you leave school, get a job, fall in love, get married, have kids, have grandkids, even have great grandkids; you get a job, quit that job and get another, and another, and another, finally settling into a career; your health is taken for granted—until it fails and the doctors and pharmaceuticals bring you back to close-to-normal, then it fails again, a cycle with shorter and shorter interludes of hale-and-hearty times, with each period of feeling good just a little less than the one before. Eventually you realize that things have turned topsy-turvy and that now both the body and the psyche have mostly down days and the good days are the ones noticed as they become rarer and of shorter duration.

You raised the kids for a couple of decades, bitching about what a hassle it is, all the while loving them with all your heart, but somewhat hopefully anticipating the day they begin their own life and move into their own house and out of yours. It is a combination of selflessness and selfishness: you want to see them stand on their own two feet, nature, and become successful; you want them to start their own families, both to provide the manna of your golden years—grandkids, and also so they can be tormented with their own willful children, driving them nuts, as did they to you—not exactly wanting revenge, but damn close to it; you want space, time, and quiet to get to know your significant other, the one who you married to spend your life with, to learn why you fell in love, to learn to love them more and more, to someday sit back and recount your life with them as you fill in one another’s gaps in memory.

About one third to one half your waking hours are devoted to work so your can provide a life for the family—a life and family you, at best directly participate less than one tenth of your time, what with all the distractions of yourself and of the other family members; distractions such as your friends, house and car repairs, attending required functions that either further your career, your social standing, or your church or civic duties.

Then there’s the distractions of your significant other, who has functions similar to yours, should she be a career-person, as well, or if she works at running the household, she has things such as maintaining the house, shopping, scheduling all the kids’ events, chauffeuring the kids to said events or to friend’s houses, etc.

And the kids have school, school functions, friends, the mall, sleeping whenever they can, television, electronic games where they live in virtual worlds for hours on end, and sundry other distractions.

Each segment of your life requires you to play a role: student, friend lover, husband, provider, father, teacher, and disciplinarian, amongst others. Many roles have sub-roles you have to play, such as a provider, depending on how the providing is achieved, may encompass roles such as: leader, co-worker, toady, sometime-teacher, sometime-student, salesman, etc. There are literally dozens of roles and sub-roles for each person during life, and these roles are not necessarily aligned to who you were, or who you are, but tend to influence who you will become.

All the foregoing is to allow the following statement: When we were young we thought we knew who we were, who we would become, and that this was a straight-line progression throughout our life. Yeah, right! I am so far off this life-line, I am sure whoever I once was would not recognize me, nor I , him.

My opening statement regarding the past arising as if yesterday is a factual statement, I just wonder about the fictional past that arises. The roles I have played, the scant time actually spent in direct familial activities, the effects of health on my psyche, and the simple passage of time, have sucked so much of me out of me, I cannot believe I remember an actuality rather than a heavily tinted—maybe tainted—creation of the committee I was during this passage through life. Does it matter?

Perception is reality. So, whether the memories are clear recollection of events, or merely the threads, from residual perceptions within me from each of life’s roles, woven into a mental wall-hanging, depicting how life seemed, doesn’t really matter. You would think this would reduce the power of these memories and their effect upon us. After all, why should these quasi-fictional memories not be edited to the point our past was idyllic, instead of mundane, or even horrible?

Would we be lying to ourselves with this editing of the fictional past compiled by the role-perceptions, the spatial-closure used to fill-in the ninety percent of the time we were not with our family, and the graying out as our brain deteriorates? Does this thinking lead to a happier dotage, or is it a prelude to dementia? Not sure I care.