I am living proof that Occam's Razor makes a lot of sense. But it
doesn't mean that there is not a place - and a joy - in complexity as
well.
Complication is my modus operandi - and also a signal to
noise ratio for how my particular pathologies are raging within the
machine on a given day.
Still, on the relative plane, complication is also a gift.
Complication
is embedded in patterns - or maybe the other way around - but without
question there is a relationship between Gestalt and Complication.
Complication - at times I have to watch myself:
1000
words instead of 100 to explain something at an emotional or
professional level. Drives others crazy; eyes roll back in their heads
or simply gray out to those fuzzy screens you'd use to get on
antenna-ed TV's.
Trying to get ideas across. Often good ideas -
but by the time they spider off in lexicological decision trees about
how to proceed, the listener is left with a spaghetti-ed mess of
rhetoric that must be abandoned or simply not engaged with from the
outset.
Gestalt: at other times, I just watch 'my' Self:
Spiritually,
patterns within the complicated explanation light up; figure 8's on the
spaghetti plate glowing neon bright or muted pastels circling this way
and back and eating their own tailes.*(tales|tails)
Complexity
and Gestalt were birthed from a corn husk last nite. It flowered and
opened like a womb, and I was ushered into a darkly dimpled Nebraska
evening.
Below: the earth; verdant, rich and wet
Above:
somebody stringing Christmas lights in figure 8's *exactly* 17 feet
above the tallest corn stalk. On the lights, a race of sort - imps and devas and faeries or god-knows-whats chasing each other towards
infinity, and me, suddenly on the bench, begging to join the race.
Be careful what you ask for.
The
want, borne from the need, was fulfilled. I was in the race, baton
in hand, and the other racers dissolved into me. ONE, racing till my
heart synced with the light's on-and-offs and the speed dissolved into
no-speed and the distance dissolved into no-distance, and I raced, one
foot *just dragging* in the relative, with the rest of me forcing
myself into
Infinity:
Which planted itself into new stalks, causal wires criss-crossing into impossible patterns below ground:
Complexity:
Which I was left on waking with trying to decipher, or simply live.
Namaste.
