Infinite possibilities, or almost. Seemingly endless possibilities.
But it isn’t (Jorge Luis Borges)
There’s order in this madness (Oscar Wilde)
A pattern, perhaps
My order, my pattern, my possibility may not be yours, but it exists
Sharing the possibility of its existence is hope
My sense and yours may differ
Being alive means you must continue to try to make sense (Samuel Beckett).
Art is senses, beauty, imagination, depth, information, subjectivity, relativism all at once (Elizabeth Gilbert) and it helps us get there
Where the cacophony confuses… art makes sense
Absorb the quietude
Silence reveals more than words
Thoughts, fears, demons. All sitting together, facing each other, in your head…
Be with them: no escape.
Share your sense
All else is diversion.