Babel isn’t a mess, it just looks like one

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

Let it.

Thoughts, fears, demons. All sitting together, facing each other, in your head…

Be with them: no escape.


Make sense

Share your sense

Share meaning

All else is diversion.

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