If I were to contemplate the whole of the universe at once, I would probably go mad with the very universality of it. The matter is, everyone considers their surroundings at one point in their lives, from their infancy stretching to the urn they are so graciously put in. I think a good metaphor for this phenomenon would be the barre at ballet class. Music tunes, strings plucked, muscles relaxed. Plié, plié, plié. And even though this is a pretty standard procedure, humans, professional and the whole alike, have an amazing capacity of completely fucking it up. And the funny thing here is, any mistake can be made to be graceful if you can pull it off right. Anything is a dance if you call it so. And the universe is just like that.
Us as humans like to apply a sort of rigidity to everything, a structure if you will. But doing so, you are taking away from the complexity, the messiness, the chaos which makes the thing so inherently beautiful. Ballet was made to satisfy this structure, but even this structure falls apart occasionally, if not most of the time. And we make it look good. Sometimes it makes us bloom with new ideas, when a faltering misstep is perceived to be this avant-vogue move towards something even more structured, less imperfect. Imperfection defines perfection, and vice versa.
Universality has no structure, no application. Universality is not a generalized thing. Universality is a chaotic creature – it aches to break out of those rigid lines and falter as it will. And it does. It does so when we’re not looking. And the aftermath, the debris left over, that’s what we find and call discovery. And I think that’s our pitfall. We call this debris progress, but what’s the point if we learn a lesson from something that’s already come to pass? Because in doing so, we’re not learning how it came to pass at all in the first place. It’s too complex for our silly, rigid little minds. We need to be like nebulae, and implode. We need to destroy ourselves to reinvent ourselves and become something even more beautiful again.
Chaos is our friend. The universe is not our pet, but it’s not our master either. The universe shares a familial bond with us. We are of the universe, after all. And thus, the universe and the chaos that makes it up is a part of us too. That creature abides in between our ribcage, and it beats, beats, beats, trying to count us into the ring, to perform an avant-vogue ballet piece. Beat, beat, beat. Plié, plié, plié.
So do it. Beat, beat, beat the cycle, break the rules, and dance to the beat with majesto.