Sometimes it is as though you are separated into surfaces and colours, like a Rubix Cube. Your moments are filled with scattered colours, mismatched squares, and disorganized twists and turns. It seems as though it is your destiny to find the order, to invent an antidote to chaos by solving your personal puzzle.
Once, I managed to get all my reds together. I was so proud, my chest puffed out like a crimson peacock as I surveyed my work. I craned my neck, trying to view my accomplishment from every possible vantage point, only to notice a different surface where all the greens were in bed with the blues, and even a yellow had managed to dance its way into the equation. I immediately dismantled all my reds in order to fix the problem.
Then came a day where I believed I had achieved true enlightenment. The yellows gleamed as a untied plane, golden like the sun. The blues stood at attention perfect in their cerulean splendor. The greens shone fresh like a forrest and the reds, but wait! How did a yellow invert with a red? When was my back turned? All my zen was threatened in this moment by this cruel orange bound affair. A plan. A plan is what I need to get back to the order I had almost tasted. I can do this.
Then a breeze. A swirl. A gust. The wind.
All my order gone with the whim of one ephemeral cloud. Everything I had worked for destroyed in a single breath. How could this be? I ached for that which I had lost, until I realized I was free. My plans were changed, destroyed. I had no desire to start again, and the array of crimson uniting with gold, and blue on green on blue was beautiful of its own right. Accidental art, created in a gust of the elements. And it was beautiful.
Now I cling to chaos, the last remaining shred of my sanity. I hold to the hope that I can find passion in order, and solace in turmoil. Art is everywhere, and I'm holding on to the wind.