Challenging Chaos — An introduction
“I will put Chaos into fourteen lines,” Edna St. Vincent Millay began her now-celebrated sonnet. “I shall not even force him to confess;/ Or answer. I will only make him good.”
In these increasingly chaotic times—rife with wars, famines/floods/fires, political turmoil, economic uncertainty, and burgeoning intolerance—we asked members of the Persimmon Tree community to send us their own thoughts on how to challenge, to “make good,” or at least fight against Chaos, as “he” is presently manifesting.
We received a heartening host of responses, including two that echoed Millay’s approach (see “I Will Put Chaos in a Sea Globe” and “Chaos Is a Collage I Take Apart,” below). Many, while not echoing Millay’s approach, were, in their own ways, equally poetic.
Some asked, and proposed answers to, pointed questions: “Is it possible to repair the brokenness of life?” Judith Ross of Milwaukee, WI, wrote. And she responded: “Perhaps only prayer, respect for one another and Mother Earth, and unabashed hope, compassion and love—the foundation of healing—can repair our broken world.”
Other writers remind us that the world may appear to be broken, but there is much that is hopeful, and much we can do. “We the People”… powerful words for our crazy times,” writes Sandy Reavey of Denver, CO. “Yet [they are] so true; it is up to us to preserve, protect, and defend our republic and our own sanity. Many of us [who] survived the tumultuous 1960s, [are] feeling déjà vu, since we already fought for social gains that we must now relitigate. Using our collective wisdom, we can lead the younger generation by example with our persistence and resistance!”
Lauren K. Shenfield of Croton-on-Hudson, NY, asks us to “Remember Rhea, Queen of the Titans, the peaceful Goddess of War, mother of Zeus.” With that example in mind, she urges us to “Turn uncertainty into courage. Fear into strength. Intention into meaningful connection. Show up fully in your life and community. Get unstuck. Be Rhea.” Suzanne S. Austin-Hill of Ruskin, FL, agrees. “Put a bulldozer to discouragement and despair,” she writes. “Bring agreement to opposition, constancy to inconsistency, discipline to laxity, empathy to apathy, kindness to animosity, order to chaos, trust to suspicion.”
Hope and activism are factors in every letter we received, and this alone should give Chaos pause. As Lucy Jerue of Galloway, NJ, writes: “To stem the chaos, I speak out, write letters, demonstrate with my sign. I volunteer, canvassing on behalf of those candidates I consider worthy. I challenge myself each day to be a force for good in my community and with my family and friends. I see beauty in the world when I read, write, enjoy art and theater. I value spending time with loved ones.
Most important,” Jerue notes—and as the responses below reflect—“I remind myself that most people are inherently good.”
Please add your thoughts to this discussion via the Comment pane at the end of this page.
I stood like one bewitched, my anger and fear giving way to silent awe. Words and photograph by Merry Song
Effectuality in These Trying Times
Once upon a time our protests actually rendered results, as did our purposeful marches, rallies for rights, boycotts in support of underpaid laborers…. But today? It’s different. Oh yes, we are effectual to the point of being cable-newsworthy, but beneath the success of our efforts erupt new and unimaginable chaotic atrocities, clearly out of our control.
Edna St. Vincent Millay had it right. In order for me to feel effectual I take my craft into my community. As a writer, I share my knowledge and skill with those who want to learn. I give free workshops. I offer my marginal talents and excessive energies for free on behalf of fundraising events. I show up and bring whatever it is I have available to those whose own needs, dreams, and desires have hit an impasse.
Truth is, the world happens all around us. Randomly, chaotically. My own best strategy is to maintain awareness of what another might need and be prepared to respond. I know it sounds cliché but courage in the face of chaos and random acts of kindness can be ever so effective and influential.
That’s my story. I’m stickin’ to it.
Edna St. Vincent Millay had it right. In order for me to feel effectual I take my craft into my community. As a writer, I share my knowledge and skill with those who want to learn. I give free workshops. I offer my marginal talents and excessive energies for free on behalf of fundraising events. I show up and bring whatever it is I have available to those whose own needs, dreams, and desires have hit an impasse.
Truth is, the world happens all around us. Randomly, chaotically. My own best strategy is to maintain awareness of what another might need and be prepared to respond. I know it sounds cliché but courage in the face of chaos and random acts of kindness can be ever so effective and influential.
That’s my story. I’m stickin’ to it.
Santa Rosa, CA
As I care for my sister who has cancer, I wrote this line of poetry, after waking up worried at 2 a.m. “For so like chaos news comes unpredicted and departs on its own.” What on earth did I mean?
Chaos is what it’s been for me this last year, starting with the destructive policies of a president I would characterize with comparisons to the Third Reich, but I don’t want to write about that here. And also with my so very beautiful and healthy sister, a dancer, becoming incapacitated by disease. I am reminded of Job, the idea of being beset, tested by troubles. I’ll leave out Job’s relationship to God, issues surrounding faith, even though my sister says that’s the whole point. Rather, I confront my own language of encouragement and ask how I can be realistic but optimistic over time.
I don’t know. I could tell you to go outside. Walks really are the proverbial tonic. Mine from my sister’s apartment across Central Park to the hospital offer me opportunities to decompress and evaluate events at the same time. Memory, too, is restorative, the balm to apply against pain.
Be politically engaged. Nothing, not even us, is forever. And love, love with immense strength. It feels so good.
Chaos is what it’s been for me this last year, starting with the destructive policies of a president I would characterize with comparisons to the Third Reich, but I don’t want to write about that here. And also with my so very beautiful and healthy sister, a dancer, becoming incapacitated by disease. I am reminded of Job, the idea of being beset, tested by troubles. I’ll leave out Job’s relationship to God, issues surrounding faith, even though my sister says that’s the whole point. Rather, I confront my own language of encouragement and ask how I can be realistic but optimistic over time.
I don’t know. I could tell you to go outside. Walks really are the proverbial tonic. Mine from my sister’s apartment across Central Park to the hospital offer me opportunities to decompress and evaluate events at the same time. Memory, too, is restorative, the balm to apply against pain.
Be politically engaged. Nothing, not even us, is forever. And love, love with immense strength. It feels so good.
Madison, WI
Because I grew up in Minnesota, the images of ICE brutalizing the people of Minneapolis cut deep. It was horrific but also made me want to quit my teaching job in Colorado and run home to the “land of small things turning mighty” (Ollie Schminkey). I longed to be part of the “neighboring” movement, don a whistle to help the cause, deliver groceries. Instead, I reached out to Minnesota friends and family, collecting and sharing their stories, thanking them, and published a commentary in Minnesota Women’s Press. I described what a Minnesota upbringing had been like fifty years ago. In 1974 I’d gone on a two-week canoe trip with a friend—the two of us only 16. The memory of that early wilderness trip is my secret marvel, but it became almost miraculous as I watched the recent violence unleashed on immigrants and protestors, saw Renée Good and Alex Pretti murdered. How much safer I’d been as an ambitious but inexperienced canoeist than people who were simply taking their children to school, driving to and from work, documenting ICE’s activities, and helping their neighbors. I’ve always been proud of my Minnesota identity, but I now wear it like a badge.
Gunnison, CO
We moved to New England in 2022 and joined a small “progressive” congregation. We told them from the get-go that we were Palestinian activists. The minister said he didn’t see this as a problem.
But congregants didn’t want to hear our concerns about what was happening in the Holy Land. They didn’t want to hear what we had learned about the Nakba, or how we Americans are complicit. They argued that we focused too much on that part of the world when problems abounded elsewhere.
Immediately after Oct. 7, our small town organized an event at the local synagogue. Yarmulkes were donned even by non-Jews. Local faith leaders and other politicians proclaimed vehemently, “We stand with Israel.”
Then City Hall hosted an event. A small crowd of Arabic people attended but their voices were cut short. Luckily, I spoke separately with three women wearing hijabs who told me about a Congregational church half an hour away.
The ministers there weave in literature, poetry, and personal stories. Not afraid to get “political,” they praise a merciful God “of many names.” If anybody can redirect us to love, it’s congregations like these that are unafraid to reclaim religion as we create beloved community.
But congregants didn’t want to hear our concerns about what was happening in the Holy Land. They didn’t want to hear what we had learned about the Nakba, or how we Americans are complicit. They argued that we focused too much on that part of the world when problems abounded elsewhere.
Immediately after Oct. 7, our small town organized an event at the local synagogue. Yarmulkes were donned even by non-Jews. Local faith leaders and other politicians proclaimed vehemently, “We stand with Israel.”
Then City Hall hosted an event. A small crowd of Arabic people attended but their voices were cut short. Luckily, I spoke separately with three women wearing hijabs who told me about a Congregational church half an hour away.
The ministers there weave in literature, poetry, and personal stories. Not afraid to get “political,” they praise a merciful God “of many names.” If anybody can redirect us to love, it’s congregations like these that are unafraid to reclaim religion as we create beloved community.
Austin, TX
Yesterday I called my representatives about the SAVE Act. I didn’t vote for either [representative], but I stay polite, concise, and try not to get emotional; sometimes I succeed. How do they sleep at night? I know I don’t.
Last week I spoke with my grandson. At eleven, he’s already afraid. He says his other abuelita, the one who speaks Spanish and makes the best pastalitos, is scared to leave the house. I reassured him and said I understood his fear, but how could I?
Next week I’ll make a new sign for the No Kings Rally. If it says something about releasing the files, I know I’ll be triggered. I remember what happened when I was fourteen. He was a deacon at my church. I said nothing because they didn’t believe us back then either.
We put one foot in front of the other and keep going, doing what we can, when we can.
Last week I spoke with my grandson. At eleven, he’s already afraid. He says his other abuelita, the one who speaks Spanish and makes the best pastalitos, is scared to leave the house. I reassured him and said I understood his fear, but how could I?
Next week I’ll make a new sign for the No Kings Rally. If it says something about releasing the files, I know I’ll be triggered. I remember what happened when I was fourteen. He was a deacon at my church. I said nothing because they didn’t believe us back then either.
We put one foot in front of the other and keep going, doing what we can, when we can.
Louisville, KY
A radiant light washes over us. May we recognize the beauty, even in a chaotic world. Words and photograph by Merry Song
Chaos is a Collage I Take Apart.
Chaos lives in my house. It doesn’t hide in dark corners or jump out to surprise me once in a while. Chaos throws itself at me each morning, trying to wrap me in the tango of thoughts and insistent events that demand I become a partner in the macabre dance of anxiety and distress.
I have learned to step aside and let it pass, continue the dance without me, as I observe without engagement. Evaluate without judgment.
Chaos is a jumbled mass of concerns and incidents that have collected in a layered collage, given weight by anxiety and fear. In my long relationship with chaos, I’ve learned to pull apart those layers and determine what deserves attention, what can be discarded, and what must simply be ignored if the core is to be discerned. If peace is to be established. In this small, steady practice of deconstructing chaos, perhaps I do influence the world around me – the small one that lives in my home, and the one I move through each day. Both need the reassurance that peace is possible.
I have learned to step aside and let it pass, continue the dance without me, as I observe without engagement. Evaluate without judgment.
Chaos is a jumbled mass of concerns and incidents that have collected in a layered collage, given weight by anxiety and fear. In my long relationship with chaos, I’ve learned to pull apart those layers and determine what deserves attention, what can be discarded, and what must simply be ignored if the core is to be discerned. If peace is to be established. In this small, steady practice of deconstructing chaos, perhaps I do influence the world around me – the small one that lives in my home, and the one I move through each day. Both need the reassurance that peace is possible.
Walnut Grove, GA
Peace
I awake to a feeling that something is not quite right. Then, with growing consciousness, I remember. I am back in this world that lacks peace, logic, order.
Chaos. What to do when you feel you have no control?
Each night, I make my list for the next day. I look to small, consistent routines, like changing my sheets every Friday. I meditate and breathe each afternoon, hoping to build mental resistance. I practice self-care with attention to my sleep and exercise. I strive for balance as I manage my time and commitments: Wednesday nights, date night with my husband; Sunday nights, dinner out with friends.
I am one of the lucky ones; I have more than I need. Most of the world cannot say that, so I donate to non-profits and carry food to our local food bank. I volunteer at a domestic violence women’s shelter. I have to believe that the energy in small acts of kindness ripples out and makes a difference in this world. I have written letters, made telephone calls, marched.
But, for a moment, I need to stop. I need to hear what my spiritual life is saying to me. I need peace.
Chaos. What to do when you feel you have no control?
Each night, I make my list for the next day. I look to small, consistent routines, like changing my sheets every Friday. I meditate and breathe each afternoon, hoping to build mental resistance. I practice self-care with attention to my sleep and exercise. I strive for balance as I manage my time and commitments: Wednesday nights, date night with my husband; Sunday nights, dinner out with friends.
I am one of the lucky ones; I have more than I need. Most of the world cannot say that, so I donate to non-profits and carry food to our local food bank. I volunteer at a domestic violence women’s shelter. I have to believe that the energy in small acts of kindness ripples out and makes a difference in this world. I have written letters, made telephone calls, marched.
But, for a moment, I need to stop. I need to hear what my spiritual life is saying to me. I need peace.
Springfield, MA
Challenging Chaos
I can’t do everything. But I can do something.
Bombarded by the news and listening about the never-ending disintegration of the fabric of our country, I would like to curl up in a ball under the covers.
I can’t do everything. But I can do something.
I met a new friend for coffee yesterday. She’s 64 years young; I’m 77. It doesn’t matter. She calls our Democratic senators often, offering her support. She leaves her number and asks them if there is anything else she can do. She is at every protest. Speaks her truth. Does anyone listen? Does anyone care? I’m listening. I care. I’m revving up my actions no matter how small or insignificant I think they may be.
Calling to make my voice heard. Letters to the editor. Showing up. All of these demonstrate, especially to my young grandsons, that we must do something. As older women we have the unique opportunity to model for others. As artists, we can be as creative as we allow ourselves to be.
I can’t do everything. But I can do something.
If not now, when?
Bombarded by the news and listening about the never-ending disintegration of the fabric of our country, I would like to curl up in a ball under the covers.
I can’t do everything. But I can do something.
I met a new friend for coffee yesterday. She’s 64 years young; I’m 77. It doesn’t matter. She calls our Democratic senators often, offering her support. She leaves her number and asks them if there is anything else she can do. She is at every protest. Speaks her truth. Does anyone listen? Does anyone care? I’m listening. I care. I’m revving up my actions no matter how small or insignificant I think they may be.
Calling to make my voice heard. Letters to the editor. Showing up. All of these demonstrate, especially to my young grandsons, that we must do something. As older women we have the unique opportunity to model for others. As artists, we can be as creative as we allow ourselves to be.
I can’t do everything. But I can do something.
If not now, when?
Kirkland, WA
I can find no other way through the present moment of chaos than to go out and embrace the messy chaos of nature—especially during the confusingly weird weather of our climate crisis. Recent high winds have downed branches, felled trees, blown away the leaves that shelter new growth. Alluring spring enveloped us for several days, warming the frogs to sing. Winter roared back on wings of wind, curling closed the tender flowers on hazelnut twigs. Yet the force of life, for life, is strong. Flowers will return, if not this year, then another. New leaves will emerge from soil laid bare—their green will dance with sunlight to photosynthesize raw materials to structure wood, to build forests, to design forest cathedrals where we might commune with nature once more. Chaos is nature waiting to be reborn, resilient, again and again, entropy reined in for intervals of time before the laws of physics once more overtake. It takes energy to overcome entropy. Sun and nature provide mine. Once refueled, I find the strength to try again to challenge political chaos, to write the letters, make the calls—and to offer monthly nature walks to build a community of care.
Ann Arbor, MI
The way of the world has spoiled my digestion! Chaos is a fancy recipe for fear and its main ingredient is danger, seasoned with uncertainty. Roasted, toasted, broiled, or baked with a sauce of destruction, it’s easy to make. Chaos finishes cooking inside us and emits a steamy broth, too hot to digest, and too cold to spew; we find we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. Made more palatable with a glass of nice red wine. No one has the appetite to swallow it whole. We chew and chew, and chew some more, afraid, perplexed, resistant, forced to take the battle test. Some of us have found a way to soldier on, taking repast only after faith and hope have gone. Chaos has calories to burn, and humanity is of no concern. If your stomach gets upset, eat some chocolate and forget. A healthy diet of Mediterranean descent, and plenty of compassion may be the only healthy way to endure.
Providence, RI
A young poet records her thoughts while walking barefoot in the light of the setting sun. Words and photograph by Merry Song
I sit by the stillness of the Bull Run River, where the ground once shook in a long and bloody war.
The cold lingers into spring, but bluebells push through anyway, spreading joy across the forest floor as if nothing was lost here.
The world remains in chaos. The river keeps moving, flowing with possibility. The soil responds with color.
A heron stands motionless at the bank, waiting. Perseverance shimmers in the moment between hunger and strike.
Above, an eagle settles deeper into her nest, snow clinging to her back. She is unrelenting in her vigil. She turns her eggs, holding what comes next against the cold.
I watch, older now, knowing the world does not quiet itself.
Just as nature adapts amid challenges, humans rise to face the unexpected. Every small action can change an outcome.
The cold lingers into spring, but bluebells push through anyway, spreading joy across the forest floor as if nothing was lost here.
The world remains in chaos. The river keeps moving, flowing with possibility. The soil responds with color.
A heron stands motionless at the bank, waiting. Perseverance shimmers in the moment between hunger and strike.
Above, an eagle settles deeper into her nest, snow clinging to her back. She is unrelenting in her vigil. She turns her eggs, holding what comes next against the cold.
I watch, older now, knowing the world does not quiet itself.
Just as nature adapts amid challenges, humans rise to face the unexpected. Every small action can change an outcome.
Winchester, VA
Despair lurks. Cruelty and wrath own the day. Innocents are dying.
I’m an old lady. What can I do?
And I remember Friar Laurence counseling exiled Romeo, Act 3, Scene 3:
Thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; there art thou happy.
Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy, too.
The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend and turns it to exile; there art thou happy.
And Dan needing me to warm his icy hands after walking his pup on a chilly morning. [He knows mine are always warm.] I give them a good rubbing. There art thou happy.
And Doug offering his mother’s poem scribbled on a sheet of worn paper folded and unfolded a million times. [She’s been gone thirty years.] Thank you. There art thou happy.
And Aletha, who led the choir, belting out our affirmation after class. “Every day, in every way, we’re getting stronger and stronger.” I chime in. There art thou happy.
And there will come a day with twenty hundred thousand times more joy than thou went’st forth in lamentation.
I drive along with my No Kings buddies. I honk loudly.
I’m an old lady. What can I do?
And I remember Friar Laurence counseling exiled Romeo, Act 3, Scene 3:
Thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; there art thou happy.
Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy, too.
The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend and turns it to exile; there art thou happy.
And Dan needing me to warm his icy hands after walking his pup on a chilly morning. [He knows mine are always warm.] I give them a good rubbing. There art thou happy.
And Doug offering his mother’s poem scribbled on a sheet of worn paper folded and unfolded a million times. [She’s been gone thirty years.] Thank you. There art thou happy.
And Aletha, who led the choir, belting out our affirmation after class. “Every day, in every way, we’re getting stronger and stronger.” I chime in. There art thou happy.
And there will come a day with twenty hundred thousand times more joy than thou went’st forth in lamentation.
I drive along with my No Kings buddies. I honk loudly.
Astoria, OR
Hope needs constituents. She’s advertising for an experienced PR person;
she’s opening offices in every village and town.
Hope needs volunteers. She wants to be on everybody’s ballot. Hope is writing fake hope-news.
She says, “By the time it gets published, it won’t be fake anymore.”
“And I,” she says, “Will be elected.”
she’s opening offices in every village and town.
Hope needs volunteers. She wants to be on everybody’s ballot. Hope is writing fake hope-news.
She says, “By the time it gets published, it won’t be fake anymore.”
“And I,” she says, “Will be elected.”
Putney, VT
The Duality of Chaos
Birds fall from the skies, giraffes lose habitat, and poachers kill elephants. Miles of clearcuts for paper products and developers. Large cargo ships hit whales, and an orca mother carries her dead baby for weeks in grief. They feed the chaos in my brain, heartbreak in my soul. The wave moves towards me, up close like the inbound surf. It feels full of danger of drowning. Sometimes a migraine forces me to retreat to a quiet, dark room to control the damage. Trash swirls around the planet in a cosmic landfill. Chaos is never far. The trigger is cocked.
Wait. My computer feed delivers photos of a glorious universe. Awe lifts my soul onto an outbound wave to open water. The beauty overload and exquisite charm of chaos. Eskimo, Little Ghost, and Cat’s Eye nebulas. The brilliant flash of a star exploding into a supernova. The drama of two galaxies, IC 2163 and NGC 2207, jockeying for domination. The enigmatic black hole. Long-distance chaos feels safe. I wonder at the beauty of the long-tailed comets, planets gobbling up others, the “stellar nurseries.” I am the interstellar traveler on the best tour.
It’s a balancing act.
Wait. My computer feed delivers photos of a glorious universe. Awe lifts my soul onto an outbound wave to open water. The beauty overload and exquisite charm of chaos. Eskimo, Little Ghost, and Cat’s Eye nebulas. The brilliant flash of a star exploding into a supernova. The drama of two galaxies, IC 2163 and NGC 2207, jockeying for domination. The enigmatic black hole. Long-distance chaos feels safe. I wonder at the beauty of the long-tailed comets, planets gobbling up others, the “stellar nurseries.” I am the interstellar traveler on the best tour.
It’s a balancing act.
Tarragona, Spain
Challenging Chaos
It’s a beautiful day in Savannah. No explosions, no sirens, just birds. No tear gas in the air, only tea olives in bloom in a neighbor’s yard. No smoking rubble, my house and life intact.
But the losses feel personal, all the lives in all the wars, the ICE raids, the intentional, methodical dismantling of democracy’s core institutions and systems, rights and freedoms; it takes an emotional and psychological toll.
Some days I think chaos is a political strategy; other days I think being on the news is the only goal and blowing something up usually works. But your question is how do we challenge it.
Since I’m not fighting for my physical survival, I challenge it by not giving it energy or the power to ruin my life. I keep doing what I love, what centers and sustains me, restores my internal balance, gives me hope. I try to keep love alive in the world however I can, say yes, tell the truth, not despair, and of course vote.
The amount of destruction in one year is almost unfathomable, but this struggle is old as the human race; when chaos dies back, we rebuild.
But the losses feel personal, all the lives in all the wars, the ICE raids, the intentional, methodical dismantling of democracy’s core institutions and systems, rights and freedoms; it takes an emotional and psychological toll.
Some days I think chaos is a political strategy; other days I think being on the news is the only goal and blowing something up usually works. But your question is how do we challenge it.
Since I’m not fighting for my physical survival, I challenge it by not giving it energy or the power to ruin my life. I keep doing what I love, what centers and sustains me, restores my internal balance, gives me hope. I try to keep love alive in the world however I can, say yes, tell the truth, not despair, and of course vote.
The amount of destruction in one year is almost unfathomable, but this struggle is old as the human race; when chaos dies back, we rebuild.
Savannah, GA
We may be worried; we may feel devastated. But the rising full moon reminds us to keep rising up with strength, courage, and grace. Words and photograph by Merry Song
Disowned
If you want to live an authentic life, a life not spent pursuing happiness or acceptance, but one with purpose, one that honors a code of conduct—one that calls out lies and thievery–you have to accept that your truth-telling will not be welcomed by everyone. People, sometimes members of your own family, will shun you and might even abandon you. It will hurt. And when that pain is felt, sympathetic friends will say, “You can’t let it bother you.” But it does, doesn’t it? You know you should, but you can’t let go and move on. And here’s where the authentic life comes in: If you’re trying to put a brave face on in spite of being shamed for ringing the warning bell, if you’re being admonished to apologize for shouting that the person in charge is a fool, a dangerous and evil one, and that we follow him at our peril, you’re denying your authenticity. You’ve been hurt. Carry that hurt with you. Hold it up like a torch that lights the way to the truth. Use your pain. Let it motivate your authentic self toward its purpose. Maybe it won’t matter. But maybe it will.
High Springs, FL
How do I calm chaos? First, I follow my routine: exercise, meditation, my toilette, breakfast. Then, watch the news, both sides, avoiding extremes, for ten or so minutes. I look breathless at Lake Michigan outside my living room window, marveling at the curling, pulsing waves. It looks like an ocean most days. Today, snow on the trees and grass. Snow on the front of my condo building looks like icing on a gingerbread house. I’m waiting for the birds to return. I go outdoors when weather permits and look up at the sky to see what God has offered me on any given day. I take a few deep breaths and am grateful that I’m a writer and I can stay inside if I want to. Then, I get to work.
Wilmette, IL
Chaos Theory
Storm swept thoughts. Tumbling images. Feelings too frantic for words.
This is what they want, I think. Bombarded with the proclamations and deeds of a pummeled nation, we ricochet north, south, east, west, until,dizzy, we’re rendered silent amidst the din.
“A state of utter confusion” is the dictionary definition of chaos, a word from the Ancient Greek, meaning void. In the laws of physics, nature abhors a void. It fills it.
I remember then: Out of chaos, light and dark were born. Heaven and Earth. Land and sea.
They form then, the words, like stars emerging from the firmament, breaking the silence.
See
Hear
Observe
Listen
Eve bit into the apple. This, the first act of resistance, the first questioning of the established order. Knowledge arose then. The “why” of being. The power of saying “no.”
From chaos, creation. From creation, resistance. Thrust out of Eden, the action of one, then two, now “we” building a world of choice, ours.
What if Original Sin is blind obedience? What if redemption is biting into the apple again and again, until its lingering taste lasts on our tongue and, plucking the apple’s seeds from our palm, we plant orchard upon orchard, defying the edicts not to plant or sow or taste, until freedoms, ours, blossom and grow?
This is how we stanch the chaos. We plant. We resist.
Resist.
This is what they want, I think. Bombarded with the proclamations and deeds of a pummeled nation, we ricochet north, south, east, west, until,dizzy, we’re rendered silent amidst the din.
“A state of utter confusion” is the dictionary definition of chaos, a word from the Ancient Greek, meaning void. In the laws of physics, nature abhors a void. It fills it.
I remember then: Out of chaos, light and dark were born. Heaven and Earth. Land and sea.
They form then, the words, like stars emerging from the firmament, breaking the silence.
See
Hear
Observe
Listen
Eve bit into the apple. This, the first act of resistance, the first questioning of the established order. Knowledge arose then. The “why” of being. The power of saying “no.”
From chaos, creation. From creation, resistance. Thrust out of Eden, the action of one, then two, now “we” building a world of choice, ours.
What if Original Sin is blind obedience? What if redemption is biting into the apple again and again, until its lingering taste lasts on our tongue and, plucking the apple’s seeds from our palm, we plant orchard upon orchard, defying the edicts not to plant or sow or taste, until freedoms, ours, blossom and grow?
This is how we stanch the chaos. We plant. We resist.
Resist.
Santa Monica, CA
Challenging Chaos
There is a natural law of the Universe that requires balance in order for life to thrive. Without balance, there is chaos, which fills the void that opens up as a consequence.
However, if we challenge chaos, will this not lead to more chaos and conflict? Surely this can only be replaced by the peace of truth and reason.
Chaos is aggressive, has no direction or content and is without reality. If we must challenge, then providing a meaningful alternative, with content and wisdom, could offer a way out for those blindly caught up in the chaos, helping them aim for something with good purpose and positive energy. It could also instill hope in those seeking a positive way out of this disorder.
What can we do to counter the feelings of despair we might bear in response to the negativity and lack of purpose or goal from this chaotic behavior? The answer could be to accept that, in time, something that is nothing, nihilistic, will dissolve and be no more, leaving much to be contemplated and understood by all who survive this time.
However, if we challenge chaos, will this not lead to more chaos and conflict? Surely this can only be replaced by the peace of truth and reason.
Chaos is aggressive, has no direction or content and is without reality. If we must challenge, then providing a meaningful alternative, with content and wisdom, could offer a way out for those blindly caught up in the chaos, helping them aim for something with good purpose and positive energy. It could also instill hope in those seeking a positive way out of this disorder.
What can we do to counter the feelings of despair we might bear in response to the negativity and lack of purpose or goal from this chaotic behavior? The answer could be to accept that, in time, something that is nothing, nihilistic, will dissolve and be no more, leaving much to be contemplated and understood by all who survive this time.
Laxfield, Suffolk, UK
I Will Put Chaos in a Sea-Globe
Outside the window, updrifts of chaotic, swirling snow. Inside, on my sill, the sea-globe my daughter-in-law sent at Christmas to her Umma where a tiny, black-suited diver sits at the center of her underwater Jeju Island refugium, holding her breath, holding her breath… I turn the sea-globe upside down and watch as shards and tatters swirl and settle in glistening whispers at her feet. She is the goddess on her rock, who — through the rapid, whistling breathing method called sumbisori – will hold her breath as long as it takes, until she knows the time is right.
Lock Haven, PA
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The Language of Spring
by Karen N. Fitzgerald
The Language of Spring is a micro-chap book of poetry macro in its intimacy with spring’s unfolding grandeur. Where poets often reach for the most sublime, or obscure expressions of springtime’s majesty, this poet lets spring speak for itself in a language only Mother Nature can teach.
Mother Nature’s not obtuse
In how she uses her chartreuse
Providing landscapes so profuse
The poet’s soul she does induce
Into creating stanzas fine
Karen FitzGerald provides her readers a number of ways to climb out of winter and enter into the splendor of the spring season when flowers bloom—and, now and then, love, too. This little book is there whenever one is inclined to question what divine sources have managed, or maybe mismanaged, in bringing forth a new spring season.
Available at https://bottlecap.press/products/_langknf
Merry Song, born and raised in Iowa, chooses to live in the Pacific Northwest between the Cascade Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. All her life she has responded with creativity and compassion to the calling to communicate. Having just turned 72, she has renewed her commitment to stand up for Justice and show up for the Muse. Contact:
I am delighted to be introduced to the stunning photography and thoughtful words of Merry Song. The photos offered here are truly inspirational and calm the chaos attempting to rise up in my heart. Thank you Merry!