God stop me before I write again.



Is this gutted, trash-filled Winnebago  ordered or disordered?

It seems disordered (possibly disturbed).

It also seems complicated. It requires a particular description (windows broken, door gone, mattress on floor, etc.).  It is not like every other Winnebago of the same vintage. They've all aged. A common description no longer works.

But in a previous piece of semi-psychotic rambling I said people become more ordered as they age. Responding to experience and failing parts they (we) become structured and rigid. Set in our ways. Inflexible.

Which is it?

Maybe I confused order and complexity.

Like the Winnebago we lose order. Things fall apart.

And like the Winnebago we become more complicated. Common definitions no longer work for us either. We've got broken windows, sagging mattresses.  We each have our own story.

Some of us do become inflexible, set in our ways.  But we all become more and more unique. Although neither we nor the Winnebago might generate much new surprise, our existence is a surprise. (How did the Winnebago end up parked in a yard in Delight NC? And what is the story of that mattress? )

We may or may not write lengthy new stories (maybe the Winnebago will get hauled off to suffer the next stage of thermodynamic entropy). But our complete messages - our life stories - well they are something else.

No comments: