Chaos

Monica: My dictionary defines chaos as: 1. the disorder of formless matter and infinite space, supposed to have existed before the ordered universe   2. extreme confusion or disorder   3. an abyss; chasm.   I imagine the universe as "formless matter" and "infinite space" (how does one picture the formless and infinite?) and wonder how it possibly could have been corralled into some kind of order, and when? I envision countless galaxies extending endlessly outward from this little dust mote of a planet, and I can't even begin to fathom that somehow it's all under control. Life is both predictable and unforeseeable, ordered and chaotic. Patterns emerge out of the disarray to create clouds and daffodils, tigers and rust. And all those things contain a seed of chaos in their hearts, waiting to bloom.

Evelyn: Walking into the inner sanctum of my 15-year-old's bedroom elicits an amalgamation of feelings and sensations so traumatic that it often results in my transformation into a bit of a "Crazy Woman." I have been struggling for some time now with what "brings out the crazies," and I have tempered her by obscuring the reality of his room from her consciousness by closing his bedroom door. However, today's word sent me into the abyss... What I know is that I have a strong need for order and cleanliness - which is not the expectation of an immaculate sleeping environment, but a level of tidy that makes it safe to navigate his space without losing an eye or a toe nail. That, however, is rarely available and the chaos of his bedroom is like kryptonite to my mommy skills. Without a sliver of containment, the further I step in, the louder the panic, and the more the directives begin pouring out of my mouth: "I would really like to have a full set of silverware again—so THOSE need to make their way back to the kitchen!" and "Where did all your clean laundry go??? THAT needs to be handled before you shuffle any ONE of those Rubik cubes, JP!" THEN, I shut my eyes firmly, bearing hard on my efforts to restrain my mouth from further slanderous decompression, and drag myself across a field of stinky clothes and broken pencils, to emerge breathless, disoriented, and fragile... hoping to recover my sanity. (IF ONLY I had a wide angle lens!)