The beauty of straying
Why do we stray? Why, in spite of our most resolute determinations, do we traipse off well-beaten paths and yellow-brick roads? Is it a want of will? An ancient inheritance lurking in the sinister shadows of reason? A mortal flaw? Quantum determinism or the puerile trickery of a pantheon of gods? Or perhaps, all of nature is a-straying! And to betray essences, to doubt, to fall, to skirt around ruled lines is what makes the real what it is. From the sonorous dips, swirls and soaring crescendos of the opera maestro, to the tantalizing cocktail of floral forms and a billion faunal hybrids that lubricate the earth, everything kisses the cheek of its own rules. Do we not find beauty in the most unexpected places? In a puddle of spilled milk. In the octogenarian crease of a rotten apple. In the dogeared corner of a forgotten book. In the gasp of a dying star as it implodes into stardust. In the ambient glow of the forbidden. By straying, differences are made, diversities emerge, and reality becomes substantial. Indeed, we might as well say that we stray because reality itself is perverse, made up of the strange, home to the multiple. We might say that we stray because we are beautiful.