Through the Prism

After passing through the prism, each refraction contains some pure essence of the light, but only an incomplete part. We will always experience some aspect of reality, of the Truth, but only from our perspectives as they are colored by who and where we are. Others will know a different color and none will see the whole, complete light. These are my musings from my particular refraction.


The Creativity of Chaos

I look up--the stars glitter above us, chips of ice, diamonds.

Coyote scattered those, it says. That is why they are so beautiful. There is no order. There is only the vastness of the heavens, the randomness of the stars. Would they be more beautiful if they were lined up in rows?

No, I say.

It lowers its head. And the flood? Did the elks tell you why Coyote stole the River God's child?

No, I say.

Because the River God had taken two human children. Coyote paid her back. And it was because of the flood that people climbed the reed to the Fourth World, and gained knowledge, and culture, and time, and all good things.

He created death, I say.

Imagine a world without death, says the eagle contemptuously. Imagine the horror.

I frown. It has a point.

Coyote is chaos, says the eagle. He is misrule. He takes order and routine and he breaks it, he scatters it. But always, when he has done so, the world that is left is a better one. Would you want a year with no seasons?

I shake my head.

Consider the rain, says the eagle. It is in Coyote's gift to control. It can wash things away, it can destroy, it can drown. But it nourishes everything. The chain of life depends on it. That is the nature of Coyote.

To . . . nourish?

Yes. While washing away. Cleansing the past. . . .

Coyote is more ancient even than you, says the eagle. You should listen when he speaks.

Okay, I say. You think I should trust him, I get it.

I think you should trust him to be untrustworthy, says the eagle. You should trust him to take peace and make it war, to take order and replace it with chaos. But always, what is left will be better.

~ Nick Lake, There Will Be Lies


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