Into the Chaos: A Mess of Thoughts and Words

“Man’s inner self is an unfathomable ocean; those who dare to dive will discover both treasures and terrors.” — Ibn Sina

What follows is chaos — scattered thoughts unravelling, spiralling into themselves. They speak not to be understood but to be felt, glimpses of my shadow and perhaps yours. Drift with me through this storm, where order and meaning are fleeting, elusive.

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

“In all chaos, there is a cosmos, in all disorder, a secret order.”- Carl Jung

The human experience is vast — cosmically infinite. It feels as though my cards were dealt long before I existed, before I was even a fragment of biological potentiality. My survival instinct preceded any development of consciousness, long before I engaged in the infamous sperm competition. By some stroke of fate, choices were made, setting in motion everything that would shape me. My grandparents, in Canaan, decided more than my birth — they shaped my culture, language, the very architecture of my mind.

I came into existence, born to parents who, like all of us, inherited histories, burdens, and traits shaped by forces beyond their control. As a youngster, I idolised them, but soon enough ascertained their humanness, for after all, it is also their first time living in this affair we call life. They are also making sense of this. The vast majority of what makes us us lies buried, unexamined, in the unconscious. Here I stand, inhabiting this body, this vehicle, with its pigmentation and limitations, all because of random chance. These thoughts weigh heavily — letting them out feels not just cathartic but necessary.

Expression is primal. Newton’s law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Energy demands release. Einstein’s equation reminds us that reality itself is energy in flux. Thoughts, tangled with emotion and wonder, seek their own release. To suppress them feels like an injustice to this fundamental law.

I picture a lion’s roar. It is dominance, vitality, an unrestrained force of nature. To hold back thoughts is to deny them that force, to trap them in the mind. And so, we walk through life, leaving echoes in every corner we touch. We absorb, reflect, absorb again — each perspective moulded by our own.

In this absorption, I feel the echoes of those before me. My ancestors must have felt something deeper than fleeting happiness. These emotions live within my bones, not passed down through words, but silently inherited, known without being spoken. To reduce life to a single dimension of feeling, thought, or belief would be the ultimate disservice to its vibrant complexity, forcing us into a superficiality that neglects the deeper vigor of existence.

“Man is a mystery. It needs to be unraveled, and if you spend your whole life unraveling it, don’t say that you’ve wasted time.”- Dostoevsky

Psychologists, in their study of emotions, have identified a range of core feelings — each leading to a distinct path. A beautiful examination of joy, sorrow, anger, fear, surprise, and even disgust illuminate different roads of the human condition, each emotion shedding light on a unique aspect of both the self and the collective experience. No feeling exists in isolation, and none is less vital than the other. These varied emotional landscapes reveal only a glimpse of the depth of human nature, enriching our understanding of our malleable selves, our connections to others, and the greater narrative we inhabit. Each emotion, in its own way, is a window into the profound and multifaceted essence of being alive.

The more I connect with my mind and body, the clearer it becomes: we carry memories far beyond our immediate experience. Walking through a forest, the wind whispers, the trees creak, and there’s recognition — a connection to a long-gone past, yet ever-present. Suffering has shaped wisdom, not chaotic or pathological pain, but the kind life weaves into existence. Yet again, what is existence, what is “real”?

“Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.”- Dostoevsky

Reality is simply a perception, a product of an infinitesimally minuscule set of senses — chromosomes just two away from a chimpanzee’s, only able to interact with and perceive the 1% of reality we can register. Ah, all those wavelengths — infrared, ultraviolet, X-rays, gamma rays, radio waves, microwaves, gravitational waves, sound frequencies beyond our hearing, quantum fluctuations — and then there’s the universe itself: dark matter, black holes where time warps, parallel dimensions we may never see, the quantum entanglement of particles that defy distance (and sheer logic), and the fact that 96% of the cosmos is made up of things we can’t even detect. Think of how our own minds, with trillions of neural connections, can still hide entire worlds of subconscious thoughts, forgotten memories, and unspoken desires. It’s as if the closer we get to understanding, the more vast and unknowable everything becomes. In moments like these, one is forced to realize: we know almost nothing.

“The imagination is the intermediary between the senses and the intellect.”-Avicenna

I also wonder, why do animals seek solitude like we do? Is there a wolf thriving in the quiet of a snow-covered forest, its breath the only sound? Solitude creates space to understand oneself, and through that the other. But for those brave enough to open themselves to their thoughts — there’s danger, a labyrinth. Introspection risks misunderstanding, not just by others, but by oneself. It’s as if walking a narrow path, every step a gamble between discovery and loneliness. It’s the ultimate dance and gamble, each decision a roll of dice holding the limitlessness of possibilities.

Desire, too, is wild, unpredictable — a flame we try to harness. Oftenit escapes and scorches everything in its path. But in that fire, there’s light. It illuminates the darkest corners of ourselves. This is the tension between our primal nature and our higher mind. To be human is to hold both and constantly seek balance. Light, it is said, is impossible without friction–without conflict.

Not everyone has the luxury of introspection. Many are trapped in survival, their minds dulled by necessity. Picture a factory worker, his body worn from endless repetition, his mind numb from routine — caught in a life not of his choosing. His parents had sex and here he is, thrusted into a life of economic destitution, whereby slavery is the only choice for survival. The brutal randomness of luck governs more than we like to admit.The Locus of Control theory beautifully illustrates this: when destiny turns dark, we point fingers at the universe; when the sun shines and we prosper, we conveniently credit ourselves. We do not choose our parents, our traumas, our abilities, or our intelligence. We shuffle through life, forming identities (or do we?), often forgetting that everyone is on their own path, carrying their own vast, beautiful, and sorrowful worlds.

“Chance is not a mere word; it is the most fearful thing of all.”- Nietzsche

At times, my thoughts drift, interrupted by the mundane, the necessary mundane. But I always return to this truth: humans define themselves not only through love or hate, but through cooperation. Yet within that cooperation lies evil. Nature’s duality is mirrored in us. We created gods and rules to impose order on chaos, yet we still feel the raw, untamed forces of life. We are torn between the yearning for a protective and guidance force (however nonsensical it is) and the childish inquisitive spirit embodied in our pursuit of freedom, in self-actualization.

“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”- Nietzsche

Thousands of years ago, life was a battle. Fear, death, survival. Anxiety is woven into our DNA. The threats have changed, but the anxiety remains. Power structures shift, but the same mistakes solidify into systems.

I’ll embrace my programming. I’ll even endeavor to rise above it. I climb the mountain; the air grows thinner, clearer, and with it my consciousness. I look down and up. I see chaotic fickleness, but my nostrils absorb new air. A stillness. For a moment, amidst the chaos of nature, there is silence. I listen. I hear. For a second, I disappear.

For now, I’ll leave these thoughts here — unfinished, as they always are.

“He who climbs upon the highest mountains laughs at all tragedies, real or imaginary.”