It seems almost too obvious for me to remark upon: the longer i spend in a place (a place, that is, under my sole purview), the more orderly it becomes. Though of an order often uncertain to a casual onlooker, i can invariably give my reason or reasoning for any aspect being made thus. On the other hand, i have observed the opposite in others, to the point where i can imagine some asymptote of total chaos, should their sojourn in the vicinity be prolonged. How is this so?
Convergent, divergent versions of the same process. Where i adjust toward & always replicate, another person fails to put back, or puts back differently. Not that they aren't capable of a reasoned construction. It just isn't where they dwell. It is felt as a dreary necessity ("cleaning"--at overdue intervals), or an imposition. There isn't the pleasure i feel in repose, or peace, or silence. Instead, a pleasure in release, in abandon,--in breaking things.
Other dialectics superimpose upon this one: the desire to stop others from their "fun"--to lock them up, or kill them, if necessary. A bad order, because the good order is unimaginable. If so many of us didn't act like grown children, then the parent-state could just wither, i suppose. Because a true grown-up does what has to be done. Picks up, puts away, plans for the future. You see how much of that has been happening.
If we listened long enough to the music of the world, we might find ourselves able to attune to it. I do not think a good human order will be different from a good order in nature. In fact this is a way to judge our tentative utopias from the get-go: how many of our fellow creatures, do they require us to destroy?
