Humans are pattern-creating beings. We see faces in cookies and wall sockets, Martian rocks, tree trunks and butterfly spots. Is it hard-wired into our brain because a newborn baby needs to recognize mom, or is it a learned, wetware shortcut the brain trains itself to do in order to process a flood of information every waking second? The random stars we turn into diagrams of hunters, swans, and scorpions.
In our lives, we impose patterns on ourselves. Seven day weeks. Nine to five. This television show on this night, that one at that night, the book club with the girls on Wednesday, poker and beer with the guys on Friday. From being bound to the sun, moon, stars, and seasons when we came out of the trees and onto the savannah, we pushed those patterns to the back of our consciousness and overlaid our cherished artificial grid of temporal restrictions.
When freed from our self-imposed fetters we often have no idea how to act or what to do. What if we ate spaghetti for breakfast, or cereal for dinner? What if we stayed up until sunrise and then slept through the day? What if we just drifted from day to day without any idea who our home team was playing or whether they were home or away?
Would this be chaos? Or just another pattern, a different one, more vague, less defined, more flexible, but no less real? In breaking free of the patterns, would we find madness or liberation? Or both?
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 