Is there such a thing as beautiful chaos?

The kind when you have no idea of where to start, where you are going, and how you will get there. You know not what it is that moves you. You just move.

I think there is such a thing. “What is normal for the spider, is chaos for the fly,” someone once wrote.

There comes a moment when you know you just have to move and trust all will be ok.  Often you will change direction, not for any particular reason, but because you can.

Better to move across the canvas of the earth leaving thunderous footprints, even if at times they form circles, than no prints at all.    

It is the child within that is this way, the child that splashes colour on a page at will, the untarnished artist whom creates beautiful chaos because they’d rather be the spider, than any kind of fly.