The profoundest order is revealed in what is most casual.

Fairfield Porter, Maine Painter

+ + +

There is freedom in life that is evidenced when things are casual, natural, loose and given to spontaneity, left to be as they are and were intended.

We are, indeed, not the Captain but a deckhand.

Yes, to Fairfield Porter and what comes from “Down East,” from the view of the cold powerful Atlantic lapping against the rocky shore while the wind of the briny deep reminds you of its longevity.  Yes, the Genesis wind over the waters as the Master set the stage.

“Aye, aye, Captain.  We are ready for the sail and the storm.”

Life is not well lived with a death grip.  A rigid order does not yield to what is coming soon enough, the expected unexpected.  In life we are at sea.

Rigid order. ‘Tis not the hard hand that comes a lover’s touch.  Nay, stiffness is of the corpse, passionless and cold.

The more confined, measured, exacted – the more we chafe, to stir within for life in motion, unsettled, changing – to join the universe expanding and not running on time – no, timeless, eternal in ways that man can neither alter nor end.

Can a tide be set still?  The rotation of the earth put to stop?  Is precision our self-deception?  Or beauty made of precise lines?

Conformity.  At what price?  Is there any of us who is not made for “what have you?”  What comes our way?

Profoundest order in what is alive, dynamic, out of sequence, unimagined, thrown together by One who colors outside the lines, confounds prediction – He who makes the trains to not run on time.  The One of jagged edges, bends and curves, squiggles, doodles … divine accidents as divine inventions.

The eye not a camera.  It does not see all boundaries at a single glance or studied gaze.

No, life and geometry are too vast for human sight. There is too much being born anew, reconfigured, bursting forth, leaving us in untimely exits that change the “order” of things.

Harmony is in the imprecision,  The sweet swing of jazz – an improvisation, birth with its unsteady line and unusual noise together as life is – in its casual way, its folds and wrinkles, twists and turns.

What we thought was “it” is not “it” but something more spontaneous, looser, easier – life in the hand of the Spirit not the T-square, the silence not the blade to cut and shape.  No chorus in practiced pace, but the soul and its sporadic breathing.

When right we are artists with loose hands and God’s confidence.  Vitality.  Living life out.  Improvising.  That’s the fun, and truth encountered.

“Yes, Captain, the sail and the storm.”