A good
thing is often a mixed bag in its beginnings, incomplete and uncertain, its
full potential hazy and unprepared. Good soil must be prepared, and ploughed
over, and laid out. The ground must be worked and find its alchemy. A good
thing in its beginnings is not yet good, because it does not yet fit itself and
is full of unembraced contradictions tossing about in antagonism. To find a
place for everything within itself is not easy. It must grow into its own, and
the antagonisms transformed into creative contradictions that express the wod in the thing. Then, when it has been
prepared, when its out-of-control antagonisms have been mediated and moderated,
when even in its motion it fits itself, it begins to express its own
self-fertility.
A good
thing becomes more and more congruent with itself, in the process of
integrating its contradictions. It becomes more whole and thus more wholesome.
It becomes complete not in itself but through its relations with the
environment, both that of the vicinity and that of the outside. A good thing
has found its Archimedean place of leverage, the fulcrum upon which it may do
its best.
All things
may be made good, although they do not begin that way. It often takes hard
work, and confrontation, and facing things head-on. It takes intelligence and
sometimes even genius to figure out just how to make a home for that which is
strange, so it may become familiar in its weirdness and contribute as it
genuinely longs to. Every good thing was once a mixed bag. But in time, with
love and good work, it flourishes. This is the way of the world that our lore
mythopoetically narrates.
