A Mystery of Life

The other day was a particularly stressful day at work.  I was struggling with trying to understand a sufficiently difficult task so that I could write the procedures about it.  I was struggling with how to make it understandable to the normal person.

The engineer I was working with called it "black magic" and said no one understands it.  Know that Joe is an engineer and went through yeas of training in math and science to get to where he is now.  I am a technical writer, a geographer, trained in maps, blueprint analysis, and the ability to read two dimensional depictions of three dimensional items.  This "black magic" is a mystery to me.

During the course of my research into this topic I was introduced to a concept called "Fast Fourier Transform".  It was basically important for me to understand this concept, so I used my trusty research associate, "Google" and ran a search.  My associate came back with a website called "Betterexplained.com".  This site takes math concepts and simplifies them.  This site told me a little about Joseph Fourier and his transforms.  They even mentioned a descriptive model that he had about circular forms being made into a staircase.  STAIR CASE??!!  JOSEPH.  Whoa!!

Joe is my engineering cohorts name.  Wow.  Amazing.  Staircase? Joe! St. Joseph's staircase!  (https://www.lorettochapel.com/info/staircase).  "Black magic"? No.  It is the beauty of a higher power.  The workings of this problem, this task?  The understanding is part of the mystery of life.  To understand it, you just gotta have faith.  That much I understood.  It is a miracle that I figured that out.

DN. 

So, I sit and stare...

I stare at the blankness of the beckoning page.  Do I have something to say?  The emptiness taunts me, the blankness, like a silent elevator among strangers, I am compelled to make a joke.  Compelled to speak.  The silence is painful.   The blankness is painful. And so, I throw ink on the page, words to  the silence.  AND for what?  What is this saying other than I feel a need to communicate.  I in my silence.  My blissful silence.  I, the lonely poet,  I feel a need to speak?

No, not speak.  A need to communicate.  This is my communication.  This is my voice.  These are my songs, my blogs.  This is what I do. 

Whenever.I.remember...

DN