Learning Series~ 3: The complexity of Processes

Do we still believe that processes just happen like that? All in order and in an evolutionary, upward, rational format. Politically correct,Synchronous, kind, and harmonious? Perhaps we were misled by the etymology of the word process, which comes from “to advance” and literally: “to go forward.” But there are many ways of going “forward,” which sometimes also include stopping, going back, recalculating, taking the opposite direction, and sometimes, simply stopping.

It sounds paradoxical, doesn’t it? But yes, sometimes stopping is also moving forward,

and perhaps because of that grammatical conflict, that is the part of the process that is hardest for us. To stop.

And inversely proportional: the harder it is for us to stop, the faster we move, aimlessly and instinctively, almost like automatons. Because when we don’t pause, we only survive.

Could it be that life is not always so harmonious? And that is why processes shouldn’t be either?

And in life there are also things we don’t understand, that arise like disruptive energies, accidents, catastrophes, droughts, fires, and events that cut, redirect, change, and bring everything to a halt in one blow, once and for all.

—Ah, similar to my processes— I thought.

So could it be that thinking of processes as controlled, linear, or predictable movements is a fiction? A Disney movie? Of an unreal life? Something dead?

And I think processes are more like life:

messy, sometimes incoherent,

at times devoid of all logic,

misguided, incomprehensible, arbitrary, chaotic.

Sometimes ungovernable,

Probably cyclical like nature and surely ambiguous as well,

like good and bad,like that which, if they were not labels of “good” and “bad,” would only be states and two sides of the same coin, devoid of all judgment.

—Ah… in the end, not so different from life— I thought again.

Processes—like us who go through them—sometimes stop, regress, implode, or blow up into the air.

They force us to take shortcuts, detours, changes of plans.

They grow distractions, obstacles, or also incredible proposals, parallel and competitive, loaded with sparkle and sentimentality, attractive enough to pull us a little away from our purpose.

And that too is called life and probably some kind of balance.

Sometimes we are captured by the marks of our old wounds,

and although we become dazzled and probably fall, sometimes we can spot within it the very mark of its manufacture.

Small salmon lures, to see if we’ll bite…

And we probably bite—or sin—

Because who doesn’t like salmon?

Sometimes it takes us a while to remember that we were actually vegetarians, and that we are because we chose it, because our peace depended on it.

Sometimes later, we surprise ourselves,

seeing that we no longer choose the salmon even though for others it may be incredible, or a boyhood dream, or a very expensive dish.

And that too is an extra process—an addition—

that we hadn’t contemplated from the beginning, but sometimes appears like a subtle, camouflaged victory.

And the path doesn’t only place difficulties before us, but also distractors that are hedonic difficulties in disguise,

that function as a test, a small trial, to see if we are truly so certain and committed to the path we chose, and to where we are going.

Those tests sometimes invite us into a review.

Other times they confirm what has already matured within us, because in the end they are nothing more than a probing to see what level we are at. The good thing is that this test is only with ourselves.

And after all that, after aaaall that process—which is not only about moving forward, but in all directions and mainly inward—

the process in question becomes fertile and prospers, in some sense, often unexpectedly.

And then comes the fun moment,

where after the chaos, the exhaustion, and the hustle of such tremendous movement,

we finally encounter a product, a child of the process,

a basket full of seeds that became fruits,

where the rainbow ends—or begins.

Perhaps the beginning of another process, level 2 or 3,

where only those who persevere find it,

those who, despite everything,

dare to walk.

Sometimes the greatest learnings are in the complexities of experience,

Almost always at its vertices, at the vanishing points and in the margins of error.

There, in some unthinkable, unpredictable, uncalculated place…

True seekers know that straying from the path is as much a part of the path as the path itself.

And that, probably, will be the most important mantra we will need to repeat, as a compass to be able to return

to the path, of the path.

The secret no one tells us is that in that “getting lost” we also find new parts of ourselves we didn’t know, that take shape in the chaos of unforeseen becoming. Surprise, improvisation, magic, and movement come with it.

They show us that, thank God,

we are still alive and living,

because probably the opposite would be to be dead.