Fractals are infinite permutations of complexity. They are repeating sequences of lines of code that define a thing. They tell a story that gets deeper with every double-take and every return.
We often fail to notice the fractals that walk by us constantly. People with idiosyncrasies and dreams, formative habits and trauma-informed pasts. The closer you look, the more their name evolves. ‘Worrier.’ ‘Zealot.’ ‘Friend.’ There are patterns unseen to explore should we look.
Characters in a book often go through journeys of understanding. They create constellations of connections that inform their perspective and indoctrinate them into relationships of depth with their fellow fictions. Sherlock Holmes famously could look at a person and see their untold story. His sense of presence in the world of Doyle gives definition to the existence of fractals in us all.
Experts appear around works of art, commerce, and science because of the fractal effect. A piece begins with a simple premise. It is traced by instruments, language, and emotions. Only those eager enough to chase its premise around a tree find its repetition written in the patterns uncovered.
The question of time becomes relevant when the practicality of these thoughts are interrogated. How is one expected to find the time to dig so thoroughly into the soil of these shapes? Time is not infinite, where these are. The struggle to find fractals and unlock hidden mysteries is left undone by all in the end. The path leads to greater, not full understanding. Augustine of Hippo taught us that when we say “I love you”, we’re really saying “I want you to be.” For those seeking to know, their pursuit is a resounding statement of “I want you to be. Keep existing, so I can see your depths.” This in turn relates that which can change a heart on a dime and turn a heart of stone: love.
