🌈 The Fractal Story Engine | Mind & Meaning | (30) MM-007-R
There is something we don’t say out loud in polite conversation: that logic is not enough. It can build a bridge, diagnose a heart condition, send rovers to Mars. But it cannot name why we cry at a forgotten song. It cannot explain the way grief sits in the throat, or why certain doorways feel holy for no reason at all.
We were raised to trust logic. Schooled in cause and effect, praised for clarity. Logic became the gold standard of value, the trusted compass for rightness. And yet, beneath its clean lines and proofs, another realm always pulsed. The realm of the irrational, the mythic, the felt. We dismissed it as superstition, or worse: madness. But it never stopped knocking.
There are moments in life when logic fails us. When the spreadsheet cannot measure the ache in your chest. When every reasonable choice leads you further from what you love. When a dream tells you something no doctor or advisor can. In those moments, we reach for other tools. We light candles. We whisper to the sky. We write poems. We weep without knowing why.
This isn’t a rejection of logic. It’s an honoring of the beyond.
What happens when we outlaw logic, even for a short while? Maybe we remember how to listen. Maybe we stop trying to solve everything and begin to notice. Maybe we come back into relationship with the world, not as a system to be mastered, but as a presence to be met.
Children are often closer to this knowing. They understand that questions can be sacred. That play is a form of inquiry. That nonsense can hold its own truth. The grown mind, conditioned by efficiency and fear, forgets this. But the child mind never fully leaves. It lingers behind the curtain, waiting for an invitation.
Sometimes I wonder what truths we’ve silenced with our obsession for answers. What paths we’ve bulldozed with certainty. There are languages without words, maps without borders, rituals that make no sense until your whole body is in them. There is a wisdom in the not-knowing. A freedom in the absurd. A gentleness in letting the riddle remain unsolved.
Maybe logic was never the door. Maybe it was the frame. And what we need now is the courage to step through.
What can the reader learn from this story?
True knowing requires more than reason. It asks us to listen with the heart, to make room for the nonlinear, and to honor mystery. Logic is a tool, but not the only one, and often not the wisest. There is intelligence in dreams, in feelings, in strangeness. Trusting that can return us to the parts of ourselves that were never meant to be solved.