In A Disordered Chicken House

I was a physicist. When the recipes of alchemy revived themselves and began to pollute my mind, I turned to farming. In a dark chicken house I realized that the disorder of each new day was enigma, that if I could decipher patterns I might be able to leave the disorder of this world for the order of another. After years of observation, a revelation finally came. The world resolved itself everywhere; I was of it but above it. Yet I cannot understand. My vision is a labyrinth; I can hardly relate this in words I may have once understood.