"A mess, a disarray, a chasm of chaos, - Sariputra thought, passing though mango trees, - an ecstasy of alliterations, which iambic pentameter as such represents none other than yet more mere verbiage uselessly rending the air against the background of irrefutable facts testifying to the opposite: it's all predetermined, there is no chaos".
It was the chaos he managed to escape arrest and fled the city, though, when the aborigines had started cutting philosophers. When a mounted patrol spotted him, Sariputra decided to verify in practice the old good trick which every Buddhist knows.
- Halt, - the patrol leader said.
- Ok, - Sariputra said, continuing walking along the road.
- I said stay! - the patrol leader said in his anger.
- Don't you see, I'm staying, - Sariputra said, keeping on a walk.
- Stay when you are, you bloody philosopher! - the patrol leader said in a rage.
- The bloody philosopher's been fucking sick of staying, - Shariputra said, taking on his way.
At this moment, the patrol leader, of course, found enlightenment and asked Shariputra for a sermon.
- Chaos, - said Sariputra, - this is when the present determines the future, but the approximate present does not approximately determine the future*.
When Sariputra said this, all the worldly beings - gods, humans, asuras, gandharvas - were filled with admiration and highly praised what had been spoken by him, and the patrol leader, relatively, got fucked out of his mind.
* "Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly's Wings in Brazil set off a Tornado in Texas?" Edward Lorenz