We are stranded. And we have learned to live this way. All the information that we have none of us can ever absolutely verify — for how are we ultimately to validate that our own senses do not lie to us? What we have to work with, that which we know, we cannot break down beyond a certain level of meaning, and we cannot assemble them in anything like a seamless manner to some grand design. These things are not meant for us, I think. This is a metaphor of how to live life, that which our cognition ever has in its understanding: do the best with what we have at any given time. Perhaps it is to understand that this is all we can ever do, that this kind of insight is brought to our attention. Not to wait for any perfect moment — such things never were, nor will be.
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