What shall we take for a sign? For we wait in existential agony for the numbers to turn over. For the shape of the clouds to resemble… anything. Why is it that we expect one unlikely event to happen in conjunction with another unlikely event? For is that not what we look for? Science tries to tell us what is wisdom, at times, or at least what does not follow, one from the other. One doubts we will ever listen, at least, not all the way. For even science is based on a form of luck, even the purest mathematics as reliant on the happenstance of digging as the dirtiest archeology. And sometimes the signs are right. Amazingly. But even the prophet cannot say with surety on which things we may be absolutely certain. Anyone who says they can tell, they deceive someone, you or him, depending on his sincerity. What shall we take for a sign? Nothing. Everything. What price for the hope?
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