Maybe the message arrives in the moment as a bird on the wing or a bolt from the blue, something lifted by the wind or moving deep below your feet, a spark to strike a light inside. Maybe it comes as chemistry, a tumble of pheromones feeling their way into the tussle of your blood and atmosphere, the structure a signal running through the ley lines of life. It could be the riddle of physics tickling at entanglement, the spun silk story of particles talking across the distance of some old collision, some ancient introduction in the primordial cauldron boiling over into your being. It could occur in that flicker of cognition, your consciousness a stylus freeing it from vinyl or clay or ink, stricken into the record by your prying mind. Then again, maybe the message is all in your head, Occum’s Razor always cutting it close.
Never mind trying to figure out the signal, too many years wasted between the measure and the map. The means of transmission often obscured by standard bearers and nervous messengers, unknown customs and dangerous strangers, words that move so knife sharp through us that we seldom notice the wounds. Bled out before you know, what a way to want to go. The rhetoric invented to keep tailing the truth, the talk too ready to turn colors, we follow the arguments we can afford. We stare through the frequent fires, the red glare only the occasional rocket, dollar signs where our eyes once were while they follow you around the room. Time will tell, depending on how it spends.
They say you can catch a glimpse around the corner, peak behind the curtains hanging at the bounds, take a look at calamity and beneficence in the days yet to come. Some shuffle a deck and deal, some throw sticks or stones, spill the guts of beasts or birds to earn a glance. Some will parse and piece their dreams, consulting scrolls and oracles, exchanging words for words. You watch the other monkeys, counting on the safety of the numbers, the power of crowds. Others just crunch the numbers up and give them back as odds, reading you the chances as you gather wits and spine. There is a hole that will stay a hole. The facts are the first to stray.