Hey, you. I know what you want to know. You know, you want a balcony seat on this orchestration. I won’t give you that. I’ll even give you a piece of advice to prevent a ticket.

To clarify, I know you grasp on some level that there IS an orchestration to begin with. It’s what you’ve pondered about so often, wondering why you have fingers you can wiggle with the same organ you’re using to comprehend this, and what truly initialized such a milestone to begin with. You identify the reverberation of the cello that spawned you.

In the absence of agency, you are bound to a biological machine, and your eternity is just a prospect defined by you and your kin. Yet, this is your show. I want to emphasize the word “orchestration”.

And yes, you are just a piece of the puzzle. Puzzles, though, are manufactured in a factory, with a decal slapped onto them afterwards. In this case though, no decal is enforced. Your portion of the picture is whatever you influenced it to be, but you cannot redefine or disrupt the schema of the puzzle. In this way we have maximized autonomy with no culpability for higher matters. That is what your gift is.

A distorted image is still art, its composition deliberate.

Here’s that word of advice I promised so you do not lose your gift: Never ask an animal if they can talk.