...that there isn't a destiny. Instead, things acquire meaning through accumulation, repetition. You see it once; you see it a second time. Now it is a sign. Now you will look for it a third, a fourth time. Now when it is absent you will miss it. And when it is substituted by a new cycle of accumulations you will think it was not supposed to have been. What are we to do with this randomness, with this authority over what repeats and what disappears? There is nothing to do with it. It isn't sad. It does not need fixing. You are the author, the maker of what will become your destiny. You are the intersection of everything that you have chosen to call coincidence and only through you are these things linked. Your sequence is just as meaningful, I want to say more meaningful, than any pre-established sequence could have been. Instead of living what was written by another, you get to write it as you go. You get to question it, rewrite it, tear it to pieces and start again until it is meaningful to you. You get to establish the criteria for meaningfulness. And you get the full benefit of poetry and magic. Your invention, for which you will receive all the credit, is just as divine. There isn't a destiny. There is, instead, infinite potential for establishing relations between things, a conscious inteligence that works on these relations, ceaselessly. And as it lives, it multiplies these relations, it fills up with accumulations, until it sees the connection not just between sparse things and events but between all things, all events. When nothing is left to escape its web of relations, its existence becomes sacred; destiny is everywhere.