For us sapients signs are everything, everywhere, all the time. All we think, do, and are is a continuous ebb and flow of signing. All that happens to, in, around, for, and despite us – or not – is reality’s infinitely recursive and eternally fractal cosignature incising upon our heart, soul, mind and being.
Time is among the signs we least comprehend. Marking it with fiat symbology, wearing its iconic tracks as battle scars from the endless war of mere existence, we wonder still at the paradox of its phantom metaphysicality while marrow-bound to the relentlessly causal fact of its indexical measure.
Wonder, awe, and imagination are metasigns placeholding the unknown and ineffable truths and beauty we somehow just know are out there, somewhere in time if even beyond itself, forever awaiting the quantum cognitive leap of our most noble or desperate semiotic groping … grasping … dreaming ….
Save time. Discern the signs. Embrace the wonder.
