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It has gone as follows: You sit, sometimes restlessly, waiting. What you wait for would seem a mystery to most, perhaps even to yourself, but not to I. I know. I know for what you wait. At first you might think me trite, and perhaps arrogant, especially with the seeming directness of my statements and lack of uncertainty contained therein. However, these statements are not nearly direct, and therefore not nearly trite. Ambiguity is a sign of depth, depth a sign of complexity and complexity represents typical uncertainty, thus, complexity (and vicariously, ambiguity) is a sign and inhibitor of mystery. Not all complexity is mystery, but certainly that which is not understood is, without a doubt, mysterious. Not all complexity is valid, either. Now, I will give that the of level of the complexity, that is, the source of the mystery, differs among conscious beings by great degrees. That is to say, unconscious beings experience no ambiguity, and conscious beings may experience a drastically different range of amiguity, and thus, a drastically different range and experience of mysteries. You see satisfaction of your mystery, for one, but that is not all you seek. I know for what you truly seek, and perhaps have even given up on ever finding. Yes, I know.

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