There are no signs from above.

Sometimes, there are no signs from above. But what is a sign? Is it merely what our mind wishes to believe? Is it just a case of confirmation bias? Or is there truly a metaphysical event occurring, where certain moments catch our attention and we consider them as signs? Perhaps there’s a divine presence keeping tabs on us, offering signs when we seek them. But what do we mean by “above”? Why do we look upwards for signs? Aren’t both signs and the concept of “above” mental constructs, creations of the mind itself?

We may never truly understand what is real because everything we perceive is filtered through our senses and processed by our minds. Who am I? Am I just a collection of external information processed by my mind, forming an identity to help me function in the world? Without this identity, am I anything at all? How can I judge myself? Am I intelligent or foolish? Even these benchmarks are mental constructs, derived from external information.

It feels like an existential dead end. There’s a door we cannot pass because we are trapped in a paradox. Philosophy offers answers, like Advaita Vedanta’s claim that Brahman, the ultimate reality, is incomprehensible, formless, shapeless, and indescribable. Am I a manifestation of this shapeless identity? I want to be formless because once something is defined, it loses its mystery. Humans cling to identity because it is easier and more sustainable. We need an identity to function in the material world.

If I don’t stick to one identity, I can never understand myself. I might call myself abstract, but even “abstract” is a form of identity. I feel like I’m standing before a curtain, partially opaque. I sense something beyond it but can’t truly see it. This curtain clouds my thoughts and identity. When I try to remove it, another curtain appears. The more I try to uncover myself, the more lost I become. There is no end to me. Yet, I should appreciate the insights I’ve gained, no matter how abstract or nonsensical they seem, as they are also constructs of my mind.

It’s amusing to be stuck in a loop, an endless cycle. As a child, I was fascinated by time travel loops. Isn’t life itself a loop? The cycles of day and night, sunrise and sunset, the changing seasons, life and death, planetary movements — all repeat endlessly. It’s as if some cosmic force has trapped us in an eternal loop, causing suffering because we’ve experienced it all before. It’s like the myth of Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down each time he nears the top. This endless repetition, this cycle without resolution, embodies our existential struggle.

Why does the girl I love hurt me so deeply? It’s just a girl, and my feelings are constructs of my mind, influenced by chemicals and emotions. Despite philosophical and scientific explanations, a simple action from her can cause me repeated suffering. This isn’t just about love; every situation that causes suffering feels like a repeated lesson, a question we’ve answered before but keep forgetting.

We question, then answer, then question again, creating a loop. Particles rotate around the nucleus, Earth revolves around the sun, and the Milky Way orbits another cosmic entity — it’s all a loop. Who wouldn’t suffer? Who wouldn’t want to escape? Maybe death is the answer. But isn’t death also part of the loop?