The sage Ramana Maharshi taught that the most direct path to truth is the question 'Who am I?'. Yet, you keep asking the universe for a sign, for a whisper of guidance, for anything to cut through the suffocating fog of your own indecision, and what do you get? The same image, the same phrase, the same silent, screaming invitation to a truth you’ve been masterfully avoiding. You shuffle until your fingers ache, you cut the deck three times, you light the incense, you say the prayer, you do everything the little white book tells you to do, and still, there it is. Staring back at you. A mirror you can’t seem to shatter. Let’s be honest. You’re not really looking for an answer. You’re looking for an answer you already like. An answer that confirms your biases, that cosigns your bullshit, that gives you permission to stay exactly where you are, marinating in the lukewarm bath of your own comfortable misery. You want the cards to tell you that he’ll come back, that the job is secure, that the move is a good idea, that you’re making the right choice. You want a cosmic permission slip. But that’s not