In the whole world, you find yourself in the precise place you find yourself in. You live in a certain spot on the globe. You live on a certain street. You live at a certain numbered address. At this moment you are in a certain room in your house sitting in a certain chair, or you are perhaps shopping in a certain store in the Universe.

Isn’t this amazing? Of all the millions of people in the world, each person is somewhere specific. It must be that you are in an assigned place. It can’t be that you exist at random, no matter how it may seem so. Can it be you were just tossed up in the air and landed in the place you were meant to land in by chance and not certainty?

Tomorrow you could be somewhere else. Tomorrow you could be on a plane flying to a different destination for a visit with old friends or on a business trip in another place in the Universe. Can any of this be random, or is all of it planned by a Master Intelligence? Not planned as you know planned, not figured out, yet gloriously orchestrated. This is all beyond your ken.

Your Presence cannot be an accident. This has to have been all an appointment. Who made this appointment? Did you make it, or was it assigned to you, or both with mutual agreement or with none? How?

How uncanny or ordinary is all this?

You may live in a hut in the country or in a big palace in the city. Everyone on Earth is somewhere exactly at this moment and not somewhere else.

Some may live in a tree-house. Some may live on the first floor or in a basement or on the top floor of a hi-rise. How can this be attributed?

Is there a computer somewhere that calculates all this? Is it true that you are in the right place at the right time even when it turns out to be that you are in what could be called the wrong place at the wrong time, and still be correct?

How much is Free Will, and how much is Destiny? How self-propelling are you really? And why does it matter? It seems to matter. Under which probability or improbability does so much hang on a thread? It would seem that everything is destined or everything is by chance, yet how can anything let alone everything be by chance, yes or no?

At the stroke of 12 noon you were born in a certain location and seemingly only there, yet it is ventured that you live in more than one dimension at a time even as space and time do not really exist. How can such seeming-contrariness exist amidst so much consistency?

How strange is your apparent appearance on Earth and also the foretold disappearance of this apparent body as well? How can it seem so important to My Earthlings to fathom this supernatural-seeming visit of yours to Earth? Yet who are you? It is incontrovertible that you somehow exist here for a passing time even as unbelievable as it is on many quarters in a Dream that is dreamed.

How diverse are you? You are a father or mother, or a sister or brother, a son or a daughter, an active person or a recluse and varied variances in between. One day you wear a red coat and another day a jacket and and and...

What are you in the midst of and what are you doing here beyond what you are perhaps appearing to do at a given moment? You are washing the floor at this moment, or perhaps you are scuffing the floor, or tripping over a rug, or taking a nap. All the possibilities. All the predictions and all the seeming necessities and all the routines and all the surprises wrapped into one.

What a world you find yourself in, not knowing how you got here, how long you are here for, and a long list of questions unanswered to your satisfaction. You are a puzzle piece that you do not always precisely fit, or do you?

Of all the possibilities, you are one of many. Were you chosen and by whom? Why are you here, and what are you here to do or not do? Who are you, beloveds? Why you? How can you be accounted for? What is the story?