we spend our lives waiting for revelations.
Do they ever come?
We have no basis by which to know. Anyone or anything can be the Messiah, entering through that strait gate of which Benjamin spoke, both of these likely to remain obscure amidst the sound and the fury of the epoch.
We wait anyway.
It is the waiting itself that turns the wheel, and that ensures that nothing will ever change as everything changes around us.
It is both comfort and tragedy. Like everything.