It was this article by Louis Menand about James Joyce that set my mind a'reeling on chance (see previous post)...
“Chance furnishes me with what I need,” he told a Swiss friend when he was writing “Finnegans Wake.” “I’m like a man who stumbles; my foot strikes something, I look down, and there is exactly what I’m in need of." - J. J.
And you can go back to the Big Bang, and that's where our grand game of chance began. And the trillions and trillions of galaxies and everything in them are the result. Makes you want to toke a one-hitter and just go off on some mad rambling monologue.
I mean it's not a new idea, but sometimes things just hit you with a force that they never did before.
Everything we do is a game of chance. Every moment is a game of choices. You have to pick your games wisely. Although, the choices that are available to us, and what we pick to play, is also enfolded in this grand, cascading, edifice of chance.
It is so in-built in us, we hardly notice. And we make up other reasons, motivations for our choices. And we invent characters that we imagine are looking over our shoulder guiding our hand, but it is chance that abides.