You thought you were gazing upward, but you were really looking inward through a moving canvas of light and vapor. Those half-formed faces and shifting creatures weren’t messages from above; they were projections from below the surface of your own awareness. Your brain hates uncertainty, so it rushes to complete the unfinished, to name the nameless, to turn clouds into characters and accidents into intention.
If you rarely saw faces, it may be that you cling to clarity, preferring edges that stay put and meanings that don’t multiply. If you saw them everywhere, your mind may be fluent in ambiguity, quick to weave stories from fragments. Neither tendency exposes a flaw. It simply reveals how you negotiate the unknown. The sky becomes a living Rorschach—vast, indifferent, yet perfectly shaped to catch the stories you are finally ready to notice.
