The living of science is not possible.
Somewhere a spirit seeks to harmonize with the beginning and the end of things, and never along the path to righteousness is it known when the thread will snap its judgement, forcing past cracked lips no utterance of truth to this world.
In the movement of planets Kepler found bodies reborn from dust. A finite clockwork of aggregation captured in the motion of mathematics, knowable by us only before the infinite lies still in a time beyond our imagining or measure.
Our concentrations orbiting an inward moving nucleus of species survival splinters an embrittled margin with an ever widening gap. Equations govern the motions of the spirited. The mouse takes the cheese.
In the search for a specialty your path creates an apprenticeship to this science with no mentor but an unframed picture of what might be.
