Imagination, not intelligence, made us human.
We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork.
An Assassin, a real Assassin had to look like one-black clothes, hood, boots, and all. If they could wear any clothes, any disguise, then what could anyone do but spend all day in a small room with a loaded crossbow pointed at the door?
One day a tortoise will learn how to fly.
And it came to pass that in time the Great God Om spake unto Brutha, the Chosen One: "Psst!
There’s no point in believing in things that exist.
I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.