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Life unfolds like the eternal wheel of Sisyphus, but here, the boulder is your own consciousness, endlessly morphing, reshaping, resisting gravity in a universe that refuses rest.
Each step forward is both repetition and reinvention, a pulse in the machinery of existence. Yet there is no final summit, peak dissolves into shifting horizons—only momentum, only the perpetual rhythm of being. You move because motion is the only proof of existence, the purpose is not a destination, but the act of rolling, forever, through the infinite web of perception.
