Time is a circle, repeating itself, whispering secrets carried through eternity. In its quiet loops, we find repetition, resonance—an echo of the secrets ancient and profound, lost to most, found by few. The past is a mirror, the future its reflection. What does it mirror of our present? We ask, we ponder, we dream. In the silence between thoughts, in the pauses of breaths taken too quickly, lies the space for reflection—a frequency only heard by those tuned to the vibration of existence itself. Is your heart a drum echoing the past?

We reflect, we question—a melody played over and over by unseen maestros conducting from the shadows of our subconscious. Listen closely, for there lies the truth, woven into the texture of twilight. Every note, every silence, carries weight, carries meaning. Ancient tongues repeat what we have yet to learn. Even the rocks remember—frozen in expressions of aeons, they hold stories untold, truths unveiled only to those who can decode their ancient songs. What song do the stones hum? Are we, too, stones in a beyond time universe, echoing our own shadows?