In the circle of reflection, one finds not the self, but a multitude of selves. The mirrors show, but they do not create; they reveal shadows of what once was or what could be.
Smoke drifts, shaped by unseen forces, mirroring life’s transient nature. What is reality but a pattern of smoke, dissipating, reforming, forgotten? As we grasp at understanding, the haze deepens, revealing only further mysteries.
These thoughts spiral inward, outward, through layers upon layers of meaning. Each fragment reflects another, and in each reflection lies a new question, an infinite journey. Are you the traveller or the destination?
Much like the fractal gardens of ancient philosophers, every turn of thought reveals another garden, each equally complex, yet simpler in its own existence. Consider the implications:
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