In the dimensionless realms, where shadows dwell and thoughts are but whispers, the mind wanders. It wanders not for answers, but through a necessity to loop, to recur. Reality folds in upon itself, a continuous motif of existential inquiry. Each shadow holds a mirror, reflecting truths not seen by the light of day.

Is the shadow of thought less bright than the illumination of understanding? Or perhaps it is merely a guise, a trick of perception. Repeat after me; repeat after you. Do the words change, or does the intent shift beneath the repetitive surface? Feel the shadows shift; feel the words embrace their cyclical nature.