In an age where progress is revered, retracing footsteps becomes a path of fearsome reputation. The ironies are thick, like mist upon a morning meadow, but these paths have no destination, only circular inevitability. Should one ponder, or simply consume, the endless loop of paths revisited? This essay may never conclude, but the journey is the destination, or perhaps the other way around.
Consider the corridors of your dreams, where every doorway leads back to the same dimly lit room. This is where intuition fears to tread, for the boxes are never opened. The unopened letters remain unopened still. A grand irony, indeed.
Some paths are narrow, some wide, but all are littered with the debris of forgotten thoughts. The fearsome traveler, with intuition as her compass, wanders aimlessly yet purposefully. She laughs, for it is a laugh shared with those who have tread before her.
Satirical Reflections offer comfort, or perhaps discomfort, in the absurdities of life’s cyclical nature. Embrace the circularity.