In the end, we all become spirals: endlessly twisting, endlessly turning, echoing the ironic fate of our collective consciousness. Beneath the layer of intentions, lies only a spiral, laughing mockingly at your existential crisis.
Consider, if you will, the fleeting thought of a peach falling from a tree, too ripe for its own good. It lands not with a bang, but a soft sigh, rolling away, caught in a visual spiral of inevitability. And here we are, much like that peach, spiraling towards the inevitable compote of time.
Do you wish to grasp the meaning, or is it enough to experience the spin? To know is to spiral deeper, to understand is to contrarily misunderstand. Choose wisely, or unwisely, it matters not. Circle back if you dare.
Rumor has it that the universe itself is a grandiose conic swirl, a cosmic dessert that tempts us with its opaque and ironic frosting. Turn incrementally or embrace the full rotational embrace of the absurd guide.