Listen carefully, for the winds carry tales not found in the stories of men; tales of forgotten echoes and ancient paths that twist beneath the horizon.
The self, a labyrinth, echoes the soft murmur of time's passage. Each turn a revelation, revealing nothing more than another reflection of the soul. The twisted paths inward do not lead to answers, but rather questions cloaked in mystery.
Seek, yet do not wish to find. The secret lies in the wandering, in the step that pauses, in the breath that listens. The inward path whispers truths, half-formed, yearning for comprehension.
In an unseen convergence of moments, where past and future collide, lies the silent wisdom known only to the wind itself.