Cycles

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I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Shelley’s “Ozymandias”

Wheels within wheels, ad infinitum. I am a part of the constant cycles of birth, death, and change, and harbor these cycles within myself while living in larger cycles externally. Yet in willful defiance of this truth, man’s greatest concern seems to regard the pursuit of certainty, predicting and fixing the future, our lives and our hopes, in order to isolate ourselves from the fear of change and death.

Fighting against the tide is futile, and wastes my most precious resource, time. Better to spend the time I have on stage in living the best life possible in accordance with my beliefs and values.

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