Born to die, immortal we are not, dwelling on the past, we descend looking back. No memories of the womb, a black existence. The cyclic pattern, a psychotropic dream, monolithic, no hidden seams. Climb into the abyss, another reverie. Morphic resonance has made the arrival, another chance bequeathed. A silent gift of opportunity, an experience we donβt recall. Donβt fret, just live it all.