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I have always been in love with, absolutely mad about, weak in the knees for symbols and their meanings.

I spent large periods of my youth collecting clovers, sprinkling stars over everything, drawing hearts and chasing rainbows. As I got older and began to delve deeper, “ouroboros,” the infinite image of the serpent devouring its own tail (which is one of the oldest and most arcane of all esoteric signs), became a powerful daily touchstone in reflecting on the way I choose to live.

“Why?!” I hear you cry.

This circulatory and downright dramatic image is a beautifully stark reminder of what I (and every single human being) am capable. What could be a more visceral nudge for daily integration and assimilation, a wickedly incendiary spotlight for our candescence and our shadows?

It is said of the ouroboros that he slays himself and brings himself to life again, fertilizes himself and gives birth to himself, much like the cycle of the Phoenix, the feminine archetype. Aristotle said that infinities come in two varieties: actual infinities (of which he could find no examples) and potential infinities, which he taught were legitimate only as thought.

I think Paulo Coehlo says it best: “We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”

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