Yesterday marks today's fate

Common stories paint a picture of fate as an eschatological attractor: a final point of resolution where the hero and villain meet and together produce a satisfying tone—a note of irony, tragedy, completeness. But this type of content is aimed at soothing a frightened mind in need of paternal comforting that says, "Things will inevitably resolve and improve: after life, comes heaven."

But there is no final point where we may rest. Heaven is not real. Our fate is return.

I suspect that everything that has been done will be done again. However, particular occurrences will not repeat themselves, but, the things that matter will; we will repeat meaningful things.

You will only turn 10 years old once. But the loneliness that you felt on your tenth birthday you will feel again when you become 40. Such an inescapable fate is known as tragedy.

The self is a set of more-or-less interlinked cycles. We will repeat our mistakes. This is a part of our nature, and it is called recurrence.

The more effort we put into escaping fate, the quicker and more ironically we make our way around the compass and its cardinal points to find ourself again—not quite at the beginning but somewhere suspiciously familiar. This is return. And it is too seldom noticed.

History is fate. It is tomorrow welcoming you back again.

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