Perhaps We Are the Illusions in the Mirror
Imagine a hoarding god: from the moment we are born, he slices off every fleeting instant, every tiny fraction of a second, turning them into thin slices, specimens, an infinitely long string of pearls. Decades later, when we look back to our beginnings, we see countless slices stretching across two points in time—countless "me" s, countless faces staring back at each other. It's like the infinite reflections formed by two facing mirrors, a phenomenon known as "Mise-en-abyme," as termed by Gide,