Your life ends. Instead of whatever mythology you expected(whether it was of some continuance or oblivion) is unmet. Instead: your life begins again. Exactly as you lived it, over and over, forever.

A frightening prospect and an obvious question: Is your life one that you would like to live ad infinitum? Are you the kind of person that you want to be forever?

Rather than pondering regrets and self improvement, I am immediately spiteful. There is no life that I truly want to repeat forever. I can't foresee becoming that kind of person.

But,
doesn't one single life amount to eternal recurrence? What does repetition matter without memory? Repeating a life is not the same as reliving it. Endless beads of identical linear experience look no different than a single experience to the one doing the experiencing!

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