I could spend the rest of my life climbing a mountain.
A mountain called Love, or Success, or Satisfaction, or God, or many other names.
Or I could stop climbing. I could sit still, and wait silently for the sun to rise, to paint the sky with its Love, joyfully showing me that I have always been atop the mountain, and all of the struggles were just imagined. Dreamt up in a mind too used to suffering, too used to hiding from the truth.
The sun never really goes down. The day never really ends. The sun is born without ever dying. We are born without ever dying.