History rarely moves in one direction. It loops and twists, its path shaped as much by loss as by achievement. Old stories like the ouroboros remind us that beginnings and endings are often the same point, just seen from a different angle. Civilizations build and collapse, sometimes convinced they’ve learned enough to escape old mistakes, sometimes blind to their own patterns.
We like to think we’re advancing more rational, more enlightened, more immune to failure than those who came before. But beneath all the talk of progress, something else a quieter cycle of pride and humility, remembering and forgetting, building up and breaking down.
I’m not interested in telling a story of heroes and villains, or of decline as some tragic inevitability. What fascinates me is the tension at the heart of every great how the same energy that drives us to build can, if left unchecked, bring everything down. Ambition and imagination shape our best ideas, but also tempt us to overreach. The more certain we become, the more we risk missing what’s really happening around us.
The ouroboros isn’t just a myth of endless return; it’s also a warning about ignoring our own blind spots. Seeing ourselves clearly recognizing our potential for both greatness and failure doesn’t mean giving up. If anything, it’s the only way to move forward with any honesty.
This book isn’t here to predict the future, or to lay out neat solutions. It’s an attempt to look closely at where we are now, at the structures we’ve built, and at the ways we fool ourselves about their strength. The so-called “empire of ego” isn’t some ancient artifact; it’s still with us, woven into everything we do.
Whether or not the cycle repeats isn’t really the question. What matters is if we’re willing to notice it as it happens, and whether we’re brave enough to imagine something different when the chance appears.