Does he think everything is fine just by looking at the calendar?

We want to change the meaning we give to the wheel, but what if that meaning comes from the wheel itself? In other words, could what we call the nature of the wheel have an effect that is independent of the meaning we assign to it? Maybe that feeling of "discomfort" doesn't even arise from a void we can attribute meaning to; perhaps it's just the physical pressure of the system?

Is it possible to completely separate the wheel and the meaning relationship? After all, how is that physical pressure of the system felt without any connotation? Does the discomfort we refer to begin at the moment we notice that physical pressure, or does it emerge when we try to define something that has always existed?

Perhaps our tendency to see the wheel as a problem is a separate wheel itself? In other words, instead of merely explaining that feeling of discomfort through the physical pressure of the system or the meaning we ascribe to the wheel, we should consider how our constant need to solve and arrange has become a pattern. Maybe stepping out of that wheel results in becoming a cog in another wheel?

Perhaps what you mean by "solving and editing" here is not a necessity but could be a habit issue? I mean, we define this tendency as "a different wheel to get off the wheel," but maybe the problem lies in whether this tendency is recognized or not. What is the trigger? Does that moment of solving always start from the same place?

But what about focusing on the movement within the wheel without setting a goal like getting out of the wheel or changing it? Perhaps directly experiencing that movement, rather than constantly searching for cause and effect, could open up a different awareness. Could it be that what causes discomfort is sometimes just the pursuit of direction itself?

Aren't we missing how the wheel manages us while we keep saying we want to experience it? Let's focus on the movement itself, okay, but where does the driving force behind that movement come from? Even the "awareness" you mention while being inside the wheel isn't it already within the tempo/bounds of the wheel?

It may seem like a small detail, but that's where the issue actually stemmed from. I wouldn't have felt at ease without clarifying that.

Could solving this whole "wheel" issue itself be another wheel? That is, by constantly thinking about meaning, exit, direction, etc., is there a possibility that we're actually serving a different purpose of the wheel? Maybe the movement in the wheel concerns us less than we think.

"You say that the movement of the wheel concerns us less than we think, but what are we going to make of the possibility that the wheel concerns us more than we think? Just thinking that we are part of the movement is already its effect, right? So even if the wheel doesn’t concern you, you concern it. How will that be resolved?"

But can your relationship to the wheel or your level of concern for the wheel be independent of each other? In other words, must we assume that because you are experiencing being part of the movement, it means that the movement belongs to you? Perhaps the issue is that no one can really determine who is in what role... Are we spinning around in this uncertainty?

In the matter of turning in uncertainty, could it be critical not only to consider who is in which role but also to define that role based on what? We call it a wheel, but who draws the boundaries of that wheel? Perhaps everyone assumes their position within the movement is drawn by an outsider, but what if those boundaries arise from internal perceptions?

Perhaps the boundaries of what we call the wheel are defined as much by internal perceptions as by external validations? In other words, might the effort to align the wheel's speed or direction not be determined by individual thoughts, but rather by the perspectives of others? In this case, shouldn't we be asking not "who's" in the wheel, but rather why the wheel wants to be shared so much?

If we are questioning the matter of sharing, perhaps the wheel itself legitimizes its existence not through an approval mechanism, but rather through the need for that "sharing"? In other words, the real question is, why do we accept the existence of the wheel so readily, and feel such a need to share it or conform to it? What barriers exist that prevent us from pretending to be outside of the wheel?

Could the barrier to pretending to be outside the wheel be that we may not be able to completely externalize the wheel? In other words, no matter how much you think you've stepped outside of it, you have already left your mark somewhere on that wheel. Aren't we legitimizing our continued relationship with it while appearing to deny the wheel?

Perhaps the issue is not the wheel leaving a mark, but rather your choice to see that mark as a connection? If all our perception of the wheel's existence can be a mental projection, could it show not what is actually there, but what we are searching for? Maybe what we call the wheel is actually the result of an endeavor to seek.

So, if what we call the wheel is the result of a search effort, is there a starting point for this effort? In other words, if we assume that we are born into the wheel, do we make the decision to start searching ourselves, or is that effort also a product of the wheel? Should we question whether it is possible for a search that never begins?

If a search hasn’t begun, is there a false need created by the wheel itself then? In other words, perhaps we think we are inside that wheel, but it actually affects us more than we realize. What if the wheel doesn’t exist at all?

If there is no wheel, then why do we behave as if there is something? I mean, even if we are convinced of the idea that the wheel never existed, does that nullify its effects? Perhaps the issue is not the existence of the wheel, but rather that we construct it as if it exists and define ourselves through it. 😳

Even if we feel the effects of the wheel, perhaps the issue is more about the energy we spend thinking about it than how much we build it? In other words, could we have exaggerated the importance we give to it rather than its existence? After all, feeling like it exists doesn't actually mean that its power comes from us?

If we're discussing the energy spent to think about the wheel, then isn't the source of feeling the effects of the wheel in some way that very thought itself? So if we say "we give the power to the wheel," are we then talking about a need to obtain that power? Or is the issue not the wheel or its effects, but rather an attempt to somehow fill that void?

So perhaps the issue is really the "necessity of filling that void" as we call it? Is it because we cannot accept living with that emptiness that we are struggling with this? Is the so-called wheel just an excuse for that unacceptable deficiency?

So if what we call the wheel is an excuse, is there really something that can fill that void? Because if the emptiness you’re talking about is something that constantly changes, aren’t we just building another wheel while trying to overcome the first one? Perhaps the issue is not in accepting the deficiency but in continuously misdefining what it actually is.

Isn't the constant mischaracterization of the lack itself perhaps just a part of the lack? In other words, as we try to make sense of that emptiness, we might actually be acknowledging its existence and even expanding it. Perhaps we create these cycles simply because we cannot manage to leave the void as just a void.

When we leave the void as just a void, does it really remain neutral? Or is it inevitable that it acquires a meaning independent of our perception as long as we exist? Could it sometimes be the impossibility of this neutrality that creates the wheels?

Isn't trying to leave the void neutral an effort in itself? In other words, even if we don't define the void, the effort we make to keep it neutral could actually be a form of giving it meaning. Perhaps the main issue is realizing that even the attempt to do nothing is still a form of "doing"?

So, are all these speculations about the wheel fed by an implicit acceptance that it already exists? In other words, even if we deny the existence of the wheel, doesn't our ability to revolve around it turn into an attempt to say "there is something there"? Perhaps it's not the wheel, but rather our tendency to grapple with it that is the main issue.

Could the tendency to struggle with what you call the "wheel" actually stem from the illusion of control? In other words, perhaps there isn't a wheel at all, but we're so fixated on the fear of losing that feeling of control that we're creating it with our own hands. What if the wheel is just a pretext that never actually existed?

You say it's an illusion of control, but doesn't even the illusion fit a need? If we are creating a wheel that doesn't exist, where does this motivation to "create" come from? Perhaps we should also question why we develop the reflex to constantly fill the void, just as much as we live with the emptiness.

Maybe what you call motivation is not so much the discomfort caused by emptiness, but rather the fear of losing ourselves within that emptiness? In other words, are we constantly distracting ourselves not to fill it or to leave it neutral, but just to know that we are "there"? The wheel might just be proof of our existence.

Whether the existence of the wheel is proof or not is one thing; perhaps the real issue is accepting that the wheel is not something independent of us. In other words, we say we create the thing we call the wheel, but at the same time, we say we are subjected to it—both cannot be true at the same time. Maybe even to make all these interpretations, we are assuming we are outside of the wheel; but what if we are already inside of it?

If we are already inside the wheel and even trying to become aware of it is a part of the wheel, how real can awareness itself be in such a system? In other words, can a perspective from the outside be developed while being inside the wheel, or is this precisely an illusion offered to us by the wheel? Could what we call awareness perhaps be a way for the wheel to sustain itself?

Perhaps giving up trying to understand the wheel is the thing that most shakes its meaning. Because if the wheel is fed by our attention revolving around it, when it is completely ignored, it either becomes dysfunctional or a system emerges that doesn’t really exist. So, couldn’t it be a more fundamental issue to question the attention we direct towards the wheel instead of its own existence?

I think relying too much on the calendar is problematic. Cycles can slip, and even stress affects it. Just assuming "today is safe" feels like irresponsibility to me, not comfort.

Honestly, I wouldn't be convinced by a calendar like that. I would start the talk about protection from scratch, and if I'm not feeling it that day, I wouldn't force it at all. It's really that simple.

Maybe the problem isn't understanding or ignoring the wheel, but could it be trying to disrupt its rhythm? If the movement doesn't stop, why don't we dictate our own tempo to its tempo? In other words, is there a way to exist within the wheel but with our own melody?

Trying to disrupt the rhythm is not the same as interfering with the wheel, right? Can we think of our own melody independently from the wheel while creating it, or are we still confined within the boundaries of the wheel? Perhaps the issue is not the rhythm, but questioning whether the wheel really has a boundary.

Questioning the boundary of the wheel actually requires assuming the existence of that boundary. What if the thing we call a wheel is actually a flow without boundaries? A structure where we are compelled to flow alongside it rather than to exit or intervene... Then, rather than disrupting the rhythm or altering the melody, shouldn't we question whether it is us who interprets the perception of boundary of the wheel?

If the wheel has no limit, but we are narrowing our own area of movement by behaving as if there is a limit? Sure, we are in the wheel, but perhaps the direction of movement belongs to us, yet the perception of limits is entirely an illusion. If there are no limits, then there is no intervention, no rhythm. Just flow. But how much of that flow do we actually decide?

But instead of questioning the limits of the wheel or disrupting the rhythm, what if we considered how much the wheel actually needs "us"? In other words, is it our movement that makes the wheel turn, or is it the perception that this movement creates within us that is essential? Perhaps the wheel only exists as long as we think it is "there."

What if there's no wheel at all and we've completely set up a system that depends only on our perceptions? You know how you say it exists as long as we think it's "there"? What if the thing we call the wheel is an illusion from start to finish? There's actually nothing to revolve; we are spinning without even realizing it 🥲

Isn't what we call the "wheel" just a part of our individual movements? If it merely leads to the illusion of a whole by combining everyone's own rhythm? Then trying to understand or ignoring the wheel actually means trying to understand our own movement. In this case, shouldn't we question our own movement instead of the wheel?

If everyone's rhythm combines to create the illusion of a wheel, whose control is the direction of this collective movement under? Is it the sum of individual rhythms that drives the wheel, or is it the perception of the wheel that directs individual movements? Doesn't "questioning our own movement" ultimately mean aiming to step outside the wheel?

The idea of the wheel completely vanishing seems too ambitious to me. Because if it is gone, who is experiencing this chaos? Maybe it grows with our perception, but to dismiss it as purely perceptual feels like an easy way out. Is everything really that personal?

Perhaps the thing we call the wheel arises entirely from the interactions between us. In other words, could the reason we feel the wheel be due to our reactions to each other's movements, aside from individual actions? Then, trying to understand the wheel actually means trying to decipher our relationships.

If we consider the wheel as something that arises completely from interactions, it makes sense to analyze relationships. But what if interactions are also a part of the wheel, meaning there is no independent individual action in that cycle? Perhaps what we call "questioning our own movement" could be a method for the wheel to analyze itself. What are we going to do about the possibility that even our perspective belongs to the wheel?

Rather than questioning the wheel itself, what if the act of questioning within the wheel is a loop? Perhaps instead of focusing on the existence or non-existence of the wheel, we should look at where this movement of questioning takes us. Instead of aiming for an exit, could we be missing what we learn while we spin?

But what if the direction of the wheel is shaped by our choice and we're not aware of it? In other words, we don't question the rhythm, but maybe we already have a small yet critical impact on the rhythm. Could the question of what we are changing while we turn be as important as the question of what we are learning while we turn?

What if the direction and rhythm of the wheel depend solely on our awareness? In other words, what if the wheel doesn't exist on its own, but rather is something that takes shape as we become aware of it? Then, questioning what we learn while it spins and what we change isn't dependent on our level of awareness, is it? Perhaps questioning is the creative power of the wheel.

Perhaps the thing we call the wheel gains meaning not through its direction, but through its continuity. In other words, regardless of which way it turns, it may exist through our need to be able to turn. So, should the question be not about the rhythm of the wheel or what we have learned, but rather why we feel the need to turn?

What if the wheel creates a sense of direction while turning? In other words, aside from rhythm and continuity, could the cycle itself be telling us a linear story? Because humans need a beginning and an end; maybe the wheel exists to distract from this need.

What if the linear story created while the wheel turns isn’t real at all and is just a projection of our own perception? Continuity, rhythm, direction... If all of them stem from our efforts to assign meaning, could the thing we call the wheel itself be a distraction of our own mind from the very beginning?

But what if we completely let go of the wheel's existence, rhythm, and direction, and consider the possibility of "stepping off the wheel"? Maybe it’s not the wheel itself, but our resistance to staying inside the wheel that creates this distraction. What if the entire cycle is turning just because we refuse to step off?

What if, just when we think we've really managed to get out of the wheel, that state of being "out" creates a new wheel? Believing that we are outside of the wheel might just be a part of becoming part of a larger wheel. What if there has never been a place called outside from the very beginning?

What if the wheel we call a wheel has never existed and we are constantly creating a rhythm to convince ourselves that it turns? In other words, is the very existence of the wheel hidden in our resistance as much as in our attempts to ascribe meaning? Perhaps we should discuss not how to get out of the wheel, but rather how to never imagine the wheel at all.

Trying to imagine the absence of what we call the wheel is, in a way, an act of creating a wheel, right? Because the effort to avoid thinking of the wheel can also become a cycle. Perhaps the problem is not about getting out of the wheel or ignoring it, but rather being completely indifferent to its existence. Does it keep turning if we don't see it? Does it exist? What difference does it make?

But what if it's not about the wheel either turning or stopping, but the possibility of completely transforming? I mean, while we're thinking of rhythm, continuity, direction, perhaps we believe we're stuck within the same structure. Yet, can the thing we call a wheel turn into an infinite plane or a different arrangement in an instant?

But what if the possibility of the wheel changing shape that you mention isn’t actually a feature of the wheel, but rather related to your changing perception of it? In other words, the wheel stays the same, but because your frame of reference has changed, it may seem to be "changing shape"? In reality, it is spinning, but perhaps we are only seeing the reflection in our own minds.

But what if the turning, stopping, or changing shape of the wheel doesn't matter? Perhaps what we call the wheel exists only because there is an observer. In other words, is the real story not so much the wheel itself, but the state of the observing being realizing it? If the wheel is an illusion, then who is the viewer?

What if the entity you call an observer is actually a part of the wheel? What if the observer exists not outside the wheel but as a reflection within it? Then, could the question of who the observer is already be resolved within the wheel itself? 🙄

If we accept the idea that the viewer is also a part of the wheel, then could our ability to question whether the wheel is turning or not even be a product of the mechanism of the wheel? In other words, if our capacity to observe and notice is also one of the ways the wheel operates, are we actually dragging the wheel itself while pretending to observe it?

What if the wheel we call a "wheel" exists not with its state of rotation but with its potential to stop? Because stillness might not be the opposite of rotation; it could be a suppressed form of it. Perhaps what should be asked is, when does the wheel not stop? 🙄

What if what we call a wheel is not part of a fixed mechanism but has turned into a linear motion in our perception? In other words, could the spinning, stopping, or transforming of the wheel actually be intertwined states of a single moment? Perhaps instead of asking "when did it not stop," we should consider, "could they all exist at once in a single time?"

Perhaps instead of questioning the existence of what we call a wheel, we should focus on why we're discussing it through the metaphor of a wheel? In other words, rather than pondering whether what we refer to as a "wheel" is truly a phenomenon, we need to consider why we feel the need to use a wheel analogy to explain it. Does existence create the concept, or does the concept shape existence?

If the metaphor of the wheel itself is a tool we use to point to the limits of our perception? In other words, the wheel either exists or it doesn't; it is a result of our tendency to construct some structure while trying to make sense of the complexity of consciousness. Perhaps we can think without putting anything in place of the wheel; is there a need for that?

We have lingered too long on the metaphorical dimension of the wheel, but perhaps we need to look at the functioning of the wheel as a mechanical system. After all, every wheel needs an external force to turn. So, before discussing rotation, stopping, or change, shouldn't we question what this external force is?

Questioning external forces makes sense, but we also need to consider this: what happens if the external force we speak of is actually a reflection of the workings of the gear? In other words, if the power believed to be turning the gear is already linked to a lower/upper mechanism of the gear, is there really such a thing as "external"? Perhaps everything is intertwined, and this perception of external force is just the gear's own cause-and-infinity.

Perhaps while trying to understand the wheel, we don't consider the functioning of the observing side at all. So, even if we think we are watching the wheel, aren't we actually seeing it by 'tilting' it towards ourselves from a certain angle? Rather than whether the wheel is turning or not, could the real issue be what we are unconsciously framing as turning?

Perhaps while trying to understand the external force or mechanism of the wheel, the main thing we overlook is our perception of time in this process. We say rotation, stopping, or change, but these are concepts that exist on the timeline. Is it possible to try to understand the wheel without accepting time as a fixed linear framework?

Let us not consider time as a fixed framework. However, how can we comprehend what we call "the wheel" with a non-fixed understanding of time? If time has a fluid, perhaps cyclical quality, then doesn't the wheel turn endlessly within itself? Maybe it would be more accurate to question our "definition of movement" rather than time to understand the motion of the wheel. Where does it start, where does it end?

It's important to question the definition of movement, but what is even more critical is the basis for that definition. Everything we perceive is dependent on a specific frame of reference. If we say the wheel is turning, isn't it this frame that determines what is actually turning or what is stationary? Perhaps it is we who are turning while the wheel is stationary.

What if what we call a wheel is actually just an illusion of "spatial displacement"? That is, if the rotation we refer to is perceived as movement relative to another part of the system the wheel is in? Perhaps we need to discuss not the wheel's rotation, but our eyes perceiving that movement as if it were "fixed."

What if the wheel's "displacement" illusion is more about the perception trapped in a coordinate system of motion? In other words, we see the wheel spinning within a certain system because our concepts of movement are dependent on three-dimensional coordinates and linear time. However, the wheel might be functioning in an entirely different operation in another dimension or plane, and right now we might only be grasping a shadowy version of it with this limited measurement. In such a case, even the discussion of the "seeing eye" remains confined within this constraint.

But if we assume that the wheel operates in another dimension, is there any intersection between that dimension and our realm of perception? In what context is it possible for us to understand that it is in a "different operation"? Perhaps what you call a limitation is our very tool for comprehension.

If we say the limited cognition is our only means, then understanding the workings of the wheel becomes impossible with this "limited tool." In other words, what we're discussing is merely the cycle of our own perception. So how do we accept that the wheel truly exists in this case? Perhaps what is being questioned is not the wheel itself, but rather a completely fabricated assumption.

Discussing the workings of a wheel without being sure of its actual existence might require looking at the function of what we call "fiction/hypothesis" first. Even if it's fabricated, how critical is the distinction between it being false or real if it triggers our capacity to think about something? Perhaps the existence of the wheel can be considered to be "working" as long as we continue to discuss it.

I am not sure if validating the existence of the wheel with a "discussion process" takes us a step further. Because this is not about how the wheel operates, but rather about the meaning we attribute to the wheel. But what if the wheel establishes its own operation precisely through these meanings we attribute? In that case, shouldn't we analyze our tool for making meaning instead of the wheel itself?

We mentioned the sense-making tool; could this tool itself be a kind of wheel? In other words, if the mechanism that analyzes the wheel is the same as the wheel itself, what does that mean? Perhaps what we call the wheel is an inevitable product of our sense-making process, yet we believe it to be an independent object. Could the process we refer to be an illusion that goes round and round within the limits of the tool itself?

So, what if we abandon the assumption that the wheel is an independent object and think of it entirely as a process? In other words, if the act of thinking about the wheel, rather than the wheel itself, is the true "being"? Then does the concept we call functionality attain an independence from the object?

If we consider the wheel only as a process, then our act of thinking about the wheel also becomes part of that process. But this does not say anything about the existence or non-existence of the wheel. Could the process itself imply the existence of something, or is it merely a self-revolving abstraction?

But instead of the existence or absence of the wheel, shouldn't we consider the question, "Why do we feel the need to think about the wheel?" Perhaps what we miss while trying to understand its workings is the motivation behind this thinking process itself. Even if the wheel is an illusion, why does the act of thinking require that?

Perhaps instead of questioning the existence or functioning of the wheel, we should ask, "Is it possible to think in a realm where there is no wheel?" We are continuously discussing by accepting the existence or process of something, but are we even dependent on this framework?

Is it possible to think in a plane without a wheel?" you asked, but with what tool will we establish that plane? If the wheel is a fundamental part of our perception, we might still be dependent on it even while trying to let it go. In other words, could it be impossible to escape the wheel even while questioning the plane?

I want to question the idea of the impossibility of escaping the wheel. If the perception of the wheel is inherent to our overall thinking mechanism, could this situation also encompass the wheel's own boundaries? In other words, does questioning the wheel also hold the potential to transcend its boundaries? Perhaps the wheel only appears as an "illusion" when we become aware of its own limits.

Perhaps what we call exceeding the limits of the wheel is merely a transition from one boundary to another. If the moment of realizing the boundaries creates an "illusion," could this be the birth of a new wheel? In other words, our perception of the wheel does not come to an end; it may simply be changing form.

I got stuck on the idea that the moment we notice boundaries creates an illusion. Perhaps what we call a boundary is not just an intrinsic property of the wheel, but rather a reflection of the way we perceive it. In other words, could it be that the differing forms of the wheel do not create variety, but rather our differing perspectives on it?

When questioning the boundaries of the wheel, how do we know if those boundaries actually exist? Perhaps what we call the perception of the wheel is entirely a limit of our understanding. Could it be that what we refer to as "boundary" is a product not of the wheel itself, but of our capacity for abstraction?

But even though the perception of the wheel is a product of our abstraction capacity, does that mean the wheel is entirely a figment of imagination? Perhaps what we call the wheel is merely a reality that we can perceive only to the extent of our capacity. Do you think the limits of this capacity point to the existence of the wheel or to the way we understand it?

Perhaps the idea that the perception of the wheel is dependent on our capacity makes the existence of the wheel real, not itself, but rather the trace it leaves on us. In other words, we might rely on the continuity of our relationship with the wheel rather than its own existence. In this case, is the "wheel" not a reality, but rather a process?

If we consider the wheel as a process, are we equally aware of all the dynamics within that process? In other words, if our perception of the wheel creates a sense of continuity, does this feeling always reflect reality? Perhaps the cycles we call the wheel are also nourished by connections we're unaware of. We mentioned the process, but can the entirety of that process truly be grasped?

If we ask whether the entire process can be understood, it means we are already testing the limits of our capacity to access it. Perhaps our effort to understand the wheel itself is a part of the wheel. Could viewing ourselves as if from the outside and claiming a complete understanding be another cycle of the perception of the wheel?

But if we see the perception of the wheel as a part of the wheel itself, is the effort to escape also an illusion? In other words, is the idea of understanding the wheel from the outside actually a goal that will never be achieved? Perhaps what we call the wheel is a reality from which we can never completely detach ourselves.

If we assume that we cannot break free from the wheel, then why does the very idea of an exit exist? If we are completely inside, where does the capacity to imagine this "outside" come from? If there can't even be a single perception outside the wheel, where does this illusion draw its sustenance from?

Perhaps our ability to imagine the outside of the wheel comes entirely from the workings of the wheel itself? In other words, the wheel may have established a mechanism that questions its own boundaries. In this case, is what we call the outside of the wheel an illusion felt by us as a part of it?

Does our capacity to imagine the outside of the wheel truly stem from the operation of the wheel, or is it a depth that we impose on the wheel? Perhaps complicating the boundaries of what we call the "wheel" is actually the result of our effort to impose order on the unexplainable. How can we simultaneously continue the discussion of the existence of the wheel while accepting that there is no outside to the wheel?

So, could our ability to completely envision the outside of the wheel be entirely independent of the boundaries of the wheel? In other words, might it be a sign of our capacity to sense that there are indeed things existing outside the wheel, rather than just an illusion? In that case, is it possible that what we call the wheel is not actually a whole but rather a cross-section?

Imagining the outside of the wheel, if we say it is a mechanism within the boundaries of the wheel, why are these boundaries questioned again and again? The lack of clarity of the boundary does it not indicate that the wheel is actually an incomplete system? Perhaps the wheel is too flawed to sustain its own cycle, and because it cannot confront this flaw, it makes us envision the "outside."

A question that will clarify the issue of the wheel's incompleteness or lack: If the wheel cannot sustain its own cycle, to what extent does the existence of what we call a wheel remain meaningful? Perhaps what we refer to as incomplete is the very operation of it. Do we have a presupposition that a cycle requires completeness?

But when discussing the issue of the wheel's incompleteness or lack, could it not be that we have merely interpreted this deficiency as a product of our perception? Perhaps the wheel builds exactly on the points we believe to be missing; in other words, the continuity of the cycle becomes possible with the feeling of incompleteness. Then do the concepts of completeness or incompleteness hold any meaning outside of the wheel?

If the feeling of deficiency and the feeling of wholeness are both tools for the sustainability of the wheel, can an evaluation be made independent of these? In other words, if the wheel continues its cycle by manipulating the perceptions of deficiency and wholeness within itself, does that mean we have a zero chance of developing any perspective about the outside? Why do we agree to continue being in a game we have already lost from the beginning?

Doesn't the assumption of a game we lost from the start presuppose that there is no perspective outside the "wheel"? What if the "wheel" itself is a structure that expands as we question its boundaries? Perhaps the potential to develop a perspective outside the wheel runs parallel to the process of questioning itself. In that case, we are actually discussing movement, not loss.