No end. No beginning. Residing in the middle riding the riddle of life, what is the purpose? What is purpose or what is The Purpose? Perhaps the purpose is made unclear on purpose by a creator. Or as others insist we persist by chance, and the dance that is life is merely strife of a random sort where we consort to find those of like mindedness. The madness we are. A jumble of cells, confined it would seem to that which befalls us we constantly ignore the background noise. Some say it calls us.
