A few months ago I wrote: peel, reveal, appeal, and final repeal. I don’t remember exactly what inspired me to write it, but I suppose it’s because of my deep interest in the becoming and undoing of the self, the exposure and the withdrawal I am constantly cycling through.

And just yesterday, for the first time, I heard of the immortal jellyfish, Turritopsis dohrnii. If I am correct, when this extraordinary creature is hurt or stressed, it can revert its cells back to a younger state, essentially beginning its cycle again.

I wonder what it would be like to return to a younger self every time you are injured or threatened. What if humans lived in a constant cycle: peel, reveal, appeal, and final repeal?

Peel, in adolescence, like the jellyfish, we shed the weight of age.

Reveal, in young adulthood, the opening of the self to the world.

Appeal, as the natural cycle of life, to the pleasure and ease, the pain, the threats.

Repeal, the escape from death, or perhaps only the postponement of it.

A part of me believes that our soul, our essence, does not die. Where it goes and for how long, I truly don’t believe one thing or another. I sometimes think of reincarnation, and other times think that some other form of magic happens. And other times, I think, “lights out, game over.” It is all part of the never-ending cycle.

The more I cycle through these acts — peel, reveal, appeal, and repeal — the more I feel as though I know nothing. Once it might have scared me, but as of late, it is refreshing, it is liberating. I can peel off as many layers until my final repeal. Because unlike the fascinating Turritopsis dohrnii, I cannot revert to a younger state, and nor do I want to. But like the immortal jellyfish, I can start over as many times as I like, as many times as I am willing to go through the often painful yet transformative cycle. My life is not linear, that much I understand. Until I wear out the repeal, the circular and the shedding will always appeal to me.