What is more integral to quenching the nagging thirst that dwells below each and every comfortable psyche, the search for truth or truth itself? If the question of what it all means simply recurses into a Mobius strip of relativity, why do I keep showing up at its door like a dog thrice beaten? There is the possibility that objective meaning is simply the applied interpretation of any given moment. That is to say, what we perceive cannot be anything other than what it is, or else it would cease to exist. However if time is relative, and memory coupled with thought allow us to continue traveling into the past and desired future, isn't experience just a shifting singularity intentionally obfuscated through deliberate temporal illusion?