What else can Sisyphus do but to roll the immense boulder up a hill and roll it down.
A life of repetition.
But then as Camus suggests there may be a moment when Sisyphus is walking down the hill when he is free, though briefly. When he is 'superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.'
As Milan Kundera writes about Kafka's The Trial, the writer says that though K, completely absorbed by the predicament of the trial that has been imposed upon him cannot escape through the windows that open suddenly, for a brief instant, but, for a flash at least, he can see the poetry of the world outside, "the poetry that, despite everything, exists as an ever present possibility and sends a small silvery glint into his life as a hunted man."
Though bound to a life of tragedy and repetition Mankind can find their `small silvery glint' in their own way.
Perhaps a parallel universe can exist in imagination even as one undergoes through the trial of reality.
The reassuring thing then is, in life, such 'brief opening of windows' and `poetry' are possible. Flashes of imagination which, though entirely different from what is real, but in perfect harmony with it.
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