People die because they remain where they are, so perhaps eternal life is travel is forgetting. Limits, it might be, are precisely what make traveling and forgetting, and consequently immortality, possible, because those limits are also what prevent me from ever reaching the end of the world forever and ever, ahem.
“When first I saw thee ‘neath the silver mist,
Ruling thy bark of painted sandal-wood,
Did any know thee? By the golden sails
That clasped the ribbands of that azure sea,
Did any know thee save my heart alone?
O ivory woman with thy bands of gold,
Answer the song my luth and I have brought thee!”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Vision”