Beside a tranquil river, a man sits, his face etched with countless wrinkles, each telling a tale of time. In his lap, a bowl of innumerable fish eyes glisten with an unending translucent depth. With unhurried grace, he transfers one eye at a time from one side of the bowl to the other, murmuring in a long-forgotten tongue. The rhythm of his counting mirrors the ceaseless flow of the river before him.
A curious boy approaches. “What are you doing?”
Meeting the child’s gaze, the man’s wrinkles soften, retreating like ripples in water, unveiling a visage of youthful serenity. With a voice as clear as a day untouched by clouds, he queries, “Where does a river take its first breath? And where does it whisper its last?”
With the elegance only eternity can bestow, the man transfers another fish eye within the bowl. Choosing one, he presents it to the boy. “Hold onto this, and in time, you’ll find yourself beside this river again.”
World of Illusions 