ONCE UPON A TIME

He put the keyhole in one pocket, and filled the other pocket with his egos. Here, everyone’s world was as much as they could see through their own keyhole. They would walk along the hilly roads, checking their pockets.

“I threw the cushion in the garden because of the stupid cat,” said the woman. The others shuddered in horror and disgust. “Stupid cat,” they said. The cat, stretching, woke up. It didn’t have a cushion, just as it didn’t have egos. Its world wouldn’t fit through the keyhole. It looked at one woman, then at the others. It moved away from there.

Egos had grown tired. They began to emerge from the pockets in a hurry to show themselves. Proudly, they lined up side by side. They all wore their most colorful clothes.

A carnival within a carnival.

A dream within a dream.

A universe within a universe.

Here, everyone played their role within that carnival. Here, everyone saw their own dream. Here, everyone lived their own world. Here, egos competed. They all believed in their own victory.

There were no roles of big or small here. There were no roles of good or bad here. Everyone would do as much as they knew.

Here, people believed in Sisyphus. They all told each other this legend. Unhappy, hopeless—content with this unhappiness—they carried their own boulders.

The woman went out to the garden with a tea cup in her hand. There was no longer a cushion in her garden, as there was no cat either. And she no longer had the eyes through which she could see that the entire universe smiled at her every moment. Unaware that she couldn’t see, she sipped her tea. The universe smiled at her again: “One day, you will surely see,” it whispered. A gentle breeze blew. The woman went inside. The cat looked at a woman from afar, then at the universe. It winked at a woman, then at the universe.

The woman slept. The universe whispered to her: “The day you learn my language…”