In my dream I once stood at the foot of a grey, dusty mountain with a mighty finger on its summit. Some wise man began to read from the holy book, as I started to go around the mountain. I was like a clock hand which traced on the ground a perfect square shape. I was no longer outside the mountain, since it disappeared. I was now inside an immense temple whose walls were carved out of glimmering rock. The higher I was, the more the path I had traced resembled a circle. Once I could no longer hear the wise man's words, I went back outside. The path was gone. In the distance I could see Hindu temples. It was a hot day and children were cooling down in miniature fountains.
After some time, I decided to carve out a stone ladder. One cannot go on endlessly breaking the same thing.