There was a room, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, where the walls were covered with mirrors that reflected nothing. A man entered there one day, or perhaps one night, for time, in that space, was a notion as vain as morality. He carried a worn leather suitcase, full of unanswered questions.
- Who am I? he asked his reflection.
The mirror remained silent. The man opened the suitcase and took out an assortment of objects: a clock stopped one minute to midnight; a rusty key that didn't fit any known lock; a book whose pages were all blank except one, where it was written: "Seek, and you will lost yourself. Cease seeking, and you will be lost."
A dry laugh echoed through the room.
- You won't find what you're looking for here, said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
The man turned, staring at the empty mirrors.
- Where should I go then?
- Where questions no longer need answers.
- And where is that?
A silence. Then, a mirror began to glimmer dimly, revealing an image: an endless desert, under a leaden sky.
- Follow the wind, the voice murmured. And when you meet the one who digs, ask him why he persists.
The man hesitated, then packed his things in his suitcase.
- What if I don't want to go?
The laughter returned, crueler this time.
- Then stay here, staring into these mirrors that show you nothing. Waiting for time to pass, which doesn't exist.
The man closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing on the sand, suitcase in hand, facing an empty horizon. Behind him, the Chamber of Mirrors had closed.
The journey could begin.
The journey could begin.
