Sometimes when wise men wander into the mist, they happen to stumble upon a place where they are shown the secret window through which they might view the truth. Each of them, save not a one, will press their nose against the glass, snarling for the thing that lie just beyond their reach. There, just through the window, the truth that may be seen but never touched. The lure of such a prize possesses the will of all wise men; and in their ignorance, they persistently press harder to the glass. The wise man’s eyes turn to white as his soul fixes upon the holy object; unable, for any reason, to release its want. Having abandoned all sense and reason, the wise man descends into beasthood- clawing for the other side of the glass, his hellish breath forming a fog on the window, obscuring his view. Until at last, when his sight is blocked by the smoke of his greed, and his grail is all but forgotten, the wise man retires to his grave, having lost sight of the truth through his desperate pursuit of it. Wise men have been so unable to bear the truth when shown a direct glimpse of it that they disbelieve what they have seen. They become so obsessed with grasping the truth rather than knowing it, that they fail to see it right in front of their eyes, as clear as it could ever be, through the window. Fueled by this greed, they toil endlessly toward owning that which they can never own. In this toil they hide the secret window from themselves… forever.


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