Once upon a time there was a wondrous temple, beautiful within and without. Everyone agreed that there was nothing like it ever built on Earth. The ivory tower soared high into the sky, marvellous and unreal. Paths like labyrinths went around and inside the tall building which inspired awe in all who saw it.
Beautiful was the temple, and people from all corners of the world came to see it. Its fame spread quickly.
But the more crowded the temple got, the more dangerous it became. Its paths weren't safe, nor were its galleries, terraces, or the spire from which a single incautious step could send one a mile below into the abyss.
One day so many people arrived that the earth wasn’t visible for the crowd in front of the temple’s gates. And then something strange happened. The temple priests didn’t let anyone enter the holy place. They closed the tall mahogany doors. The bronze hinges screeched with the weight of centuries of stillness.
The priests worried that the temple, albeit enormous, couldn’t accommodate all. They knew that despite their warnings people would not be careful enough inside and someone could easily lose their life on that day. They knew this, because they knew people well.
And the priests gathered in a Great Assembly in the gallery under the sunlit tower. For three days and three nights they deliberated. A single tragedy would forever stain the temple’s pure name. It would make people hate the temple. And perhaps even destroy it.
Maybe they had to make the temple safer. To put rails along the paths, to put bars on the pane-less wall openings. But any alteration to the temple that they considered took away from its beauty. The priests gave up at the task. It would be a misdeed to lock the ethereal, otherworldly building behind iron bars. They couldn’t let the work of an unknown genius be thus tampered with.
So on the morrow, as the first sunray touched the spire, the temple doors opened again. The priests let a few people in, then a few more. A queue formed in front of the temple, and it moved slowly. It got bigger and bigger. It reached the bottom of the mountain. It started to go around the mountain. The temple’s fame kept rising, higher than the spire, higher than the clouds it touched.
And then, before too long, bad things started to happen.
Many of those who waited to enter realized they wouldn't be able to do so. They wouldn’t see the temple this time, nor the next time they went to the mountain. Nor the time after next.
And then people knew envy. They knew conflicts. They knew lies. Many tried to take another’s place in the queue. Others spoke against the temple priests who let only a few people in each day and made the others wait so long. And worst of all, the lucky few who managed to get in, were looked upon with envy and hatred. Hatred the like of which was never seen before.
The priests knew they had to stop what was happening. They knew, because they knew people well.
Once again they closed the tall mahogany doors and produced a Great Assembly in the gallery under the sunlit tower. Once again they deliberated for three days and three nights.
And they decided to save the temple the only way they could. They stopped talking about it. About its ivory spire, touching the clouds. They no longer proclaimed the temple’s beauty to the top of their lungs, so the whole world would hear.
They prayed that silence would help them, and because they were true, silence heard their prayers.
And soon – sooner than they hoped for, and sooner than they feared – silence descended and worked her way. There she hid the temple’s beauty from the world. There she hid it in plain sight.
The queue in front of the temple decreased. The mountain was empty. The earth in front of the temple’s gates was empty. The queue entirely disappeared.
People forgot the temple. They lost interest in the place which was no longer famous. Only a few pilgrims still remembered it and kept going there.
Soon a new temple was erected on the other side of the mountain. It had iron bars everywhere. It had bright exit signs, it had shops and cafes. It was built to be safe and convenient. It could accommodate everyone and it was quickly proclaimed to be the most beautiful temple on Earth.
People from every corner came to see it. And many liked it.
But many others were disappointed. Was this prison-like creation really the highest achievement of the human spirit? The temple was trumpeted as wondrous, yet a sense of wonder they couldn’t feel. They felt misled by those who claimed this temple was the most beautiful one on Earth. They lost heart. They lost hope. Maybe beauty as they imagined it really didn't exist, they thought, and they stopped looking for it.
And what could have been worse than that?
The few ancient pilgrims who still remembered the old temple were in pain. They knew they had to save the old temple from oblivion. So they did.
They started to tell stories. Tales of wonder. Tales of worlds, distant from ours. Tales of noble souls, high achievements, otherworldly aspirations. Tales of a temple, more beautiful than anyone had ever seen, tales of an ivory tower touching the clouds, tales of a work of human genius, hidden in a forest, in a mountain, somewhere far away.
And they let the forest reclaim the paths to the temple, until they were obliterated forever, and no one, not even they, knew the exact way back.
And although the path to the temple was no more, those who listened to the tales and were brave enough to go far from the threaded path could still find it.
And what could have been better than that?