“Could you tell me a story before bed?” The little girl asked the Grandmother.
“Of course, my dear. Now get in bed, put on the covers, and please don't get a cold at night. Are you ready?”
“The story goes like this. Once upon a time, there was a fox in the mountain. The fox was chasing its tail. The fox thought its tail was separate from itself, so it kept chasing and chasing, but never really catching it. So on and on the fox chased its tail, wearing itself out slowly.”
A writer went up the mountain to seek the wise patriarch.
“Sir, I want to write a story.”
“Because I want people to know what I think. I have many thoughts about the world.”
“So go and write. Why have you come here?”
“It is very difficult to write. I don't seem to have words to it. My ideas are grand, and I am afraid that people won't read it.”
“It is so. Maybe no one will read your story.”
“That is a depressing thought. I want people to read it. But then I try to please them, write things they like. Then it wouldn't be my story.”
There are many doors along the hallway. The hallway seems to have no ends. One might try to walk endlessly along, but no one has ever found the end of it. The hallway is of course full of people, who are entering and exiting the many doors along it. The doors are also countless. There are those who do not care about the hallway at all, and are determined to enter through the right doors. There are those quite confused about this whole business of entering and exiting, and walk along aimlessly, seemingly deciding what to do. What is even more strange is that no one knows how they first came to this hallway at all. All they could remember is the hallway, and the many doors along.