As the Fool walked across the shallow lake towards the two towers and the bright moon, he saw an island that had a vineyard on it. He trudged through the water in that direction to see if he could find some wine to drink there.
When he arrived, he found a farmhouse that looked cozy. He could see a fire roaring inside, making all the windows glow. He saw blankets and furs everywhere. The Fool wanted to break in and snuggle by the fire. He saw a long wood table that had a feast laid across it. The Fool could smell the aromatic food from outside. Whoever lived here, lived well.
In the yard, he found a large wine barrel filled with grapes. Gold chalices sat on top of the grapes. The Fool saw that this was where one would do the wine treading, crushing the grapes to make the juice that would ferment into wine.
He almost didn’t notice the man walking away from the farmhouse and towards a treacherous mountain pass. The man looked sad and dejected. The moon made him glow a ghostly white.
Where are you going? the Fool asked the man.
Far away from here, the man said, without looking back.
The Fool followed the man into the mountain pass, where a long, winding, treacherous path rose up into the mountains. The rays of the moon seeped into the crevice and lit up the surface of the path. The man held a tall walking staff and wore a large hat.
Where are you going? the Fool asked again.
I told you, the man responded. Far away from here.
Why? the Fool asked.
I can’t be there anymore, the man said. It just makes me sad to be there.
But it was so nice there, the Fool said.
It was, the man said, but now it isn’t anymore.
What changed? the Fool asked.
Nothing, the man said. I just got tired of waking up there. I kept wondering what was on the other side of these mountains. I thought that I could start over somewhere else.
The Fool couldn’t understand this man’s melancholia. There was no reason for it, and yet he was leaving what most people would see as an eden for something whose existence he wasn’t even sure of, a mythological ‘place-at-the-top-of-the-mountain.’
The Fool followed the man up the mountain. The narrow road was hard to travel, with a sheer cliff on one side that dropped down into darkness. The only light was the little bit of moonlight that crept into the narrow canyon. The wInd blew hard and howled through the stone walls and the Fool was scared that he would get blown right off the side of the cliff and into the abyss.
The man and the Fool summited the mountain and from that height they could see that a sea surrounded them, nothing else. The moonlight illuminated everything, and there was nothing.
The man looked around several times before sighing and sitting down.
Are you going to go back to your home? the Fool asked.
No, the man said, I will be fine right here.
Your home is so much better than this, though, the Fool said, pleading with the man to give up his foolish quest.
The man just crossed his arms and leaned back on a rock and closed his eyes.
I will stay here, the man said, and maybe happiness will come to me.
The Fool shrugged and walked back down the mountain, confused. He would never understand the man’s dilemma with depression. He had his own journey to figure out.