Let me invite you up a tree to catch a wondrous fish. Then you
may just see my back in hasty retreat over the horizon.

In ancient times the world was split between gods and men.
The copper knife split the sky from the dark earth along
the dawn-bloody horizon. The world of man was full of toil and
difficulty. The world of the gods was blissful and miraculous:
old age undone, illness cured, sins forgiven. Men prayed to the gods
for health and good fortune, receiving hope and meaning in return.
This trade between the worlds continues without cease, and the
cunning profit from it.

I recall the tale of a cunning man, held captive by a foolish
brigand. He offered for his freedom a magic box containing
what would give his captor all that could be desired. It would
cure his warts, bring low his enemies and give him treasure
beyond imagining. Now, as every politician knows, to deceive
you do not need to lie. For the cunning man told the exact truth.
Inside the box was nothing. Nothing would cure the brigand's warts,
nothing would bring his enemies low, nothing would give him treasure
beyond imagining.

"What is someone?" Pindar asked, and, "what is not someone?".
"Man is a shadow's dream", he concluded.