The ruins of the sanctuary of the god of Fire was destroyed by fire.
In a dawn without birds, the wizard saw the concentric fire licking
the walls. For a moment, he thought of taking refuge in the water,
but then he understood that death was coming to crown his old age
and absolve him from his labors. He walked toward the sheets of
flame. They did not bite his flesh, they caressed him and flooded
him without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation,
with terror, he understood that he also was an illusion, that
someone else was dreaming him.


Top: Louis Daguerre - Ruins of Holyrood Chapel (c. 1824)
Quotation: Jorge Luis Borges - The Circular Ruins

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