Juggler’s game

“Have you ever noticed that thoughts are like a drunk juggler trying to juggle them in the dark? ";

“What the hell are you talking about? "

“Just watch them! I’m not crazy you know, perhaps a bit, but no too much to worried about”.

“I don’t see anything, I must say. What art is this of yours? And no one here’s talking about your craziness, tho… "

“I ‘ve tested my self upon this matter, nonetheless no one has grasped an inch about my lost Olympus”. 

A drink served in the stillness between words. Water poured, embracing the dry leaves contained in a traditional pot. The taste bitter, like unfolding an awful truth. The vessel passed from hand to hand, a shared straw placed in it is used. The conversation flowed as all these actions unfolded simultaneously.


“What’s your favorite liquor?” 

“I don’t have one, I don’t drink alcohol or something that’d alter my nature…” 

“Come on, play along with me and act like you’re this drunk juggler. Perhaps, behind all of this, we’d find a beautiful treasure to share or maybe, we’d jump into a void of a cliff facing a sudden death. That’d be beautiful, you know, with the whole landscape to contemplate before hitting the ground”. 

“You know, if been a while since we’ve this kind of chat, one can’t really tell if they’re existential musings or just some cuckoo thoughts from your mind. Honestly, it’s hard to follow you. It’s like going on a rollercoaster of words without meaning, why?!” 

“Oh my dear, I just want to kill time by living and playing with this dark room. It is quite hilarious, really. Everybody has made such fuss about it. We have build temples, skyrockets, roads, trains… That same old dark room, full of drunken thoughts have created everything that you see or not as gods, angels, demons, concepts, you name it. It’s a fabulous thing. Nonetheless, let's look at this analogy with our juggler: the more balls or cones they throw, the more impressive it looks, like a castle”. 

Silence took over the moment, and eyes began to glance around. A subtle agitation happened, like quantum particles moving back and forth—clashing or avoiding each other. Yet, no one could truly perceive this kinetic dance, not even in the silence of their gazes.

“All right, I get your point. I’ll try to find myself in that dark room of yours, is it yours, right?” 

“Oh no! One can’t possess it! It is a bit dangerous to do that. Let’s look at it as an open space, a public space. Within it, you’ll find an entire universe of jugglers, like yourself, but drunk”. 

“Why do I have to be drunk? What’s the purpose of that?” 

“ ‘Cause there’s this kind of “ivresse” of juggling images, nonsensical words, symbols, all while trying to catch them. It provokes this art of building, painting, writing, pondering… It’s this eternal quest of finding something true. But, in reality, it’s just a grand comedy and quite burlesque. Some of us holler, proclaiming ourselves the king or queen of that room! When they do, they mold themselves, their bodies, their wardrobe, and so forth to give the appearance of truth. And then, it comes the laughter, like watching a clown just being a clown”. 

“I’m kind of confused… Nobody can possess this dark space because we can’t see it, right? And yet you say that inside it there’s this universal mind. Since you’re describing it with words, symbols, and all the rest, doesn’t that mean it’s there? But still, no one can possess it?”

“Now you're getting drunk!” 

Another round of the bitter water served, this time hotter, allowing the dry leaves to release their molecules and essence, fueling the shared cogitation. The effect is quite curious for the minds and the temples that hold them—an uplifting energy begins to emerge.

“Wait… This’s getting interesting. Is there a way out of this dark room? Or can I just turn on the lights to perceive all the movement and catch every image being produced?” 

“Well, there’s no power to light up the room. But, a way out may exist, could you go any further with it?” 

“I’m just wondering if there’s an exit or a door that could unfold other rooms or whatever, then what could happen? I’m dying to know if there’s a way out!”

“Why?”

“You have said that we’re drunk here, juggling images. One can observe this action and then, questions arise. What if one gets sober? What if one doesn’t want to juggle anymore? What if one trades juggling for another trick that could be just as mesmerizing? What if one simply starts to walk around the room in silence?” 

“Then the game is finished! You’d be no longer the juggler, but someone else entirely. Still, whoever you’d become could restart the game with other ways to twist images, you’ve already said it. The tornado comes, whether you like or not. There is something that triggers inwardly and outwardly, it’s just a matter of time and space. There’s beauty in this madness; chaos comes alive the moment you try to control the tricks, the light, or even yourself”.

A few minutes passed while the last cup of the bitter water drunk. All eyes stared, searching for that loophole in the dark room. Every spoken word became another entrance to the room; every silence was an opportunity to search around it. Perhaps the game has no end; perhaps every behavior mirrors the juggler’s drunkenness. Both characters bid farewell to the bitter path that started the game.