It seemed like a long ascent to the top. The mountain appeared barren, as though it had suffered through many years of arid climate. I had no idea why I was climbing this mountain. All I could recall was that I had been reading a fascinating article about climbing. But with my arthritis, how could I possibly make it to the top?
Despite my confusion, I ascended the mountain. After what seemed like an hour, I stumbled across a small artificial structure. It was hidden behind large rocks. I was shocked to discover that it was an arsenal containing an array of antiquated armor and armament. All of it appeared to be hand-made, probably by a 17th century artisan. It was a bit scary, so I left quickly and continued my ascent.
Further up, I ran into a man dressed like an aristocrat. He was articulating some kind of ancient arithmetic. His presence aroused my curiosity. I asked him what he was doing on the mountain. He rudely responded, “Don’t you know where you are?” What an arrogant man, I thought to myself.
After what felt like another hour, I spotted a small cave. I found an old monk living inside. Foolishly, I offered him some wine. I should have known that monks practice asceticism. But he wasn’t offended. He simply smiled and said, “I am indeed an ascetic person.”
I told the monk that I was tired and missed my home. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “You are already home.”
Suddenly, I begin to hear the sound of my favorite aria. I could sense the aroma of a familiar aromatic substance. It was followed by a familiar voice.
“Wake up,” my wife said. “Here’s your coffee! You’re late for work.”