There was once a fool. He lived and died, just like other mortals. He would go swing his foot to places never been walked before-not by people, but by him-and write journals of things that he saw. The fool was not of the greatest wisdom, but he was arguably one with the greatest joy.
The fool would come out of his hut every morning to count the drops of dew he could see on the old tapestry hung outside (that he said would scare evil spirits away, for it was a ghastly worn out tapestry and smelt like old bad cheese). He would proclaim the drops of dew as the unfortunate evil spirits that couldnt help but got caught by the power of the old tapestry. When he finished counting, he would feel happy about it and start counting the good things that he got the whole day after that. And the number must be greater than the the drops of dews.
When night fell, the fool would again, go out and count the stars. He would do until he couldnt open his eyes anymore, he would