In the cage in the middle of the jungle sits an old man. He was once an explorer, like you and I.
The tigers come and go into the cage, through the Tiger Door. The door does not open to the old man.
Each night he sleeps, knowing the tigers will gnaw on his soul. He has no other choice than that.
Each morning the tigers demand he sits silently with them while they peer relentlessly into his eyes.
At lunch time he never knows who is on the menu today.
As the afternoon drags on, the tigers roam outside the cage in the jungle. The old man imagines they are following the scent of other explorers.
The tigers return in the evening and expect the old man to pray.
There are no clocks in the jungle.
The seasons have passed, and the old man’s beard is ever more grey.
The old man waits.
The tigers are kittens now.
And the cage is a moment of blessing. And the jungle is a wide open plain.