For thousands of years dreams have lured the oracle of the temple. She kept silent in the waking hours. Spoke nothing and asked for only one thing, Silence. She watched the Sleepy Meadows on the hills of silence, wind playing with them. 

Where there is silence, there is noise. Noise is what asserts the silence, she realised looking at the monkey trespassing the Meadows and her silence.

Where are we? Asked the monkey gasping for breath after climbing the steep hill of silence.

“Where we are going is where we are” Said the oracle.

“A Man down the hill told us you will find the silence on the hill, where is the silence” Persisted the monkey.

“You just broke it.” Oracle replied.

The monkey found the key and became a monk, went away.

Oracle lost the only company she had. Not that she was unhappy about it. As the wind of emptiness returned to the hill of silence. The oracle in a way traded the silence for the silence. No one left to trade, none left to exchange. Emptiness. 

No dreams lured the oracle of the temple.