OFF LIMITS
In a room, on a table, there are two bowls. Every morning the two bowls are filled, and they are emptied. They are cleaned, and replaced on the table.
One morning, one of the bowls is broken. The pieces lay where they fell, like discarded petals, the corpse of a flower.
“Your bowl is cracked. Your bowl will not be filled.”
“I will be hungry.”
“That cannot be helped. You have no bowl.”
“It was the other one, the other who cracked my bowl.”
There is a pause.
“It is your bowl that is broken. It is you who cannot be filled.”
“The other bowl is broken, too! Look! There is a crack along the base where you cannot see! It is cracked where it struck my bowl.”
There is a sharp sound, of one surface hitting another surface.
“It is not your business to search for cracks in other bowls. It is your bowl that is broken. It is you who cannot be filled. You will leave. You have no business here: you have no bowl.”
The pieces are collected, one by one. They are useless now, no longer a bowl. They are simply pieces, purposeless, functionless, formless.
The other bowl sits alone, hiding its flaw where it may be overlooked. It is filled. It is emptied. It is cleaned, and carefully replaced on the table.