Jello Wall

Greasy is reality and rocks will turn to jell-o if you're so
inclined.

I, the faithful vegetarian, held a large, greasy stick of beef jerky in
my hands. Before me, looking up eagerly, was my friend the gray
cat.

We were in a large, twisting hall-way room. The wall seperating me from
the out-doors was entirely glass with an outside glass door. Outside
was a green but over-cast day. I could see trees.

The grey cat was of the street but had a clean and friendly demeanor.
Rather on the thin side, he had glowing green eyes. He came and left
through the glass door.

Regularly, I fed him beef jerky outside the glass wall but had never
fed him inside. Outside the glass wall, he had to contend with other
wild cats. For this reason, he had developed the habit of pouncing on
the jerky and looking around fiercely as he ate it.

How thick is the glass wall that holds us from enlightenment! How frail
our conceptions! How habitual our actions! It is the glass wall that
holds us from godhood.

The cat looked up hungrily at the jerky in my hand, as if ready to
pounce on me and take it. I threw it to him and he leaped on it
viciously, pinning it to the ground. He looked through the glass wall,
hissing at imaginary cats.

He looked through the glass wall that will turn to jello if you're so
inclined.