Iara Lima

Have you already read part 1 of this little story here?

And part 2 here?

Part 3 was the most interesting! Here

So let me finish this journey!

The Tower collapsed. The Fool stood in the middle of the rubble, covered in dust. He didn’t know where to go. But then, in the darkness, a distant glow.

The Star. A naked woman at the water’s edge, pouring liquid into the river and onto the earth. She looked at the Fool with a tenderness he had long forgotten existed.

“Pour out what’s left,” she said. “Don’t hold anything back. The water cleanses. The night passes.”

The Fool cried. But this time, it wasn’t from pain. It was relief. For the first time in a long while, he felt hope. Not a loud, deceiving kind of hope. A calm one. The certainty that, even destroyed, he could begin again.

He walked a little further and entered a strange place. A full moon in the sky. Dogs howling. A winding path between two towers. It was the Moon itself.

The unconscious. Hidden fears, illusions, monsters that don’t exist but hurt as if they did.

The Fool felt fear. But he pressed on. Because the Star had said: “The night passes.”

And it did.

When the Sun rose. A child on a white horse, a wall of sunflowers in the background. Joy. Clarity. Truth unveiled.

The Fool laughed. For the first time in the entire journey, he truly laughed. Life wasn’t only torment. Life was also this: light, warmth, the simplicity of being alive on a beautiful day.

At the top of the mountain, he heard a trumpet. It was Judgment. Angels, open tombs, people rising. It wasn’t about the end of the world. It was about a calling.

“Rise,” said the trumpet. “You didn’t come this far by accident. Listen to what calls from within.”

The Fool listened. And he heard his own voice. It was no longer the voice of someone asking for permission. It was the voice of one who knew.

Finally, he arrived. The World.

A dancer at the center of a mandala. A laurel wreath. The four corners of the earth—an angel, an eagle, a bull, a lion.

The Fool danced with her. Because he was no longer the same as when he leaped off that cliff back then. He had fallen, learned, chosen, collapsed, cried, healed.

And now he stood there, whole—not because he had never been broken, but because he had learned to piece the shards back together.

The cycle closed.

The Fool looked back. He saw the road, the falls, the encounters, the farewells.

And at the center of the World, he understood: the journey never ends. It simply reintegrates.

Now there is another journey. Another abyss. Another Fool—the same, yet renewed.

At the end of all things, he is no longer alone.

Because the World is us. And we are the World.

End of the journey… or just the beginning?