you may be right Thomas – I used to love Doctor Who, my sisters hated it. 🙂
Turning a truth into a belief, I wonder if this is something we all do… I think of Jung, when asked if he believed, said I don’t believe I know… or something.

Came across the following story, not a Zen one, maybe Sufi?

Deep within a remote forest, a man living with his family stumbled upon a strange object, a mirror. Having never seen his own reflection, he looked into the glass and saw his late father’s face staring back. Moved by the sight, he brought the mirror home and tucked it away, returning to it daily to whisper his thoughts. His wife, noticing his secretive behavior and constant whispering, grew deeply suspicious.

One afternoon, while her husband was away, she searched the house and found the hidden glass. Staring into it, her heart sank. “So this is the woman he’s been talking to,” she whispered, seeing only a rival’s face. Fuming, she took the object to her mother-in-law to expose the betrayal.

The old woman peered into the frame let out a dry, dismissive laugh. “Don’t worry, my dear,” she said, stroking the glass. “She is just an old, fragile lady. She won’t be around much longer.”

Later, when the house fell quiet, the couple’s young son climbed onto a chair and reached for the mysterious object left on the table. As he looked into the glass, he saw a pair of bright, curious eyes that mimicked his every move. He tilted his head, and the “other boy” tilted his. He stuck out his tongue, and the “other boy” did the same.

In that moment, a peal of pure, bell-like laughter rang through the small cabin.

The Stone and the Sky:

A monk once asked the master, “Why is peace so hard to find?”

The master picked up a small stone and placed it in the monk’s hand.

“Feel how heavy it is,” he said.

The monk nodded.

Then the master pointed to the sky. “How heavy is that?”

The monk looked up. “It has no weight at all.”

The master smiled. “Peace is like the sky. Your thoughts are like the stone.”

The monk frowned. “So, I must throw the stone away?”

The master shook his head. “No. Just stop gripping it so tightly.”

The monk opened his hand. The stone rested there, unchanged. But his fingers were no longer clenched.

The master said, “Peace is not the absence of stones. It is the absence of gripping.”