He stepped inside. It was an empty room with white walls. The walls were so white that there was no need for light even in the darkest hour of the night. As he got used to the glare, he noticed a box at the far end of the room. It was hard to tell how far, squinting against the brightness as he was. He walked towards it & stopped inches before he reached it.
It was an old trunk made of wood, unevenly black and brown in colour, with patches of green. There was nothing unique about it. Lying there, it looked beautiful in it's pristine surroundings. It made the whiteness seem less harsh.
He had never understood why people paid a lot of money for the old stuff his father sold - 'Antiques'. Standing there in the illuminance of a hundred thousand lux in all probability, he suddenly understood. He looked around him and saw nothing. Yet he saw.
Is this what's called enlightenment?
The radiance, he likened to a world of glamour & glitz. Antiques to the trunk, a shade of ugly reality that blots out the excessiveness in a fancy world.
The value of a thing lies in it's surroundings.