It was when Borges transcended the state of eternal stillness locked in the image of standing upon a fleeting staircase, exploring the intricate labyrinthine possibilities of existence, did he learn that in order to become immortal, he’d have to first turn into a frog.
In the darkness abetted by his enfeebled eyesight, he turned to his memory for aid. He rummaged and wore books; traversed through myths and reason, religion and wars. He walked with kings, tribes, slaves, philosophers, theologians, thieves, pimps, murderers, dream tigers and always, a recurring glazed, gold-rimmed mirror.
Walker, Errant 