I don't pretend to understand them.
My friend and I worked diligently and soon we had so many boxes stacked that we were separated from each other- the stack of boxes touched the walls in two places. The only way to get to each other was by climbing over the stack. Eventually this became impossible because we had managed to stack the colored boxes into smooth, sheer cliffs that we could not possibly climb. Still Sigourney had us make more boxes. She looked up at the blue sky greedily.
A long time passed. Everything stopped. No order came down from Mz. Weaver to manufacture more boxes. I yelled up at her that I was angry because I could no longer reach my friend. I shouted that her ambition of reaching God was self-centered, and that my friend and I were not enjoying it. Sigourney's voice barely reached me. She said "Well just so you know, I'm not having a good time either."
Then my vision separated from me and flew up the walls of boxes. The sides of the stack became sheer, unclimbable -- a flat wall with a gridwork of box edges. Suddenly I saw the top. It was a plateau, only some eight or nine boxes square. Sigourney was lying on it, looking up with a disillusioned expression. Her face was only a few inches from a solid cement ceiling, painted sky blue with little fluffy clouds.