Once upon a time, the birds held a conference. The great bird-god, the Simurgh, had sent a messenger, a hoopoe to summon them to his legendary home far away atop the circular mountain of Qaf, which girdled the earth. The birds weren't particularly keen on the idea of this dangerous-sounding quest. They tried to make excuses - a previous engagement, urgent business elsewhere. Just thirty birds embarked on the pilgrimage. Leaving home, crossing the frontier of their land, stepping across that line, was in this story a religious act, their adventure a divine requirement rather than a response to an ornithological need. Love drove these birds as it drove the mermaid, but it was love of God. On the road there were obstacles to overcome, dreadful mountains, fearsome chasms, allegories and challenges. In all quests the voyager is confronted by terrifying guardians of territory, an ogre here, a dragon there. So far and no farther, the guardian commands. But the voyager must refuse the other's definition of the boundary, must transgress against the limits of what fear prescribes. He steps across that line. The defeat of the ogre is the opening in the self, an increase in what it is possible for the voyager to be.

So it was with the thirty birds. At the end of the story, after all the vicissitudes and overcomings, they reached the summit of the mountain of Qaf, and discovered that they were alone. The Simurgh wasn't there. After all they had endured, this was a displeasing discovery. They made their feelings known to the hoopoe who had started the whole thing off, whereupon the hoopoe explained to them the punning etymology that revealed their journey's secret meaning. The name of the god broke down into two parts: "si," meaning "thirty," and "murgh," which is to say "birds." By crossing those frontiers, conquering those terrors and reaching their goal, they themselves were now what they were looking for. They had become the god they sought.

-Salman Rushdie, "Step Across this Line"