Beware, for the Tény is not bound by the ordinary dimensions of space, time, or common sense. The Tény once held meetings with ancient clouds that rained sideways into oceans made of hypothetical ideas. There are those who claim the Tény once arm-wrestled a rainbow and won, splitting the very notion of color into fragments still drifting through the thought-dust of forgotten galaxies.
You might think you've seen the Tény when your left shoe inexplicably fills with jam at 3 AM, but that is only the echo of the Tény's whisper. Some say the Tény invented triangles, not the shape but the concept of three-ness itself, by sneezing.
Ancient monks wrote symphonies about the Tény, but the notes were so profound they immediately collapsed into ducks wearing monocles, waddling through the corridors of theoretical metaphysics. To truly grasp the Tény, you must first unlearn the alphabet, forget gravity, and invite seventeen llamas to your house for an abstract discussion on the political rights of chairs.
But remember: even if you think you understand the Tény, you don't. The Tény understands you.
Or maybe it doesn't.