But then again, the things this one told me: that we magnetize into our lives whatever we hold in our thought, for instance - if that is true, then somehow I have brought myself to this moment for a reason, and so have you. Maybe he wouldn't be like the messiah on the oil-streaked grass-stained pages of my journal, maybe he wouldn't say anything this book says.
There in the Midwest, even, I'd lie on my back practicing cloud-vaporizing, and I couldn't get the story out of my mind.what if somebody came along who was really good at this, who could teach me how my world works and how to control it? What if I could meet a super-advanced.what if a Siddhartha or a Jesus came into our time, with the power over the illusions of the world because he knew the reality behind them? And what if i could meet this person, if he were flying a biplane and landed in the same meadow with me? What would he say, what would he be like?
If I can turn my back on an idea, out there in the dark, if I can avoid opening the door to it, I won't even reach for a pencil.īut once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and someone stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, "I will not let you go until you set me in words, on paper." That's how I met Illusions. Still, every summer or so I took my antique biplane out in the green-meadow seas of midwest America, flew passengers for three-dollar rides and began to feel an old tension again - there was something left to say, and I hadn't said it. Having starved for a while, the car repossessed and that sort of thing, it was sort of fun not to have to work to midnights. I answered then that I didn't have to write anything next, not a word, and that all my books together said everything that I had asked them to say. "what are you going to write next, Richard? After Jonathan, what?" It was a question I heard more than once, after Jonathan Seagull was published.
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