Writing on the Walls
I saw no more through that window and moved through the door into my room. It was then that I saw the writing on the walls. I had never before been given cause to think about the writing on the walls, until this time of which I tell.
The room was its usual shape with all the regular features firmly in place, including my own empty body on the bed, wearing a light blue sweatshirt. I saw my body just out of the corner of my eye and did not study it too closely lest I became frightened by the sight of myself. In any case, the bedroom walls presented me with something far more fascinating than my sleeping self ever could. I might have been anywhere at any time as I watched the multi-coloured words began to form and multiply, so rapidly that in an instant it seemed that every surface was covered. I discerned again the rainbow, literally because of the myriad colours displayed in the writing. The subject was again one of love and love’s longing for paradise. The only word, in fact, was Love, repeated over and again on every plane.
All of history contains tragedy in proportion to joy. I was overwhelmed and found myself lying on the bed in the position I had left my body in. I turned my head to look at the mirror hanging over the radiator, which had somehow transformed itself into a window, through which I could see into another window in another house. I was fully aware that this change in my usual surroundings had taken place and, whilst unafraid, I was perplexed. I saw two middle-aged women who appeared to be washing clothes, both wearing dark dresses and with dark hair tied up into top-knots. They were looking in through my window at the place where I lay, talking about somebody who seemed to be me but was actually this man. 
They spoke of this man who lay (or had lain) on the bed in the room, and discussed his sadness to themselves as if he were dead. I realised that my astral projection, vision, dream, whatever it might have been, was losing coherence, and I woke up a second later.
When I opened my eyes I was instantly alert and stretched my body in satisfaction. I felt a strong sense of physical wellbeing, as if I had been to a spa for the afternoon. I felt that I had never understood love until that moment. I felt like I had made it through to another stage and, for the first time, acknowledged that I might have been loved myself, if only I could have seen another beyond myself. I rejoined John upstairs and tried to explain what had happened. I didn’t quite succeed.
It is not necessary to feel completely alone in pain. When you suffer and feel sadness in your heart, in truth you are engulfed by the wings of a guardian angel who shall seek on your behalf the dawning of a brighter day that you may return to the land of living. It is surely the case that half of the world is shedding a tear at this moment, as the rain falls according to the season, be it a tear felt on the inside or a drop from the edge of a blinking eye. In every such tear is contained the soul of love and though you might ask to be raised up fully from the depths of your sorrow, it is there that you are closest to the love of your life, who is ever upon the Earth beneath your feet, though you might seek him in the pinnacles of the sky.
