When I look around me, there are so many man-made objects, you almost start to believe the world is human-centered. It is easy to imagine that all the objects we see around us are a product of a dream. Someone dreamt that a fax machine could exist, and invented one. Someone else dreamt a design, and someone built it. I dreamt I needed one, and I bought one. My bedroom is filled with other people’s dreams combined with my own.

When you get out of the city, you wonder about the things man did not directly have a hand in…the old tree, the blue sky, the ocean, the mountains. Who dreamed them?

There is nothing new under the sun. Everything I write is a product of someone else’s dream, plus a little of the One that dreamed the trees, the sky, the ocean, and the mountains. How else can it be? Is the One fully expressed in each part? Perhaps the Dreamer exists in everything, and is just wearing different clothes! Clothes of granite, clothes of flesh. If that were true, I could dream anything!