I was being led by the hand. I felt the fingers of my hand of glory close on that other hand, fibrous and inert, like papier-mâché. I couldn’t see who was leading me, but I knew they weren’t invisible, they weren’t in the dark, they were lit up with light I couldn’t see yet. They were going to lead me by my hand of glory to the light that it cast, and I would see them by that light then. I just wasn’t different enough yet. But I had to try, that was part of it. Now that I think back on that night, I think I did see something, a flash of an outline, a stiff form maybe, just dimly illuminated against the unseeing—I can’t call it darkness because it’s full of light—it’s the sleeping world that wants me to believe in it that puts the darkness between us. I have to keep pushing further into it to get through, to see the glory of awakening. In time, I will see the one leading me by my hand of glory.

...In the stories, the hand of glory is caricatured as a tool for thieves. What would burglars know about glory, the hidden light? Who could care about anything else, if they truly possessed glory already? If I’m going to be a thief, then I will be thief who steals back what is mine, all those stolen moments wasted trudging through one weary day after another, running errands for Mack, Mack and cousin Doris, Mack and Cousin Doris. Thin pretexts! I can hear laughter somewhere. I think it must be mine, too. They are going to throw me out of here. It won’t be long before I hear their feet on the stairs. Let’s go and see what he’s been up to... I can’t remember when I last went up there... All a dream, another bunch of blandishments conjured up by sleep to darken my path and keep me from glory, but I belong to glory now, or I know now that I always have... have always belonged to glory, always... I come and go, but the tinsel of life, the baubles and carols, are to be swept away. Now my task is to remember and meditate on what the hand shows me when my soul breaks free in the night, and nothing else. I’m done serving!

I know they are coming for me, and my hand of glory is ready.

The door to my room opens after a decorous knock. I never lock it any more—what do I need a lock for? Two of them, decked out in their badges and their city regalia, how cheaply bought! I show them what real glory looks like. I don’t say a word, I just face them. I raise my hand of glory, and I light it.

That stopped them.