What had happened to me? Can the mind play such tricks? Had it really been no more than a fantasy? If that was true, I’d never be able to write about it—or could I? God knows there are enough flakes cranking out books on subjects like voices from beyond, the transmigration of souls, and the transposition of bodies. Why couldn’t I do the same? No! That I could never bring myself to do. Even so, perhaps I had better make notes of all I could remember while it was still fresh in my mind. Dreams fade fast, according to what I had read, and maybe someday it would be important to someone researching the unknown workings of our subconscious mind. I really should describe how Mary Magdalene had looked, Mark’s early morning trip to the tomb, why Peter was not at the crucifixion, and so much more, especially the statue of Jesus in Joseph’s palace.

Maybe I could still complete “The Christ Commission.” But if I did, would I be accused of copping out—of trying to make amends for what I had said on the “Tonight Show.” And how could I explain my conversion from a doubter to a believer? By writing in the book’s forward that I had dreamed what I believed to be the truth about Jesus? Never! We have enough crackpots singing that song while they hustle dollars from nice, gullible people willing to clutch at any straw to make their faith meaningful. No. That line wouldn’t play anywhere, not even in Marin County! But who would believe me if I told them that it had not been a dream and that I had actually talked with the Temple guard who had received the burial napkin from Jesus as he walked away from his tomb? Who would believe that the stone had been rolled away after, not during, the resurrection? No one! Including Kitty. Sooner or later some high-priced shrink would listen to my story, nod his head wisely, and prescribe a long vacation with plenty of rest.

I suddenly felt cold, even though the morning sun was shining on me. I touched my forehead and it was burning. I went back inside, dropped my jacket on the bed, and continued on to the bathroom. I turned on the cold water until the sink was nearly filled and splashed the stuff over my head and face. Felt great. Then I let it drain and brushed my teeth until the gums hurt. Head buried in the hand towel, I backed out of the bathroom. My thigh brushed against something hanging on the doorknob. It swayed back and forth, noisily bumping against the wood, sparkling in the glow from the fluorescent light above the sink.