Seven interrupted. Looking at Cyprus suspiciously, he said, “I have a feeling that there’s more to this than you’re letting on. But never mind; Lydia and I can handle whatever comes up. And come on, Lydia. You really have to identify with Tweety now. You just can’t go flicking in and out all the time.”

Lydia said, “And to think that I used to think that when you were dead, you were just dead and that was the end of it! But this is too much. And I’m wondering: How real was the Lawrence I just met? And what about Roger? And when Lawrence and I meet as cousins, will we remember anything at all? And—”

“See, I told you,” Oversoul Seven said. “In your present state of development, you need one life to put yourself into. Otherwise you just get all confused.”

“As you did, Seven,” Cyprus said. “And still do. But Lydia, by entering fully into Tweety, you journey into the source of creativity. And from this, with your cooperation, the self-consciousness of Tweety will emerge.”

Lydia smiled and tried to answer, but suddenly she felt so drawn to the baby that everything else slipped away from her attention.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Birth of Self-Consciousness for Tweety

Cyprus said, “Look at me, Seven. There’s something that you must do so that Tweety’s new consciousness can be born from Lydia, and yet be unique and hers alone.” As Cyprus spoke she began to spin, quicker and quicker, and the motion turned into sound. Oversoul Seven found himself staring at the sound of Cyprus into which, unaccountably, she had vanished. The first sound was a long, deep, drawn-out one and Seven didn’t know how to deal with it. Its resonance was so steady and ponderous that it seemed to be the utterance of all physical matter; the heavy voice of mass on mass, or weight on ancient weight. He blinked. How could Cyprus or any part of her sound so … massive?

He, himself, felt suddenly heavy too, as if he weighed more than worlds, and he began to sink into something (or through something); yet dropping with no sensation of speed or even of motion. How could you fall without feeling motion? he wondered. But the sound had him in its spell. Within it, he was aware of incredibly slow thoughts that took centuries to speak, that were dragged out across the ages, trailing syllables each heavier than the most massive rock imaginable; and of a consciousness so slow, in his terms, that galaxies could rise and fall in one second of its time.