Before Seven could even begin to answer his own question, the sky exploded with images, and he saw a picture of such multidimensional proportions that he didn’t know where to look first—much less how to interpret what he was seeing. The vision was so vast and astounding that he felt his consciousness struggling to expand its reach to contain it. The entire scene was one world with areas laid out in various time periods. The architectures and agricultures and technologies were changing in each segment and the people were all wearing the unique clothes of their times—and yet (Seven saw) they moved from time to time as mortals now moved from place to place.

There were dazzling cities and the most primitive huts, all in glowing mosaics; there were factories and stone tools—and the emblems and flags of countries and religions and causes of which he’d never known.

Then—abruptly—a particular person’s figure would take prominence in a particular mosaic. The person (sometimes a male, sometimes a female) would make a simple motion—lift a vase, raise an arm, turn away. And as if in response, all of the other segments would change, too. Different kinds of buildings would appear, or an army or a vast parade would rush into action. But as these persons executed their simple motions, the entire panorama was completely altered in one way or another.

As Oversoul Seven tried to interpret his experience, he almost lost himself in his concentration. In one mosaic, for example, a woman in 13,000 B.C. picked up a simple tool—and in another mosaic, a spaceship took off. Then, however, the order of motion was reversed. The astronaut pushed a simple button on an instrument panel—and as if in response, the woman picked up her tool.

Then, so quickly that Seven couldn’t follow, he saw George Brainbridge the First in his private attic study; a miniature, but glowing with intensity. And the Victorian George was peering out of the attic window at the very scene Seven was witnessing. At the same time, George the Third appeared, also in miniature, the antiseptic white dentist’s office like a tiny brilliant white closet against the sky; and George was looking down into the face of Gregory Diggs, the thief. The two of them were seemingly frozen in the same position forever, even while Seven had the feeling that the relationships between them were constantly changing. And again simultaneously, in another mosaic the patient at the mental institution who thought he was Christ suddenly held up his hand, as if to stop the entire cosmic production. And at once everything vanished—except for the landscape, which was again filled with mist.