. . .

A man is there. The man is wearing a hat. Mr. Matsuda cannot see the color of the hat.

“This world should run on love,” says the man, “and not on hate.”

The man shows Mr. Matsuda the world in the palm of his hand. It is spinning. There is red fluttering around Mr. Matsuda. He tastes of the air and it is like drinking cranberry juice: it is cold and crisp and pure in him and its flavor makes him strong.

The man in the hat reaches his other hand for Mr. Matsuda.

“The world,” he repeats, “should run on love, and not on hate; and people should know how beautiful they are.”

Mr. Matsuda takes his hand.

Softly, the man tells him:

“There’s no turning back now.”

This is how it goes in every dream. This is where he looks up, and he meets the man’s eyes, and there are flower petals and lightning flowing through the man’s eyes, and Mr. Matsuda falls into them, and he knows the man as God, and then wakes up.

Only —

This time he does not wake.

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