"You are not alone," the mind-voice said, and it was what I had been waiting to hear. "You are one with all good things. The door you have been seeking is open. You have only to walk through." I had been swimming, but now I walked. It was like no other kind of walking. It was like ice-skating in a way, a smooth, effortless glide. The tiny me walked, glided, out of my body and up, up in a curl of smoke, across a million miles of blackness toward the shimmering worlds. "I found the door," I thought, and knew the words were being communicated to him. "I thank you and I am walking through. It is a beautiful world you have. It sparkles so. I love it." I could say these things to him with my mind, meaning them, unashamed of the innermost feelings that would have been throttled off unspoken if I'd had to use the vulgarity of speech. He understood that, too, and his smile became warmer. There was a bond here I'd never experienced, a warm gushing of myself to him and to this world he'd opened for me. The warmth was reciprocated instantly. His face showed it, his mind told me and the glittering worlds seemed to join in his message of esteem and one-ness. There was more; but later I couldn't remember it all. The beauty of a thing can't be recreated in its absence. Only the memory of it lingers. But the memory of an exalted experience has a beauty of its own. After a while I came back. Back to my gross self lying on the bed, the jade-green cigaret holder in my fingers, a long ash on the end of the cigaret. So I had been away only a minute or two in our time. It had seemed hours in his. Gradually the sparkling worlds reverted to patches of sunlight and the dust-cloud to tobacco smoke. Jones stood near the bed. Gently he took the holder from my fingers and snuffed out the cigaret in the ashtray. "You are pleased," he said, speaking with his voice now. "You have told me that." "Yes," I said. "Oh, yes." I wanted to say much more, but the inhibition of speech was on me now. "I understand. Do not talk. You are still too close to it. The change is too great. But some of it remains with you, does it not?" I nodded. It did. There was no great letdown. No harsh awakening to the detested world of everyday. It must have been because I carried over with me enough of the memory to cushion the shock of adjustment. I sat up. I felt fine. "You have had only a glimpse," he said. "You must go now. But perhaps you will come back?" "Please," I said. "Of course. I will call you." He helped me on with my coat. I went down the stairs and out into the sunlight. * * * * * Jones didn't call for days. I hardly left my room, waiting for the phone to ring. Once I walked over toward 45th Street, but I turned back before I got there. Jones had said he'd call me and I didn't want to get him angry with me. Rollo came over to my place one night. He had some junk left over from scoring and offered me a fix. I didn't want it.