He flew from the window and landed face down in the soft sand. There he stayed face down, not moving a single muscle. I had given him fair warning and did not expect this escapade of the flying man doing a quite well belly flop, thank goodness I thought, the sand is soft for his landing.

I was making my way across the bridge. Only a few were on a vast and lengthy arched bridge. The bridge into no-time. Few there are who make it across the bridge, fewer still that dare begin the journey. Once on the bridge there is no linear time as we know it on earth. On the bridge and beyond is All-time. A few were walking towards it with me, from a distance I saw them and was glad I was not alone. I felt a thrill of anticipation of meeting my destiny.

Such a long bridge would take much linear time to traverse. I felt something holy in the air. Something so sweet and sacred my feet gracefully moved to the front and almost I was there. It was all so effortless, so right, and how I came to be there was by touching the fingertips of those who reached for a kind word. It was not me who touched them. God touches us through our friends and passers-by. It is the the way we can get to know what God is. When we were born we forgot where we came from so we could have a pretend journey that we were lost, but now we are found, when it is our time to cross the NO-TIME bridge.

The man with his face in the sand I cared about. I saw some men at the window who would not jump after him, but they had been chasing him. They could not come after him for there was an invisible barrier they were not allowed to come through, it mattered not. Now I had to delay my departure across the bridge as the man would not rise his face up and I feared he couldn’t breath. I feared his suffocation within his great and tumultuous emotions he possessed.

I went to his side and dug my hands into the sand under his chin and tugged at his head, so he could breath. He must not lie there so still. He resisted my tugging it seemed on purpose. His lesson plan was not that difficult to comprehend: it was simply that what one is viewing may be indeed their sacred home and if that home’s owner requires you remove your shoes to enter therein, you must respect the hostess’s wishes. Why would this be a shock to him? I was, nonetheless entertained by him, but weary of being the teacher of sacred matters.