But as my friend last Friday night, speaking of his mother, and how many years ago he came to the conclusion she was only an image, an image of the material world. Then came this wonderful mystical experience where he finds himself a young man in a suite of rooms looking out over the sea. He sits down and he writes a letter to his mother. He’s just about to go out to post it when a lady enters through the front door, and he turns to her and says, “I’ve just decided to go post a letter to my mother, but I’ve only just remembered that she’s dead, that she died.” So the lady said, “Yes, she died a long, long time ago,” which surprised him because it didn’t seem that she was gone that long. In our measure of time it was only a few months, but she implied it was a long, long time ago. Then he asked a very simple question, “Well, hasn’t my mother been paying for these rooms?” and she replied, “No, the undertaker has been doing it. He felt it better that you should think that she was providing for you until you came to your senses.”406 ¶13