I think of my friend Bob Crutcher and that scene of his, in the outer form the dilapidated little shack in Paris, and the war is on, and he’s fighting and fighting all these soldiers. Then he goes out and finds me waiting for him at the door. All these soldiers become fused into a single man, and I am the man waiting for him. I take him to the back, and the back of this little shack, and the fields being harvested as far as his eye could see…just field after field of wheat, beautiful golden wheat. To his left what was a mountain of an enemy shooting at him is nothing more than one mountain of harvested wheat. And then he sensed that something is symbolic here. He asked me, “What are they doing?” I said, “The same thing they did last year. It goes on forever.” “Well, how long have I been here?” “Two years.” “Did I learn anything?” “Yes, you learned how to move, how to create.” And then, he looked at what was the little shack and it’s a castle. It’s not a shack but a palatial castle, with attendants waiting to escort him to his quarters. And the whole vision comes to an end.441 ¶28