I would try it. I would definitely try it. I believe in taking God at His Word and trying anything. The mere fact that I can become aware of desiring to have the revelation, I will then take His Law, which is fundamental, and assume it – assume that I’ve had it. I doubt the average person really wants the revelations. A friend of mine dropped dead suddenly here three years ago. He was an author, a writer. He used to write for TV. In the old days of vaudeville, he had all the big shots, and Jean would say to me, “Neville, I love all the things that you do and all the things that you stand for, but I’ve got to live first.” He meant living – just playing the field. That’s all he meant: playing the field, and he thought that was really living. Well, one day, sitting in his room – he finally got married, and, sitting in the suite of rooms at the hotel in Los Angeles, he said to his wife, “Do you want to go shopping?” She said, “No, not yet.” “Well,” he said, “I won’t shave until you want to go out.” So, he was watching the TV – the early show. He got off the chair and fell right on his face. He was gone. It never interested him to the point of wanting to have the experience, yet he’s gone. I say, don’t wait. Desire it now. Now, Jean loved me dearly. Another chap, when I got out of the Army by the application of this law, without hurting anyone – honorably discharged, I wrote a friend of mine who was in the Army. He’s a Freudian, and he teaches it. Now he’s in L.A. So I wrote him exactly what I did. I did not hurt anyone. I didn’t go A.W.O.L. I was called in and honorably discharged by the very man who said to me, “No. I disapprove.” My Colonel. The same one called me in and approved it, and I didn’t raise a finger. I simply applied it – applied the law. So, I told him. He ignored me completely – wouldn’t answer my letter. So, he remained in for the duration, and he got out at the end as the other millions got out, but he used to come to my meetings in New York City, and one day he said to me, “You know, Neville, I love coming and listening to you. It interests me. But you know what I do? I stick I pressed my feet into the carpet and held onto the sides of my chair to keep my sense of profundity and the reality of things. You turn my daily bread into the substance of theory. I’ll have none of it.” He wanted to be right down here on earth, and well, he was there on earth for the entire duration. I told him what I did—a simple, simple thing. I went to bed in the barracks, with all the other men around me, and I dared to assume that I was home in New York City, right before my came that same sheet of paper—or one similar—that my Colonel had sent back marked “Disapproved,” and it came down this way, and then a hand from here—didn’t see the face; I saw the hand, and the hand took a pen and scratched out the word “Disapproved” and boldly wrote in script, “Approved.” And a voice said to me, “That which I have done, I have done. Do nothing.” I awoke. I was wearing this watch that my wife gave me when I was drafted. It was 4:15. I did nothing. At the end of nine days the Colonel calls me in, and I was honorably discharged, and that same signature – his name was Bilbo, Colonel Theodore Bilbo, Jr. – his father was Senator from Mississippi. And that’s my experience. So, with the experience, I am sharing it with a friend, but he wouldn’t take it. So, I could tell Nixon tonight, or I could tell H.H.H. tonight or tomorrow, but they would say, “Do you have a PhD?” The other day I went over here to the hotel – the St. Francis – Sunday morning for a late brunch. A lady came in – she and her husband came in. Well, I don’t talk to strangers. All of a sudden, she looked over at me, and she said, “Are you a native?” I said, “I come from Los Angeles.” “Oh,” she said, “isn’t that nice? Isn’t that nice,” and she started talking. You couldn’t shut her up – just one word after the other. Then she said to me, “What do you do?” Well, what could I tell her? I said, “I write.” “Oh,” she said, “you do? Novels?” I said, “No.” “For magazines?” I said, “No.” “Well, then, what do you write?” I said, “Metaphysics.” Well, she didn’t quite know that. That was something that didn’t quite penetrate. When I said, “Metaphysics,” the word struck her because in the word there is the word “physics” – meta–physics. “Oh,” she said, “You must have a PhD.” Of all the things – I said, “No, I don’t have a PhD”; and then she kept on talking, talking, talking, and the poor husband was this way, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t shut her up. Unfortunately I ordered something that takes a long time. I ordered broiled mushrooms and crisp bacon on toast. Well, that’s not on the menu; that’s a special order. So, I regretted that I ordered it. If I had only known, I would have ordered quick scrambled eggs. And, then, when I got up to go, she said, “Well, I’m going to pray for you that you win the Nobel Prize.” That’s an actual fact last Sunday morning in this City. So, I will say to anyone, don’t ask me about my PhD’s or any other degrees. Just believe it. I am telling you what is true concerning my own experience. There isn’t one person named in Scripture as an author. Yes, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, but that’s all anonymous. No one knows who they are. No one knows who wrote the 39 books of the Old Testament – no one. And, so, did they have PhD’s? Were they Doctors of Divinity?698 ¶45