He says people who attend have sent him dreams in which scripture flows through the mind during the ordinary workday, and he will share them, from little children and adults alike, at his next lecture.

A woman friend told Neville that when she was a child her father used to say that if you have but a dollar and must spend it, spend it as though it were a dry leaf and you the owner of a boundless forest.

Neville says this same friend heard his message years ago and has practiced revision daily ever since.

A gentleman who had only recently begun attending Neville's lectures dreamed he peeled the skin off his head down to his neck and saw he was generating light from within while the outside was dark; later, falling asleep while listening to a taped lecture of Neville's, he was woken by two terrific blows on the right side of his head and saw an extended index finger of a right hand.

Neville tells of the letters that reach him nightly from his audience, including one from a lady who dreamt she met her former boyfriend's mother and answered her question about God by saying Christ is not external.

While Neville was teaching for nothing in New York, his father — who had built a fortune from nothing on the island — made a will leaving equal parts to all ten children, including Neville, who alone had lived away and had not contributed to the family business.

Neville reads out his friend's three-part vision: standing in blue robes by a gorge where light from a mountain bores a hole revealing golden liquid light in serpentine motion; a brilliant future city where people eat by tucking a card over their heart while he alone cannot; and a room with a sand floor where a nude girl sinks into the sand and a door rises bearing a nude boy carried out by four men.

That same night the friend's wife told Neville, in words, her own experience — had while wide awake, not in dream or vision — and also sent him a letter he has thanked her for but not yet taken up; he promises to tell it next time.

A few days before the lecture a dear friend gave Neville a letter recounting a dream in which the friend was in a war-torn farmhouse in Europe, saw his squadron fuse into a single being who was Neville, was led to the back of the house to see a harvest field of wheat, and was told he had been there two years and had learned how to move.

A woman friend present in the audience wrote him a letter describing a three-part dream: she woke at three remembering only gathering ripe fruit, slept again and woke at seven with a blank pad, and later that morning her friend Jan's phone call about the Book of Job triggered the memory of being on a painless wooden cross that rooted, branched and became a living tree full of ripened fruit.

A grandmother telephoned him that evening to thank him after a birth he had assumed to be perfect: the baby boy, three weeks overdue and 8 lbs 4 oz, was born almost before the mother could get onto the hospital bed.