A woman wrote to Neville this week describing a vision of a shaft of light with angels ascending, an ancient desert-dweller before her, and a voice asking who would believe his report and answering 'None...save but a few', followed by singing about herself and the words that all heard it on different levels.

A man told Neville how his thirteen-year-old daughter won a day at Disneyland as a prize, and, with rain forecast, imagined a lovely Wednesday as her father suggested; the rain softened and the day turned crystal clear, and she had a heavenly time.

Neville describes a friend of his, an actor from Vienna, who was struck on the head about six years ago - apparently by a man from Vienna who envied him - lost a section of time to amnesia, and now believes he was wounded in Trinidad, which was only the setting of a picture he played in; he remains confined in an institution.

A lady of his audience typed out and gave him her vision of 4 September, in which she held three coins, asked whether there should not be thirty pieces of silver, and a voice named them faith, hope and love as they were taken from her hand; it is one of six case histories he has received.

Neville recalls asking his brother Victor, who made a fortune in Barbados starting from nothing, the secret of his success; Victor said he does not love money but loves people, and will see anyone regardless of the colour of their skin — Churchill would sit in the same seat as his porter.

About a year ago a woman he knows well brought her daughter to one of his meetings, where he taught that Imagination is Christ; on the way home the daughter said she believed it, and that night dreamt she picked up a live little serpent and put it in her purse, which she reported to her mother the next day and which Neville reads as the sign following her belief.

A friend of his, present at tonight's lecture, telephoned him that day to tell him that two days earlier he had dreamt of sitting in a circle beside a schoolmaster who denied any Old Testament promise of Christ and then asked whether anyone knew Jesus Christ was crucified within them - and the friend rose and raised his right hand, knowing it from the depths of his being.

That day a very wealthy woman telephoned Neville from New York City rejoicing that her former husband had died suddenly that week, asking him to pray that the will leave everything to her two sons rather than the sons of the second wife, Marie - a request he says he could not pray for; he adds that when she comes to dinner she wears $150,000 of jewellery.

While Neville was away, a dozen people wrote to him; he reads out four typewritten pages of three linked stories sent by a man who is present in the audience — the four-colour magazine produced in two weeks, the dry cleaner's lost trousers recovered by imaginal touch, and the overdrawn bank account resolved by a tenfold bonus.

Neville reads out a letter he received the previous Thursday night from a man in the audience, who — after finding The Law and the Promise — imagined a signed fire-insurance policy in his hand until brokers took the risk without inspecting his brush-covered hillside, and afterwards imagined his yard green until a stranger cleared the slide of decomposed granite for a dollar and a quarter an hour.

Neville relays Eddie's story as it was told to the letter-writer and passed on to him: Eddie, fifty-four, orphaned in the '30s, a failed suicide put in an asylum, living in a tent and prospecting for gold, heard a voice in the empty desert say 'I AM' and 'Do not come up here, I AM', climbed the hill anyway and found an uncoiled four-foot rattler staring at him, and ran.

On the night of the big fire Neville watched from the hall — going through the door into his little back room and seeing things burst into flame one after another — and afterwards his dentist Jim, who lives by this teaching, lost not a shingle: a scorched eucalyptus, and a thief who had rolled Jim's silver into an oriental rug was interrupted by a friend arriving uninvited.

A friend who had done artistic work under an unwritten agreement and never been paid told Neville the night before that the money was in the bank — the artist had come forward out of the blue with a very large check, after Neville had earlier heard that he was paid.

A woman from Florida who runs her own center and had rewritten the Book of Revelation sought Neville out one Sunday morning in his New York hotel lobby to boast of her eighty-year-old husband's sexual vigor; four years later she wrote to say the man had died at eighty-four and asked why this should happen to her.

His mother, riddled with cancer and able to keep down nothing but champagne, was kept alive two years on champagne the brothers scoured the West Indies for, and died at sixty-three looking wizened; at the very moment of her death she appeared to Neville as a radiant blond, blue-eyed woman of about twenty, brushing her hair beneath a flowering arbor, smiling but not speaking.

A woman known to the audience who longed to go to Norway but could not afford it dwelt in the state of being there as Neville instructed, was cast in a picture being filmed in Norway, and sent him a card from there which arrived that day.

A man wrote to Neville describing a series of dreams in one night, the last of which was a huge unclean monkey clinging to his back that made love to him until he tore it off and awoke; Neville interprets it as the dweller on the threshold, the personification of misused imagination.

A woman wrote Neville four visions that came to her between his closing on December 17th and his reopening on January 4th; he received the letter in the mail this week, found all four in scripture, and will use them in Tuesday's lecture.

A friend who is present at the lecture sent Neville, last Tuesday, an article on dreams from the current Harper's Bazaar by a psychiatrist who cites Dunne, Freud, Jung and Adler but gives the Bible no credit.

Neville's friend Bob telephoned him the night before: after a Pasadena concert Bob sat at home in Eagle Rock imagining a little more money coming in, and next morning his boss gave him twenty-five dollars a month more.

The same Bob, tired of the bumper-to-bumper drive to the RCA display area, spent the ride imagining himself downtown where he had worked for thirteen years; he was the one man in the whole building fired before Christmas, and ended up working downtown two blocks from his old job.

A woman friend told Neville a dream — which he had already retold at the previous lecture — in which she was among Mennonites who had killed a woman's second husband, then gunmen came to kill the woman; waking inside the dream she realised it was herself pushed out, arrested the power within her so that everyone froze, told the man he loved the woman and the woman she loved him, and released them so that they embraced.

Neville coached a New York seamstress-designer to feel, hear and smell an envelope of pay worked out to the penny; the next day a man she had never met called at her hotel on 34th Street and offered her exactly the figure, and her first pay came out to the penny.

Neville describes his father: no education and no money, who sat every day in the Silence in a Burmese chair after his 10:30 breakfast in Barbados with his eyes partly shut seeing the day's business as he wanted it, knew his Bible better than any minister on the island, and died at eighty-five leaving his ten children a fortune of over twenty-five million dollars.