Neville's empty-lot story: his grandfather saw the lot prosperous in his mind's eye, and Neville saw himself as the grandfather (DeCarlo, from recordings).

Neville describes a friend, Tom C., a young man then in his late twenties who had attended his Los Angeles meetings for two or three years before moving to New York City. Since the move, Tom writes to him every two or three weeks describing his visions and dreams, which Neville says genuinely interest him regardless of what Tom does for a living.

In the same dream sequence, the lady found herself in a room full of people singing because her grandmother, who had died in 1962, was coming. Although dead, the grandmother appeared young and full of vitality; the two embraced, and the lady felt the coolness of her grandmother's skin just before her body went rigid and fell against her, an image Neville reads as symbolizing an act of love. Her grandmother then vanished from sight.

In the fuller retelling of the same dream, the lady recalls that her grandmother -- the source of her most joyful childhood memories, full of lemon pies, Indian summers, and hothouse flowers -- died in 1962, six years before this 1968 telling. In the dream, the grandmother appeared at least fifteen years younger and more vital than the lady had ever known her, embraced and kissed her, and then went rigid, dropped, and vanished from the floor before the lady's eyes -- an experience she read as revealing the grandmother's part in her life as symbolic and eternal, leaving her joyful rather than grieved.

An unnamed professional writer met Eddie around 1962 and later recognized him as the flesh-and-blood counterpart of a fictional character dictated to the writer six years before the 1964 telling.

A story he says he read in a magazine about a year earlier: a shaving father tells his daughter Debbie that God lives in the well, and then remembers being five years old in Poland when a red-bearded Gypsy held him over his father's well and showed him his own reflection, saying 'Now you know where God lives.'

Two friends of Neville's — one present at this lecture, one a young man in Sausalito — both had the experience of the birth from above, the child coming out through the forehead into their arms with witnesses present, though neither reports the resurrection first.

Neville relates a second dream of the same lady: a dormitory of girls holding twelve-day charts lettered with events to come, one marked 'K' for a child to be kidnapped, which she angrily disputed; later she returned to find her books removed and then met her grandmother, dead since 1962, appearing young and vital, whose embrace turned rigid and revealed the symbolism of the act of love.

About five years ago, in his parents' New York home, the ten-year-old Neville Mark told Neville that he knew he wore a mask and that if he could turn around he would see the being he really is; his mother, a poor girl who had married great wealth, stopped him because talk of death frightened her.

Broome's account of Neville's practice: he never read his lectures or used notes, could quote the Bible verbatim, owned an enviable collection of Bibles and read them at least eight hours a day.