You will recall having heard, I am sure, how in
the fourth dimension a person may go in and out of a locked room at his
pleasure with bolts and bars untouched. Broad and open as is this Gate
of Memory, when you pass its portals the wall closes behind you; there
is no visible opening to mark the spot of your entry. A feeling of
detachment comes over you. This is augmented by the burst of light and
color that flashes across the field of your vision, and for the first
time you understand the purport of those 'banners yellow, glorious,
golden' which 'do float and flow.' They seem to bear you on breezes of
their own creating to the freedom of outer spaces. What you had taken
for the flauntings of festivity are become the heralds of hyperspace.
As you wend your way down the Avenue of Time you feel an inexpressive
lightness, a sensation of being lifted out of yourself. The moment seems
unique. Things are unrelated. There is no concern of proportion. The
place is one of immediacy. You wander from the ephemeral to the
ephemeral. 'Time is,' you say, in childish glee. And you hasten to
assemble images as many and as disparate as possible, believing that you
are drinking life at its fountain head.
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