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He leaned over his cup as he put his fingers to his forehead, narrowed his eyes, and probed deeply into the vault of memory. Then he cautiously suggested, “Maybe ... and only maybe... I might have been given the facts about him and you during the closing part of my recent experiences. But I can’t remember clearly.” “Fine! Good!” I exclaimed. “I myself think that is how you got it. It strikes an identical note in my own such experiences, where the memory closed on the events of recent things, to re-open on them months later. Somehow, in some way, Iam more associated with your experiences than I had thought before now. Go ahead, Adam, tell your story.” My fervor gave him the spark. Too much spark. He was transfixed on an image in his mind. Though he could not remember how he knew of Earl, he was remembering something that was dear, yet gone. I left the radio on, as he seemed to enjoy a re before now. Go the soft music. “Adam,” I said softly, “what is it that makes you feel so? Could it be she who danced in the glass?” He smiled gently, took one deep sighing breath, and finally began his story. The stars must have twinkled a little brighter that moment when he started, and as his words were etched in eternal “This cabin where I am staying has no electricity, no water, and no gas. There are several trees scattered here and there. One of them is what I call a desert willow. “On my third night, I was standing near one of these willows. The very firmament seemed strangely different. I felt as though it were centering its complete attention upon me. There was not a breeze, and the air was very pleasant. The ground seemed to have become conscious, pulsating its harmonic communion with every part of Creation unto infinity. I could hear the crickets and the howl of coyotes, sharply blazoned in this design. Honestly, I could have spoken with them all if they had been close by. That was how I felt.” 45 THE DANCE IN A GLASS record on the sentient cosmos. We sipped our coffee. I was “all ears.” This was the story