Maybe I should explore the possibility of a
psychic phenomenon. Then the answer came to me, why?
Just as Max had said, sometimes we look for the answers and the
answer is to be found in the question. If it were psychic or
not, did it really make any difference? It was as real as I
wanted it to be. I was convinced that he was really here,
sitting in my home. He really talked to me. I really saw him
perform, and I really got goose bumps practically every time I
thought about something he had said. Go with the flow, Jim, just
go with the flow. Maybe I just needed to relax, sit back and
wait.
He did say to have patience. Well, I was
willing to give patience a try, at least for the night. I curled
up with a good magazine and lay down in bed to read. When my
eyes finally got too tired to read another word, I clicked off
the light and drifted off, fast asleep.
I was dreaming that I was at the spring
festival again, watching the magician perform. Only this time, I
am just a little boy and can’t see over the people standing
in front of me. They are all laughing out loud, but I can’t
see what they are laughing about. I try to slip in between the
people, pushing my way to the front, but they just won’t
let me squeeze by. They are too big and overpowering. I feel
helpless. Turning to look for help from the older man next to
me, I find my father, exactly as I remember him.
"Son," he says with a smile, "would you like to
see a great magician?"
"Of course I would, Happy Papa," I reply.
He then hoists me to his shoulders and I look
over all of the people. The magician who is standing in front of
the crowd performing is not Max Vi. The magician is me! I am the
one performing for the crowd. I wave at myself and smile.
Then the dream changes direction like only
dreams can; I am no longer at the festival, but crouched down in
the corner of the elevator at work. Everything is running in
slow motion. The elevator stops and the doors open. In a macabre
scene like in an old episode of The Outer Limits, Max Vi
walks on wearing a white tuxedo, holding a black rabbit in his
hands. The doors close and we start rising very rapidly. I can
hear the whir of the motors kick in.
"Well, James, do you know the answer to
the riddle yet?" he asks, almost shouting against the
background noise of the whirring elevator motor.
"Who am I?" I ask, as the elevator races higher and
higher.
"Yes, do you know who I am?"
"I thought I was supposed to answer who I am, not who you
are."
"It’s one and the same, answer or question. You and
I have more than a lot in common. I am you," he states.
