|Any way we can|
|We're gonna find something|
|We'll dance in the Garden|
|In torn sheets in the rain|
He saw stars, and clusters of stars; he saw nebulae and great clouds of gasses that glowed darkly and yet still with a white light, not a ruddy light. He felt wind billow about him and he heard something rustle. Leaves or branches, he thought; I hear plants. The air felt warm. That amazed him. It seemed to be fresh air, not stale, recirculated air of the spaceship.
The sound of birds, and, when he looked up, blue sky. He saw bamboo, and the rustling sound came from the wind blowing through the canes of bamboo. He saw a fence, and there were children. And yet at the same time he still held his wife's weak hand. Strange, he thought. The air so dry, as if it comes sweeping off the desert.
The Black Iron Prison
What a tragic realm this is, he reflected. Those down here are prisoners, and the ultimate tragedy is that they don't know it; they think they are free because they have never been free, and do not understand what it means. This is a prison, and few men have guessed.
|There are two realities, he said to himself. The Black Iron Prison, which is called the Cave of Treasures, in which they now live, and the Palm Tree Garden with its enormous spaces, its light ...|
|A beam of pink light blinded him; he felt
dreadful pain in his head, and clapped his hands to his eyes. I am
blind! he realized. With the pain and the pink light came understanding,
an acute knowledge... This was not a real world he was in; he understood
that because the beam of pink light had told him that. This world was a
simulation, and something living and intelligent and sympathetic wanted
him to know. Something cares about me and it has penetrated this world
to warn me...
We are Stardust
We are Golden -
and we've got to get ourselves back
to the Palm Tree Garden.