Chapter Three
“Are you God?”
Even as I asked the question, I regretted it.
Somehow, before he even answered, I already knew he was not.
Wherever I was, I still could not comprehend what was happening. How could something be completely one way and completely another at the same time? How could time feel like a millisecond, yet seem to stretch into years? How could a light-year seem no farther away than the space between two thoughts? How could the colors be so grand and vibrant, yet calm and gentle at the same time?
The greatest mystery of all was the one standing before me.
I knew, without anyone telling me, that he could look completely through me. Every emotion, every memory, every fear, every joy I had ever experienced lay open before him. He could examine my soul as easily as I might look into a clear stream. I stood completely exposed, yet strangely I felt no shame. I felt only truth.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew he was not God.
I also knew I had probably crossed a boundary that should not have been crossed.
I expected overwhelming power. I expected anger. I expected a force so great it might cast me into eternity itself.
Instead, his answer came with complete calm.
“Are you not created in God’s image?”
I nodded.
“Then tell me… am I God?”
He left the answer for me to discover.
I stood silently studying him. Was this another lesson? Was it like boot camp, where the expectation was not simply to give the correct answer, but to understand why it was correct? Was I supposed to search my own heart before asking another question?
What seemed like forever may have lasted only an instant.
Finally, he looked directly at me.
“Are you ready to begin your mission, Marine?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then touch my garment.”
I slowly reached toward him and gently grasped the hem of his garment.
The sensation overwhelmed me.
No earthly words could describe its texture. It seemed softer than silk, yet stronger than anything ever created. Fire could not consume it. No weapon could penetrate it. It carried a warmth unlike heat—a warmth that spoke of complete security. For reasons I could not explain, I knew I could touch only the hem. Anything more felt beyond my ability to endure.
The Teacher looked ahead.
“Come,” he said quietly. “We have much to learn.”
Instantly we were moving again.
We were not walking.
We were not flying.
We were simply… moving.
The speed was beyond anything I could comprehend. No aircraft mankind has ever built could have approached it. Yet somehow we moved slowly enough that, had there been a flower before us, I could have watched a caterpillar crawl across one of its leaves.
The contradiction consumed my thoughts.
How could something move so quickly and yet so gently? How could distance disappear while every detail remained perfectly clear? How could so many things exist at the same time?
Finally, I found the courage to ask.
“Teacher, why is everything so vast? Why does everything seem capable of existing all at once?”
He answered without hesitation.
“This represents your soul.”
I listened without speaking.
“You cannot comprehend it while you remain bound to your earthly body. Your ability to reason compared with the wisdom of the Lord is like a speck of dust resting upon the tip of a pen. It is so small that you cannot begin to measure the difference. Until your soul finally leaves your body, there are realities your earthly mind cannot fully understand.”
His words did not discourage me.
They humbled me.
For the first time since this journey had begun, I was no longer asking whether I was dreaming.
Instead, another question quietly entered my mind.
Had I ever truly understood reality at all?