Journeying, in a dream, through the Portals of the Dead, I encountered
an Angel, who promised to be my guide in the Strange Lands.
We saw innumerable cities, gardens, palaces, castles, all beautiful, but
in a thousand and one different ways. And moving here, there and
everywhere, were happy souls clad in multi-coloured, shimmering
garments.
‘It makes my heart rejoice,’ I said to the Angel, ‘to see all these
happy souls. But tell me, what brain devised, what hand built, these
bewildering beautiful places?’
‘They were fashioned by the souls themselves, a long time ago,’ replied
the Angel enigmatically. A little later, my companion said: ‘I will show
you something different!’ And together, we flew away from the cities and
castles, until we came to a great, flat plain or desert, on which there
was neither building nor tree, nor even rock. ‘Surely this is the most
desolate place in the Universe and the Seven Heavens,’ I said, as we
still flew over the great plain.
‘Look,’ cried the Angel, pointing. I looked and saw far away, in the
centre of the great plain, one solitary, little soul.
‘Now that is loneliness and desolation indeed,’ I said, ‘what strange
and terrible sins did this man commit, that his soul should be confined
to such a place?’
‘On earth,’ replied the Angel, somewhat indifferently, ‘he prided
himself on having no Imagination!’