When we again reached a level stretch of road, I looked out the window and saw large, billowy, cumulus clouds on the horizon. It occurred to me that I had developed the ability to look into clouds and create images. It was a powerful fantasy technique which I enjoyed. It was also a means of escaping from the world around me, and in this instance, I would like to escape from my father, who did not seem too friendly toward me.

I concentrated on a cloud, and quickly began seeing the form of a large, white horse appear across the length of the cloud. I had a side view of the large galloping horse, and the more I looked at it, the more detailed it became. I was mesmerized by its silky beauty. Finally it turned its head toward me and it almost seemed as if it were trying to communicate with me.

My sister attracted my attention. She had frizzy, blonde hair and seemed only about 3-4 years old. That surprised me because it seemed as if I remembered her being much older. I tried to figure out how I could have thought she was older, but I could not seem to reconcile the thought of her being older with the fact that she was obviously so young.

My sister began pulling in a rather long string with a fish hook on the end which she had been holding out the window. She had simply been letting the string drag on the road as we traveled along. While being drug, the string had fallen into some tar, and now some of the tar rubbed off onto the orange car seats. I immediately pointed out the stain to my mother, who began chastising my sister. Finally one of us grabbed the string and threw it out the window. Obviously the black spots of tar on the seat would have to be removed. The situation grew increasingly unpleasant as my sister began crying like a baby.

I began trying another fantasy technique. I was able to squint one of my eyes so much that there was only a small round hole left through which images were entering. The effect was almost like looking through a small telescope. This was a new technique and I was not very good at it yet.

We finally approached a small village, and on top of a hill behind the town I could see a large stone statue of the crucifixion of Christ. The cross was made of large white stones and the entire statue seemed immense. When we were almost in the village, I could more clearly see the hill, which appeared to have a large monastery sitting on it. As my father passed through the village, I continued gazing at the monastery which seemed to change as we passed it. Finally the monastery looked as if it were not on the hill, but on ground level, and as if it were not a completed building, but was only made of wooden beams, and had not had the walls erected yet.

I would like to stop to see the statue, and I asked my father to stop. When my father was driving, however, he did not like to stop anywhere, so he ignored my pleas. But when I continued saying there was a wonderful statue in this little village which we should see, he finally grouchily agreed to stop for a short while. He turned the car around and pulled up in front of what had looked like the monastery.

After I hopped out of the car, I saw that we had stopped at the village plaza. The ground was covered with large rock slabs with short grass cropping up between them. Trees shaded the plaza and along the edges of the plaza squatted small buildings and a few shops. One shop had a newspaper rack in front and I thought there might be some foreign newspapers there because I was beginning to have the feeling that this was a tourist attraction and that people from other countries might come there. I thought about buying a newspaper, but then decided against it.

In the middle of the plaza was a small statue which appeared to be of a boy, and which some people were staring at. From where I was, I could only see the back of the boy, which seemed disappointingly small. I hoped that this statue was not the one which I had seen from the road. I hoped the statue had not simply looked larger from where we had been before.

When I abruptly noticed a side street, I was amazed when I looked down the street where I saw what appeared to be a church. Over the high doors of the church was an immense relief sculptured in white rock, which showed what I identified as the Pietas of Christ. What it apparently depicted was Christ being carried from the cross with perhaps 20 people gathered around him. From where I was, I could not clearly see the sculpture; I only had a side view of it.

I hollered to my father and the others to come on, that I had found the sculpture. When I thought about it, I remembered I had heard about this famous sculpture before, being located there in this little village.

A monk was walking in the plaza. Perhaps 35 years old, he was thin and wearing a brown robe. It looked as if his hair might be cut like a Franciscan, shaved on top. I thought he might be there to give tours of the statue, but I thought he would probably charge us for it. Although he did not look as if he would be unfriendly, I did not want him to help us.

The others followed as I began walking down the side street toward the large relief. I felt quite good and I felt free. I decided to do something which I knew most people could not do: I spread my arms out, let my feet rise off the ground, and began floating. In a vertical position about a meter off the ground, I slowly floated down the street, having to concentrate deeply on the floating in order to maintain it. I knew what I was doing took enormous skill and power, but it seemed as if the others around me did not realize the difficulty and importance of what I was doing. I wondered if the monk would realize just how special this ability was if he were to see me. As I continued, I happily began humming, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......."