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of mistaken identity.”
    The man moved off slowly.
    As soon as he was out of earshot, a woman poked at Jacob with her chin and asked:
    “Why didn’t you tell that man he was crazy?”
    “Why?” asked Jacob. “Because understanding is living in a house where every room has a pointof view. Sanity may be only mutually agreed upon reality and reality a handle of convenience we attach to our experience. Perhaps he saw other realities. Too often, those who do not dream seek to destroy the dreamer by waking him.”
    “Huh?” said the lady, unsure what Jacob meant and raising her nose…. “Well, he shouldn’t have treated you that way.”
    But Jacob was not confused about who he was. “The part of that man that I did not like is also a reflection of me!”

ARRIVING AT OUR EXPECTATIONS
    A young man, caught in an argument with himself, came to see Jacob.
    “I want to believe in God but I don’t understand God,” he said.
    “Neither do I,” said Jacob. “But, then, God isn’t designed to fit into my mind. Each of us is from the hand of God. None of us is The Hand.”
    “Well, how can you have faith when you look at all the terrible things that have happened to innocent people?”
    “Because there is great sadness in life does not mean God doesn’t exist. I choose hope over despair.”
    “So you have no proof.”
    “Most of us find what we are looking for,” said Jacob. He looked up and saw clouds circling inevitably toward rain.
    “Walk with me for a while,” Jacob said to the young man, and they moved silently through the changing weather.
    Then, without explanation, Jacob stopped and told his companion to find a tree that they could plant.
    “A tree?” asked the young man. “If we plant a tree here by the road, someone else will certainly come along and chop it down.”
    “Very well,” said Jacob. “I will plant the tree.”
    “But what shall I do?” asked the young man.
    “Oh, you?” asked Jacob, his mind acting as if it were already somewhere else. “You will find somebody to chop down the tree.”

FROM WITHIN A DAYDREAM, I AWAKE FROM WITHIN A MOMENT, I RETURN TO TIME
    T he night brought its own silence, and this silence carried its own sounds.
    Jacob sat at home, sat staring at his fingers which were laced together in his lap.
    In the distance, his mind crossed and recrossed the river.
    He could see the bridge like a wooden hand reversely cupped and spanning the river.
    He saw every obstacle as an experience waiting for a person whose faith would bridge his doubts.
    He studied notes to himself that lay in his room like the random scattering of leaves in fall.
    “
No act is an orphan
.”
    “The fruit of a lie is rotten before it is ripe.”
    “The wealthy will throw coins over a wall to the poor but will not pay to have the wall taken down.”
    “The moments we do not spend are not saved.”
    Jacob’s mind stepped out onto its bridge, listened for his doubts, and felt The Hand beneath him stir.

IN THE ASHES
    W hen Jacob woke, he opened his eyes cautiously.
    He reassured himself by measuring his pace in each word of his morning prayer.
    He was anxious to get to the bakery while it was still dark, to lay his cheek on the warming oven.
    Nevertheless, halfway to the bakery, Jacob decided to stop at Mr. Gold’s, hoping he would be awake.
    Under the lamp post of a full moon, Jacob rapped gently on the shutters closeting Mr. Gold’s window.
    Mr. Gold heard the sound and thought he was a young man again, being called to prayers.
    “I’m coming! I’m coming!” he shouted to the dawn.
    Jacob was touched to see memory capable of drawing Mr. Gold out of the darkness.
    When he saw it was Jacob, Mr. Gold motioned for his friend to come in and grew a smile for his company.
    Then, just as quickly, Mr. Gold’s head dipped downward. “Do you know who I am, Jacob?”
    He didn’t give Jacob an opportunity to speak.
    “I am an old man, and I am dying.”
    Mr. Gold seemed to sink beneath his