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developed the ability to think together and became self-aware? Is this what such a being would feel like—the way I’m feeling?
    And then I feel my memories spew outward. It doesn’t feel like a violation of privacy, even though it probably should. Instead, it feels as if I’m sharing myself, like I’m being understood on an intensely deep level. Through some remnants of my rational mind, I realize this sort of thing already happened during my Joining with Caleb, but this time, the Joining is different. The Enlightened are reading weeks of my life with laser-sharp focus.
    You know those stories where people’s lives flash before their eyes before they pass away? Well, the recent weeks of my life flash in front of mine. And not just the big events like the trip to Atlantic City, the search for Mira, her rescue, my getting shot, our going on a date, and my killing Jacob. I see every tiny detail, from the sizzling hot nights with Mira in Miami to the relaxing days on the beach. I relive the science talks with Eugene and the brunches with Bert and Hillary. All our conversations, all the times we goofed around—it all floods my brain in a single moment.
    As this is happening, I feel for the minds of the people with whom I’m Joining. If my privacy is being violated, I might as well try to learn a few secrets from my grandparents and their colleagues in turn. But instead of seeing any of their memories, all I feel is a kind of meditative calm, a state very similar to the Abbot’s mind—just peace, serenity, and calmness, but no specific memories.
    Are they blocking their memories from me through some form of meditation? The thought should disappoint or upset me, but feeling as rapturous as I do, I can’t seem to understand or experience those negative emotions.
    As my memories near the end of the process of being drained out, I feel something new: a tsunami of thoughts, an avalanche of something I can only describe as ‘sacredness,’ even though I know it has nothing to do with religion or any belief system. I feel my intellect, our intellects, increasing and permeating everything, and suddenly, I’m drawn somewhere, plummeting to some destination at the speed of light, and I see a bright light flash before my eyes.
    When my eyes recover, I see a vision—or what I assume to be a vision.
    First, I’m aware of being in some place. Until this point, I was feeling as though I wasn’t inhabiting my body; therefore, I was not in any specific place, as that would require being corporeal. Now I’m definitely feeling like myself, feet planted on some kind of gray surface, eyes looking out into a vague, hard-to-describe landscape. My surroundings lack color and depth. They remind me of those green rooms where the weather people shoot their forecasts; only instead of green, everything is a washed-out gray. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch flickering gray shadows, but I can’t make out what they are.
    The only thing I can see clearly is a figure.
    It’s floating in the middle of the strange gray room. Based on its broad shoulders and shaved head, I believe it’s a man—though I can’t be sure of the person’s gender, since all I can see is his white-robed back. His legs are folded in that now-all-too-familiar lotus pose. He seems to be radiating some kind of light, which is the best way I can describe his halo-like effect. The light isn’t bright and has that same gray, washed-out quality as the rest of this place. And why am I not more surprised to see someone floating in the air like a helium balloon? It’s probably because I know, deep down, that this is just a vision.
    Suddenly, without turning around or seeming to move in any way, the man is facing me. My mind reels at the sight. It’s almost painful to look at him because he’s blindingly, incredibly beautiful. I know it’s an odd thing for me to think about a guy, but he doesn’t look like an everyday, real-world person; he looks like something else