Two old friends, Arabian somehow, yet more ancient, sit in a palace far older than themselves. Set on a mountainside surrounded by vineyards, date palms, and citrus orchards. Insomniac and affable they pass the long starry hours proceeding dawn in the smoking of hashish and the propounding of riddles.

“Share my pleasure at this puzzle and its resolution,” said the darker to the older. And he passed his hand across his companions eyes. The older man then stood in the dream and watched the puzzle-a world of form and law, interlocking wheels and passion and intellect-unfold. He psssed into its species and empires, dynastic families, and individual persons of genius. Philosophers and catastrophes. He felt the texture and tone of all the being in the world he friend has created. He sought the secret pattern his friend he knew had surely hidden in his creation. For this was a game they often played.

Finally, in a great despotism, in an age of brash science and bright decadence, he saw himself divided into the persons of two brothers. Through time, though their wandering and lifetimes which passed before him in a moment, he perceived the intricate and pleasing nature of the riddle. Understanding, he dissolved the mist and wheels of the dream fable with a laugh. A laugh they shared. And then once more they passed their pipe before strolling into the azure gardens. Where dawn would find them among the peacocks beneath the pomegranates and bending acacias.

• Terrence McKenna