Getty Museum

I have this clear vision of living in the past.

I'm in Los Angeles, in my car, driving the 405 north La Tijera, south of Sunset.

The light from the traffic going against me is greater than the light I'm following, though earlier, at rush hour, the light of the two opposing forces were equals.

The ornamental plums are in blossom at The Self Realization Fellowship. Some of the leaves have fallen, neither a good or bad thing only a sign that things are changing on that rainbow bridge between this world and the world of the Gods, and that February is now located in a season that skips right over Summer and is somewhere between Spring and Fall.

When my blindfold is removed, the executioner asks me if I know where I am. At first I say, "Las Vegas," then when I see the ocean in the distance I realize I'm mistaken, that I'm somewhere else entirely, somewhere even stranger than Las Vegas.

10, 9, 8, 7...the countdown continues. It becomes clear there's nothing I can do about my fate except to wait for it, patiently and with good cheer.

The last thing I hear before I die is Dionne Warwick singing "There's Always Something There To Remind Me" on 93 KHJ. Yes, it's been a good life but I couldn't wait until it was over and I could begin it again.