His dream was as follows:—­

He was still in his room, he thought, but no longer in his chair.  Instead, he stood in the very center of the floor, or at least poised somewhere above it, for he could see at a glance, without turning, all that the room contained.  He directed his attention—­for it was this, rather than sight, through which he perceived—­to the piano, the chiffonier, the chairs, the two doors, the curtained windows; and finally, with scarcely even a touch of surprise, to himself still sunk in the chair before the fire.  He regarded himself with pleased interest, remembering even in that instant that he had never before seen himself with closed eyes....

All in the room was extraordinarily vivid and clear-cut.  It was true that the firelight still wavered and sank again in billows of soft color about the shadowed walls, but the changing light was no more an interruption to the action of that steady medium through which he perceived than the movement of summer clouds across the full sunlight.  It was at that moment that he understood that he saw no longer with eyes, but with that faculty of perception to which sight is only analogous—­that faculty which underlies and is common to all the senses alike.

His reasoning powers, too, at this moment, seemed to have gone from him like a husk.  He did not argue or deduce; simply he understood.  And, in a flash, simultaneous with the whole vision, he perceived that he was behind all the slow processes of the world, by which this is added to that, and a conclusion drawn; by which light travels, and sounds resolve themselves and emotions run their course.  He had reached, he thought, the ultimate secret....  It was This that lay behind everything.

Now it is impossible to set down, except progressively, all this sum of experiences that occupied for him one interminable instant.  Neither did he remember afterwards the order in which they presented themselves; for it seemed to him that there was no order; all was simultaneous.

But he understood plainly by intuition that all was open to him.  Space no longer existed for him; nothing, to his perception, separated this from that.  He was able, he saw, without stirring from his attitude to see in an instant any place or person towards which he chose to exercise his attention.  It seemed a marvelously simple point, this—­that space was little more than an illusion; that it was, after all, nothing else but a translation into rather coarse terms of what may be called “differences.”  “Here” and “There” were but relative terms; certainly they corresponded to facts, but they were not those facts themselves....  And since he now stood behind them he saw them on their inner side, as a man standing in the interior of a globe may be said to be equally present to every point upon its surface.