"Dick,_Philip_K._I hope I shall arrive soon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dick Phillip K)

Incredibly, because I have never done this before, I got out my wallet, took all the money from it,
and handed the money to him. He then shook hands with me and asked where I lived, so that he
could later pay the money back. I returned to my apartment, and then I realized that the money
would do him no good, since there was no gas station within walking distance. So I returned, in my
car. The man had a metal gas can in the trunk of his car, and, together, we drove in my car to an allnight
gas station. Soon we were standing there, two strangers, as the pump jockey filled the metal
gas can. Suddenly I realized that this was the scene in my novel-the novel written eight years
before. The all-night gas station was exactly as I had envisioned it in my inner eye when I wrote the
scene-the glaring white light, the pump jockey-and now I saw something which I had not seen
before. The stranger who I was helping was black.
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We drove back to his stalled car with the gas, shook hands, and then I returned to my apartment
building. I never saw him again. He could not pay me back because I had not told him which of the
many apartments was mine or what my name was. I was terribly shaken up by this experience. I had
literally lived out a scene completely as it had appeared in my novel. Which is to say, I had lived out
a sort of replica of the scene in Acts where Philip encounters the black man on the road.
What could explain all this?
The answer I have come up with may not be correct, but it is the only answer I have. It has to do
with time. My theory is this: In some certain important sense, time is not real. Or perhaps it is real,
but not as we experience it to be or imagine it to be. I had the acute, overwhelming certitude (and
still have) that despite all the change that we see, a specific permanent landscape underlies the world
of change: and that this invisible underlying landscape is that of the Bible; it, specifically, is the period
immediately following the death and resurrection of Christ; it is, in other words, the time period of the
Book of Acts.
Parmenides would be proud of me. I have gazed at a constantly changing world and declared that
underneath it lies the eternal, the unchanging, the absolutely real. But how has this come about? If the
real time is circa A.D. 50, then why do we see A.D. 1978? And if we are really living in the Roman
Empire, somewhere in Syria, why do we see the United States?
During the Middle Ages, a curious theory arose, which I will now present to you for what it is
worth. It is the theory that the Evil One-Satan-is the "Ape of God." That he creates spurious
imitations of creation, of God's authentic creation, and then interpolates them for that authentic
creation. Does this odd theory help explain my experience? Are we to believe that we are occluded,
that we are deceived, that it is not 1978 but A.D. 50 ... and Satan has spun a counterfeit reality to
wither our faith in the return of Christ?
I can just picture myself being examined by a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist says, "What year is it?"
And I reply, "A.D. 50." The psychiatrist blinks and then asks, "And where are you?" I reply, "In
Judaea." "Where the heck is that?" the psychiatrist asks. "It's part of the Roman Empire," I would
have to answer. "Do you know who is President?" the psychiatrist would ask, and I would answer,
"The Procurator Felix." "You're pretty sure about this?" the psychiatrist would ask, meanwhile giving
a covert signal to two very large psych techs. "Yep," I'd replay. "Unless Felix has stepped down and
been replaced by the Procurator Festus. You see, Saint Paul was held by Felix for-" "Who told
you all this?" the psychiatrist would break in, irritably, and I would reply, "The Holy Spirit." And after
that I'd be in the rubber room, inside gazing out, and knowing exactly how come I was there.
Everything in that conversation would be true, in a sense, although palpably not true in another. I
know perfectly well that the date is 1978 and that Jimmy Carter is President and that I live in Santa
Ana, California, in the United States. I even know how to get from my apartment to Disneyland, a
fact I can't seem to forget. And surely no Disneyland existed back at the time of Saint Paul.
So, if I force myself to be very rational and reasonable, and all those other good things, I must
admit that the existence of Disneyland (which I know is real) proves that we are not living in Judaea
in A.D. 50. The idea of Saint Paul whirling around in the giant teacups while composing First