When I first stirred this morning, Mrs W was telling me about a dream in which she said she'd seen an apparition of Christ.
Immediately my mind started racing. I suggested that we could open up Woodford Towers as some kind of shrine, charge an entry fee at the door, maybe sell some tasteful memorabilia.
Mrs W dismissed the idea, reminding me that it had only been a dream.
True enough. But why are hallucinations about God during waking hours intrinsically more valuable than those that occur during sleep? It's assumed, for some reason, that if you nod off and see Jesus, it's make-believe. But if you bump into him during the day, it's real.