Morning coffee didn’t help. Breakfast seemed to make me angrier. I glanced at the clock. I needed to be out the door in fourteen minutes. One word came to mind: meditation. My reading chair was alongside me. Silence surrounded me. Maybe counting my breaths would help to create inner silence. An image of me in meditative silence arrived before the word meditation. Image, word, thought, seemed to be the sequence of mental events in those moments. Then I was seated in the reading chair, where half an hour earlier I’d read from Jung’s Psychology and Religion: West and East to try to wake myself up. I tried to keep my eyes closed. Each breath brought moments of images with it. Or maybe one long moment of memory formed itself through the images that appeared, then disappeared, one by one, as if glimpses of a supposed memory constituted the real thing. I was alone, and in another image I was seated alongside others, in a church, or maybe it was a monastery, and our purpose was to look inside ourselves. Where was the memory in these images? Was I alone or with others? More images appeared and then disappeared. And then came a thought in words: maybe it’s a memory from the future.