The sun blasted through David Pilcher's pipe and the light snatched him into the void. He careened away into nothingness, immobilized and helpless, yet he was unafraid. He could neither move nor speak within his agglutinous suspension, yet it carried him with what seemed to be acceptance and love. Through a darkling shroud he saw the spotlight on the stage at Woodstock, while he watched Napoleon sip his wine in France. He saw the stars of the southern...