I've been meaning to tell you about this dream I had.
It was a bit like an outline for a book or a story; this story was about a book.

The book was a very special book: what was inside, depended entirely on who was reading the book. It was different for every person who'd read it.
There was a man in the story; he found the book. It looked very old, but at the same time it looked like it had just been printed. He took the book with him, read it, and after a while he discovered the book's secret.


As soon as he found out about the book being different for everyone who'd read it, he realised that the book was very special, and that it was important that people knew about it. He felt it was his duty to show it to the world.
The only trouble was, the world didn't believe him. No one believed what he told them about the book; they thought it was a trick. He tried to seek publicity, but ended up losing his job, his money and finally his friends in the process.

Eventually he ended up on a street corner, homeless, with nothing left but the book and the clothes he had on.
Still, he tried to show people the book and convince them that they should read it and see how special it was. He said things like: "Read this book, it's not like other books... this is the book everybody is looking for. This book is all you'll ever need to read. There's no second book like this one anywhere in the world."
And people would glance at the book, then at his face; he looked dirty, thin and unshaven. And then they'd look away and walk on. Those who'd bother to reply would simply say 'No thanks, I'm not interested in religion' or 'I've already got a bible'.

That's the story I dreamed up. When I told my mother about it, she said that ithe book in the story must be the Book of Life. I don't know, because the contents of the book wasn't in my dream. What do you think?