The beauty of being dead, he knows now, is that there is no pain and no sense of self. The unhappy news about being dead, he knows now, is—just as he had feared many times when considering self-murder and rejecting it for just this reason—there are dreams. The happy news about this unhappy news is that the dreams are not one’s own. Crozier floats in this warm, buoyant sea of nonself and listens to dreams that are not his own.
