“That take, man. . . pure magic,” whispers Captain Jim in the silence that swirls around the dying of the final chord. “What a song you wrote, brother!”

Ray’s head keeps half-revolving and resetting itself. How long has he been in this place? Never mind, never mind, forget it—clock time is irrelevent, anyway. Pure flow has taken over, and Ray has just done the most amazing thing—recorded one of his own songs. Magic? Go to heaven, Ray Riffles!

“Let’s hear a playback,” says Captain Jim, letting his guitar rattle carelessly to the floor.

Prayerfully, The Captain lowers his head, and stands motionless while the studio floods with a universe of guitar shimmer from every speaker. His body takes on an eerily familiar bearing. Who is it? Who is he becoming. . . ? Confusion. Then suddenly Ray knows who it is: gazing back at him out of Captain Jim’s face, are Ray’s own eyes, Ray’s own body, Ray’s own life. Captain Jim has become Ray Riffles.

"I'm a-goin' down that road, a-smellin' like a toad. . ." The Captain mouthes Ray’s vocal, his lips slightly out of sync. "A-smellin' like a toad without no wings."

Is it Ray who is singing. . . or Captain Jim? Does it even matter? The longer Ray lives in this moment, the less he can see any distinction. The voice is his and the mouth is Captain Jim's—go figure that one out.

But the song, the song. . . rippling with between-the-lines profundity, it rains down wisdom, humanity, faith. This song could be an anthem. It really could—like "Blowin' in the Wind." Don't ask how, but Ray knows that "Toad Without No Wings" could easily save an entire generation!

(from "I'm God, You're God," pg. 86)