And, also, am I not now, as I write these lines, Darrell Sanding, under sentence of death in Folsom Prison and one time professor of agronomy in the College of Agriculture of the University of California?
Matter is the great illusion.

That is, matter manifests itself in form, and form is apparitional.

Where, now, are the crumbling rock-cliffs of old Egypt where once I laired me like a wild beast while I dreamed of the City of God?
Where, now, is the body of Guillaume de Sainte-Maure that was thrust through on the moonlit grass so long ago by the flame-headed Guy de Villehardouin?
Where, now, are the forty great wagons in the circle at Nephi, and all the men and women and children and lean cattle that sheltered inside that circle?
All such things no longer are, for they were forms, manifestations of fluxing matter ere they melted into the flux again.

They have passed and are not.
And now my argument becomes plain.

The spirit is the reality that endures.