Black Light by Talbot Mundy — Read

Joe could hear his own heart beat and when he dug his nails into his skin it hurt him. But when he rubbed his eyes he discovered that he could see equally well with them shut or open. He had a sense of time, space, form and color; and yet, what he saw, took place so rapidly that a year passed while he was drawing two breaths. He saw himself--his own upbringing--every event in his own life until he came to India. And he knew he blushed that every one else in the room should see him so victimized and so incapable of breaking his mother's tyranny; until it occurred to him--although he did not know how--that every individual in the room was seeing his or her own life in intimate review. Even so, he was not pleased with his own record, although he noticed an extraordinary patience, of which his mother took tireless advantage; and the strength of character beneath the patience seemed to Joe, who watched it, to develop and grow stronger the more his mother ground him down and heaped one imposition on another, until at last he was astonished at the vision of his own strength.

He was wondering how one measured strength, and how it was he recognized it, and how one told strength from weakness, when the nature of the vision changed. It ceased to concern only himself. Hitherto, it might have been his own subconscious memory reflected after the manner of dreams--whatever that is--who knows what a dream is, or how it functions? But now, events that he could not possibly remember began to stage themselves in mid-room, as if the memories of all those present were being projected in three dimensions on some sort of mirror to which time and space were interchangeable, or else the same thing, or perhaps did not exist.