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"I cannot open it.  My hands won't permit me." "Your hands won't permit you." "My hands are unworthy to open this book.  They can't even touch it. They are dirty.  My hands are dirty." "Give me your hands, Christopher, Christ Bearer", says Tron, offering me his own beautiful golden white hands together palms up.  Place your hands in mine, palms down." I place my hands in Tron's, which are actually large, almost twice their size.  But Tron is much bigger than me, tall, towering.  I am like a little child with him.  He places his right hand over my hands, enclosing them in his two shining hands.  I feel a heat, almost a fiery heat, that stings, then an electrical charge comes flowing through me.  I am trembling.  Tears are rolling down my cheeks, and I am feeling an innocent, gleeful joy, as though never in my life have I so much as formed a single selfish or unclean thought.  Tron leans over and lightly kisses my forehead, then he lifts my hands by the wrists, kissing their palms and dorsal sides, before releasing them. "Now, Christopher, Christ Bearer.  Open the book.