How's this for a mandate from heaven? Imagine, you've just been anointed the Democratic front-runner in '08, and all you had to do for it was show up for your national book tour.

Let's face it. You were supernaturally fortunate early on. It began with Oprah singing your praises while simultaneously swatting down a quixotic attempt to conscript her as the party's standard bearer in '08:

"I would say, take your energy and put it in Barack Obama. That's what I would say," Oprah told Larry King last month when he asked about the grass-roots "Oprah for President" movement.

"Is that your favorite?" Larry King asked, as if unsure of the person, place or thing Oprah referred to in her sleight-of-hand endorsement.

"That would be my favorite guy," she said, echoing King's weird use of the demonstrative pronoun.

That got the chattering classes chattering. There's no greater John the Baptist in American society than Oprah.

So the word went forth. One thing led to another and the echo chambers of the nation's capital resonated with a subversive proclamation:

"Put your energy behind Barack Obama. Barack Obama for President."

Without a doubt, it was an outlandish gospel, but important people, smart people, endorsed it.

Men and women of sober mien and bent blurted out "Oh, my God, yes" when asked about an Obama candidacy.

How does it feel to be the savior of the party -- at least this week?

So, now you're sitting on the Democratic donkey on the outskirts of town mulling your options. Caution and ambition are at war in your soul, working at cross purposes and making you sweat.

All you wanted to do was sell some books, but you ended up wandering into the hearts and minds of a people who have lived in the political wilderness too long for their own good. You don't want to be anybody's mirage, most of all your own.

You're tempted to dismount before the donkey gets it in its head to amble down the long and winding road to Jerusalem.

Who wouldn't be hesitant? The crowd's expectations are freakishly high. Everyone wants to see you walk on water and multiply the bread and fishes.

Admit it. You're flattered by the hosannas and the palm branches strewn along the road. It looks like a fairly doable path, but you're not particularly experienced when it comes to counting the costs for these ventures.

You have only the vaguest notions of what's ahead of you, but you know it will be difficult. At least you're appealing. Your charm will cover a multitude of sins real and imagined.

At the last Democratic nominating convention, you reminded the party faithful that there was a time when politicians weren't dictation machines programmed to spout talking points in regular intervals for inclusion on the evening news.

Your speech reminded the party faithful that politicians of all persuasions once pursued a discipline of deep eloquence before anti-intellectualism became synonymous with rugged individualism and authenticity in the American political tradition.

Thanks to that magnificent speech, you single-handedly raised from the dead every Democrat's hope of occupying the White House after a long exile in Babylon. But it has to be asked: What have you done for them lately?

So, you find yourself at this moment -- a black man on a white horse. Well, not exactly a white horse -- more like a very well-behaved dusky colored beast of burden for whom skin color is irrelevant.

The donkey will amble along at the same speed for a black man that it does for a white male -- or white female. We're a whole generation past separate water fountains and political parties, so, rejoice.

Jesse Jackson rode that donkey for a few blocks before it keeled over from heat exhaustion. The Rev. Al Sharpton and Sen. Carol Moseley Braun kept falling off the donkey after mounting it a couple of times during the 2004 Democratic primaries.

To their shame, the party faithful wouldn't let congresswoman Shirley Chisholm within a 100 miles of the donkey when she tried to mount it in 1972. Alas, we'll never know if Ms. Chisholm would have lost as many states to Nixon as McGovern if given a chance.

You hesitate. Your innate sense of proportion and reasonableness tells you that the political mood is clearly unhinged from reality. You've only served a third of your term, but all of the hyperventilating makes you nervous.

Before you dismount, take a look around. This is your moment. Virginia Gov. Mark Warner approached the donkey, petted it affectionately, and inexplicably walked away.

Hillary Clinton comes by every day to feed it gourmet straw. Its eyes light up every time it sees her. One day she'll mount it and will be galloping down that road before anyone notices.

The donkey won't allow anyone on its back who's already fallen by the wayside, so don't worry about Kerry, Edwards, Biden or even Gore. The donkey's no fool. The donkey likes your chances.

Don't break its heart by doing a "Colin Powell." The donkey is tired of being teased by charismatic men who have everything to lose.

Listen as they shout your name: "Obama!" They chant it repeatedly, with passion and deep reverence. They're already scattering the palm leaves. The rocks cry out that you're the one the party faithful have been waiting for forever.

A couple of reporters are eyeing the rocks suspiciously. Politicians from the opposing party are smuggling a few rocks into their pockets for later use. Pay no attention to them. After all, the children are skipping and chanting your name: "Obama!"

Don't think about the road ahead. Counting the cost is grossly overrated. Remember, you're the man of the hour. You have the scent of a winner on you. The people will never abandon you. It's Jerusalem or bust.