Dream 05 → What Do You Mean It's (Not) Symbolic?
Dream Effects: A slight feeling of disconnection. Confusion, lots of it, and the dawning awareness that you're having a (rather weird) dream.
Warnings: Rampant symbolism. Forgive me.
It's a bright, hot day and your arms are bare, but you can't seem to make yourself feel it.
Presume there's a field stretching away in every direction, wide and boundaryless and entirely empty; presume the grass is long and wild and tumbled by the breeze, and brushes against your sides as you walk. There's a hill - well, more of an incline, 'hill' seems a bit ambitious for what this is doing - and a small white building at the crest of it, a Greek temple of some sort with pillars and a triangular roof. Presume (and there's nothing else to see and nowhere else for you to go; you really might as well) that it's vitally important you get there.
Not that there seems to be any reason for it. When you get there the door's ajar and the building, too, feels quite empty.
But you're here now, and you figure you might as well go inside. You push open the heavy wooden door just wide enough to let yourself in, walk down a shallow flight of stairs. The door swings silently shut behind you and melts back into the wall.
Somehow, this simply feels logical.
(It's a dream. You're dreaming. It's kind of how stuff like this works--)
Presume you're standing in a long, narrow white room, at the bottom of the stairs. Black and white tiled floor, patterned like a chessboard; white-painted walls with high, white-framed sash windows on either side; the sunlight streaming in from both sides, casting pools of light across the tiles. The windows are closed, and yet the thin white drapes that frame them are billowing in a breeze you can't seem to make yourself feel. It's quiet here, and elegant, and utterly empty; you can't help feeling uncomfortable. It's a little bit like being in church, and you feel like you should lower your voice. You wonder if you're breathing too loud. You wonder where the Hell everyone's gone.
At the far end of the room, two heavy wooden doors and a large bowl of white flowers on a stupid, spindly little occasional table. Behind the doors-- something. People.
Pick one. Just try it.
Two doors, two rooms - you're hesitating.
You know (and you don't know how you do; you just know it's how things work, in dreams) you can only go through one. You should only want to go through one and yet the other one looks fine too, and... well, how on earth are you supposed to choose, when you can't see how there's even anything to choose between?
There's a person behind you, tall and dressed in some kind of vestments; there are arms about your neck. You know you must be dreaming, because you never heard them coming. Because you're not trying to fight--
"You see," they say quietly, "you can't decide, after all."
[Ken wakes up with the lingering feeling that he's missed something; he's not entirely surprised to realize that the stupid Dreamberry didn't miss a thing. Well, he probably was overdue for it. Could have been worse, he guesses. At least this time it wasn't stupidly embarrassi--
[Wait. What the Hell date is that supposed to be?]
... damn, how long was I asleep?
Warnings: Rampant symbolism. Forgive me.
It's a bright, hot day and your arms are bare, but you can't seem to make yourself feel it.
Presume there's a field stretching away in every direction, wide and boundaryless and entirely empty; presume the grass is long and wild and tumbled by the breeze, and brushes against your sides as you walk. There's a hill - well, more of an incline, 'hill' seems a bit ambitious for what this is doing - and a small white building at the crest of it, a Greek temple of some sort with pillars and a triangular roof. Presume (and there's nothing else to see and nowhere else for you to go; you really might as well) that it's vitally important you get there.
Not that there seems to be any reason for it. When you get there the door's ajar and the building, too, feels quite empty.
But you're here now, and you figure you might as well go inside. You push open the heavy wooden door just wide enough to let yourself in, walk down a shallow flight of stairs. The door swings silently shut behind you and melts back into the wall.
Somehow, this simply feels logical.
(It's a dream. You're dreaming. It's kind of how stuff like this works--)
Presume you're standing in a long, narrow white room, at the bottom of the stairs. Black and white tiled floor, patterned like a chessboard; white-painted walls with high, white-framed sash windows on either side; the sunlight streaming in from both sides, casting pools of light across the tiles. The windows are closed, and yet the thin white drapes that frame them are billowing in a breeze you can't seem to make yourself feel. It's quiet here, and elegant, and utterly empty; you can't help feeling uncomfortable. It's a little bit like being in church, and you feel like you should lower your voice. You wonder if you're breathing too loud. You wonder where the Hell everyone's gone.
At the far end of the room, two heavy wooden doors and a large bowl of white flowers on a stupid, spindly little occasional table. Behind the doors-- something. People.
Pick one. Just try it.
Two doors, two rooms - you're hesitating.
You know (and you don't know how you do; you just know it's how things work, in dreams) you can only go through one. You should only want to go through one and yet the other one looks fine too, and... well, how on earth are you supposed to choose, when you can't see how there's even anything to choose between?
There's a person behind you, tall and dressed in some kind of vestments; there are arms about your neck. You know you must be dreaming, because you never heard them coming. Because you're not trying to fight--
"You see," they say quietly, "you can't decide, after all."
[Ken wakes up with the lingering feeling that he's missed something; he's not entirely surprised to realize that the stupid Dreamberry didn't miss a thing. Well, he probably was overdue for it. Could have been worse, he guesses. At least this time it wasn't stupidly embarrassi--
[Wait. What the Hell date is that supposed to be?]
... damn, how long was I asleep?