You are looking at me.
Of course I’m puzzled, as you haven’t said a thing this whole time.
“Wh-What’s up? Is there something you don’t understand?”
I’m already baffled, then you suddenly open your umbrella in front of me, as if to block my view.
“Hwha?” I topple back in surprise at your sudden action.
At that same moment, even though we’re inside — it starts to rain. It’s a baffling phenomenon, but as we are in a dream, something like this shouldn’t be too much of a shock. The raindrops hit my cheeks and begin to soak the book I’m holding open, so I close it in a panic.
I look up at you.
“You open an umbrella because rain is falling. That’s reality. That’s the world of the conscious mind. But here, rain falls after you open your umbrella. It’s reversed. Through the Looking-Glass, that story by Lewis Carroll that was like a love letter to the young girl Alice — does hold some important hints. The story of Alice is the story of a dream.”
Reason is topsy-turvy. Cause and effect are swapped.
Because this is a dream.
So that type of logic is fitting here. Through the Looking-Glass is correct in a Jungian psychology sense.
“Urk.” I suddenly stop moving about.
I let out a strange sound and stiffen.
When I look at you, I notice that your body is almost completely covered by the stoplight. The rain continues unrelentingly during that time, soaking the whole room. The weight of the raindrops causes the frames holding the paintings to fall down, and the bed gets completely soaked. Several puddles appear on the floor.
You mischievously flicker the stoplight between “go” and “stop.”
Every time you do, I go from being able to move to not being able to move — I can’t settle down. Even so, with subsequent starts and stops, I intermittently speak to you.
“L-Listen. Effects can impact dreams. Though they can only cause mild interference. I wonder what that stoplight might be a symbol of. Anyone born in modern times is taught in childhood that red means ‘stop’ and green means ‘go.’ They indicate your negative and positive feelings — and societal common knowledge, right?”
As I’m speaking, you change into a white burial kimono. I decide to refer to that as the “yuki-onna.” A symbolic Effect you obtained a short time ago.
As I watch, snow begins to fall within the room. The puddles that formed earlier freeze, and snow begins to pile and cover the desk and bookshelf. You’re just doing whatever you please — and hey, are you even listening to me? I shiver in the cold and snort back some snot.
Forcibly lifting the soles of my shoes from the floor, I approach you as you stand there, touching my bed for some reason. Hey, have you been ignoring me this whole time?
“Beds are places full of significance. But this is my bed, so you can’t use it. It seems like you’re missing that bit of common sense about not getting into someone else’s bed — maybe. But that’s in the real world — the world of the conscious mind.”
I spit out flakes of snow, amidst this snowstorm that’s so furious one could catch a cold, and struggle to speak.
“But having a dream within a dream is incredibly important. Uhmm, the book should be around here — oh, come on, cut it out with this snow!”
I try to open a book to get the answer, but even more snow falls and gets in the way.
With no other choice, I give up and try to explain as much as I can with what I remember.
“That’s why, if you find a bed within your dreams — I think it’s okay to try and sleep in it. Having another dream within a dream. In that way, you might be able to go even deeper into the dream. You might even slip from your ‘individual consciousness’ to an even deeper ‘collective unconsciousness.’”
I call out to you even as you stand mute with your back to me.
“The ‘collective unconsciousness’ is one shared by all humankind. Humans see the world with two eyes and experience it with pairs of arms and legs. There exists at least a basic consciousness that we all experience, as creatures who have those things in common.”
Myths and legends are our oldest stories.
There are a surprising number of common symbols that appear throughout myths and legends among different cultures around the world. They are all born from the collective unconsciousness so that we can understand myths and legends from other cultures.
The giant, which often appears in myths and legends, might scare someone as a child, but as an adult, it is a symbol of the dominance that they have come to fear in reality. The legend of the mighty flood destroying the world might be childbirth — you’re shuffled out of the gentle womb and into harsh reality before you can even walk — it’s a symbol of one world being destroyed to create another. Gods are symbols of respect for nature and for fear of natural disasters.
And through all tales, humans feel anger, sadness, and joy, fall in love and experience hate, live and die.
Anyone anywhere can sympathize with these motifs — they bear universal truths.
They’re tales that spring forth from the “collective unconsciousness” that we all embrace.
“And just like that, you can discover numerous patterns throughout myths and fairytales all over the world. Being anxious about the dark, being afraid of a monster — or an invading enemy. Being loved by one’s parents, loving someone of the opposite sex to make a baby, those various types of biological instincts — those are part of the ‘collective unconsciousness.’”
I approach you as you stand next to my bed.
My completely soaked and frozen bed is in a totally miserable state.
Are you uncomfortable with a brush with the “collective unconsciousness” — the truth?
“If you have the chance, try to experience a dream within a dream. The ‘collective unconsciousness’ is the mind’s greatest principle, one that can exert a great deal of influence over the heart. All of the myths about believing in a deity in order to receive salvation are the same. At some point, you need to dive into the ‘collective unconsciousness’ and re-evaluate yourself from there.”
No matter how much I talk, you show no signs of reacting.
“Come on, please listen to me. You need to come face-to-face with your own mind.”
I feel impatient and hang my head — with a groan.
“I want to save you. I want to release you from this nightmare.”
These are my true thoughts, my honest feelings.
As usual, you give me no reply.
It all feels futile.
“Hey, why are you ignoring me? I’m saying all of this for your benefit, you know!”
I shake, not just because of the cold, but because no matter how much I call out to you, I can’t get you to turn around — so I reach for your shoulder.
I want you to face me.
“H-Huh...?” I cannot touch you.
It’s like there’s an invisible film between you and I — my fingertips cannot reach you. Your body heat is so far away. It’s as if you and I are in separate dimensions and cannot interact with one another. So then why in the world am I even in your dream? You slip past me with ease — wandering about the room. It’s as if you can’t even see me. On the other hand, it also feels like you’ve lost interest in me. It feels uncomfortable, like I’ve become a ghost or something. A ghost — that became a human a long time ago.
You suddenly notice it and look up.
In front of your eyes, set right around the entrance, is a light switch.
You reach for it, just like a child trying to kill their boredom.
A burst of terror clamps down around my heart.
No, you can’t do that. Don’t touch it.
“Hey, stop,” I beg you in a hoarse voice. “Please, stop.”
You flick the switch with a click, so I guess you really are ignoring me.
That, or you aren’t even aware of me in the first place.
The light in the room goes out.
The room becomes pitch-black.
As if trying to block your view, to pretend you cannot see — as if rejecting everything, you fill the dream with darkness.