Before I realize it, it seems I’ve fallen asleep.
Falling asleep while already in a dream sounds so strange, but it’s not rare or anything, and I’m pretty used to it by now. What is a dream and what is real has gotten so vague, and it doesn’t even really matter anymore. It feels so good, listening to the piano music, that I slowly begin to doze and nod off.
In that time, that teacher-like being notices and picks me up to move me. He takes me into a room connected to the piano room and gently lays me down on a bed that seems to be from the not-too-distant future.
Contrary to its coarse appearance, the bed is surprisingly snug, allowing me to quickly fall into a sound sleep.
In the soft, warm bed, I release my grip on consciousness.
It feels like the doctor pats my head for a bit, then pulls the futon covers over me.
Like he is protecting me. Like a father. Like an archetype or a major component of the heart. Like a revered father. It’s a strong element that supports one’s heart and mind, guiding and protecting them. I feel at ease and fall asleep.
On the verge of sleep, the conscious and unconscious mind meld together within the self, thinking.
It’s not even a matter of thinking, for I understand.
Even as I avert my eyes, I know.
I know the truth, and yet I pretend not to see.
There have been so many hints. So many symbols lying about.
Things remembered. Things brought to the forefront of my mind. Things thrust upon me. All of it, pointing to one truth.
There, in the bed in that spaceship, in that place that is like the deepest depths of my dreams, I come face-to-face with it.
Like a baby chick waiting to awaken from within an egg.
In order to be born, I accept it, like a process in order to keep living. It took such a long time. But perhaps, in reality, it was the briefest of moments. Reach an agreement, face each other, and embrace. That’s what I think I’m supposed to do, but I’m tired from all of this running around.
What I’ve been hiding is a small sorrow.
It’s not something that would bring the world to tears or mar the pages of history. It’s commonplace misery. Pain and suffering.
Yet for me as an individual, for the world of my dreams, my unconsciousness, it is the ultimate world-crumbling tragedy.
It really is something so trivial.
Human relationships that don’t go well. A suffocating society. A bit of discord with one’s family. Despair, envy, and resentment toward one’s friends. Being unwell to the degree of having a cold. Lamentations over lacking talent or sense. Something of a minor complex.
I feel pain like anyone else does as I continue living my life.
Not enough to wish for death, but it is a genuine pain.
Even so, it feels like I’ve moved through life weathering a storm.
But something caused everything to fail and fall apart.
Maybe I was blessed with a child. I was pregnant. A new life resided within me. That was you. What I’m referring to as “you” was that child. Those swaying braids were a symbol of the umbilical cord. The fetus always slept, without opening her eyes. That’s why your eyes were always closed — at least, that’s what I think.
A fetus, inside its mother’s stomach, is connected to her, sharing her dream.
Another person, connected.
That’s why we both existed in the dream at the same time. Normally, we would be switching out. As if the baton were passed, surface and hidden, conscious and unconscious, reality and dreams, they’re all supposed to switch. I saw you. We exist separately yet had the same dream.
That’s the trick.
At the very least, I get the feeling that that line of thinking makes some sort of sense.
But, you’ve died. You emerged, fell, and died. Maybe I had a miscarriage. I was unable to acknowledge it. Unable to accept it, I averted my eyes, held back those memories and that pain, sealed it away, and got distorted.
I ruptured and broke.
And then I got sick.
You.
You, to whom I never gave a name.
I was supposed to love you. The treasure I found after this painful, suffocating life. I gave you a hat and scarf as a gift. I wanted to walk off somewhere with you, hand-in-hand. I wanted to read picture books aloud to you, the both of us laughing together.
However, I cannot touch you.
Never again, for all eternity.
You emerged, fell, and died.
I can’t even see you in my dreams anymore.
That is my conjecture.
My conclusion.
My interpretation.
The symbols scattered throughout the dreams, these things I’ve called Effects that carry a particular degree of impression, are gathered, making the heart whole. With all of the pieces that went missing filled in, I remember everything. Unable to handle it, my unconscious mind leapt out, was crushed and ruined, then died.
You’ve gone so far away.
Even if I reach out, my hand won’t reach you.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, and all the kings in the world couldn’t put him together again. Not even God. The dreams fall, fall... slamming into the ground. Cracking into pieces like an egg, ending up all over the place. All that remains in my future is blood scattered about a gloomy darkness.
I wanted to live my life with you.
I was supposed to love you.
All I wanted was for you to come out of my belly, to be born. Once the umbilical cord is severed, we can no longer share our dreams.
Even that would have been fine. I wanted you to live, not in dreams, but in reality.
Even if I wasn’t in your dream, it would be fine.
But the one who disappeared was you.
All that’s left is me, with a giant hole in my belly and my heart.