S.F.F.
I am aware…
...That I am watching a movie.
I am in a theater, even… in a seat… sitting… sat…
Still sitting, perpetually. This is the theater of the world. It is all that exists.
I think.
And I think this movie, playing out before me, is the totality of the vision. It is the film of my life. I am walking down the street, maybe. Or is this a memory? I am asleep, and my mind is reviewing the contents of its day, and making dream-substance, and this vision on the screen is the memory of what happened maybe eight hours before. Or maybe it is what happened the day before that, or a week ago. Or a year ago. No, wait— these are the streets of Chai. And the streets are dark, it is autumn. It can't be too long ago, after all.
I am in this theater… sitting in red seats. I am watching this movie, about me, that has happened anywhere from two months ago to now, to this very moment. This instant, in which case, in this instant, I have fallen backward into my head, and am able to watch the "thing" (life) playing out as it does.
"And yet there you are, still walking." There is someone sitting beside me…
"Yes. And now I'm talking…"
On the screen. He...me… has met someone they...I… know. And are talking with them. They're having a real conversation— and I'M not even part of it!
"This seems like a good argument against free will." The person (?) beside me says.
"What do you mean?" I'm still watching the screen. It's my life, and whether or not my life is boring, I still find this movie very interesting. It is the kind of movie that is so interesting (regardless of other feelings at certain times) that I am usually never aware that I am in fact only watching it.
"I mean," Says the other voice, "That if you are You, and you are conscious, and yet you are sitting here, doing nothing, and thinking things like life is in fact always a movie, something you 'watch' and do not 'do'… then…"
"Yes, but maybe this is only a dream."
"Maybe."
But this moment right now feels as real as anything else I've ever experienced. In fact, I have such a clarity of thought right here that maybe this moment is actually realer than any other I can remember ever having. I'm cut out of the situation (life). I am only the "spirit", maybe. I am that pure force. And that makes everything feel so real, and clear. What is this movie, then?
I still haven't turned to actually look at my companion.
"You're not a guy in a giant bunny suit, are you?" I'm thinking of a movie.
"Heh. I'm not that derivative."
"And yet this is all awfully familiar, isn't it?"
"Don't get me wrong. Everything is derivative. But which side is deriving which?"
"Wow. How deep."
"Sneer if you want. I'm only interested in finding the truth."
"The truth… damn… what an idea… Seems like a great way to get everyone to hate you."
"What are you talking about? Isn't truth one of those ideals that everyone celebrates?"
"On the surface. But if the truth begins to conflict with a person's personal life, especially personal values, most people will quickly give up that ideal of 'truth'... or they will twist it, make it fit to the personal values that they cannot stand to give up. Philosophers are kind of like the people who try their best to press forward and obtain 'truth' at any cost. Nietzsche may be our latest, best example. He realized that every philosopher was deeply colored by their personal circumstances… the state of technology and the government at their time of life. And with that, and the increasingly fast discoveries made by science, he stated the 'truth' of his time: that God, the overarching value system used by society for thousands of years (if not far longer) had collapsed. We sentients had become too self-aware, to put it one way. We realized that all of our thoughts and ideas and ideals were so… hmm… constructed. Liable to context. Nothing is eternal, maybe. So then what? Nietzsche began to dive into what it meant for humans to now construct their own values. And he began the work that the psychoanalysts, especially Freud and Jung, would carry on— to examine the mystery of the human mind, and find the values and systems that are beating deeply within, alive like hearts. Hum! Well, anyway, Nietzsche was too smart, and too far ahead of his time, and lonely… he went insane."
"I thought that was from...syphilis?"
"It's unclear."
"That's not great evidence. 'It's unclear'".
"Heh."
I finally turn to see who I've been talking to this whole time. I find to my relief that it's a short toad with red spots on his head. A largely unremarkable figure.
The toad is watching the movie screen too, and he doesn't turn to me when he talks. His eyes take in the film like kitchen plates.
"You're relieved." He says. "What were you scared of seeing?"
"I don't know. Another me. A koopa with no face. A black spot. Some chthonic thing."
"Nice word."
"Thank you."
"Well, after all, if this is a dream, then I am still you, right? I just have the form of a toad."
"I was getting the sense I was talking to myself."
"Yes, this kind of conversation feels like that, doesn't it?"
"And we're watching a movie about the real me walking around outside in the real world, so very probably this is inside of my head… and that would make you part of my mind, wouldn't it?"
"By that logic, maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe I am a ghost that has invaded your head."
"Right… whatever…"
"I think your theory is probably better, though. If this is in your head."
"Well, where else would it be?"
"Oh I don't know. 'There are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'..."
"Right. And on that note, let us believe in all sorts of goblins and pixies, because we can't be certain that around the corner there isn't some scary little person about to cast a magic spell."
"Sarcasm! Great."
I'm beginning to get uncomfortable now. I'm uncomfortable being here, having this bizarre conversation. I think I'd like to return to living in the movie.
"You want to go home? Why don't you tap your ruby slippers together?"
"Now you're being sarcastic…"
"Well I'm just you, right?"
"It continues… 'Lord, give me strength'…"
"Lord, give me strength too."
"Alright."
I stand up, more from discomfort than actual annoyance (though I am annoyed, I won't refuse to admit it). The toad remains sitting, still entranced by my movie. Or our movie.
I look around— how do I get out of this theater? There's just red seats (all empty besides ours) and the flickering light of the projector from behind and above. There's only one door, it seems: at the bottom of the stairs, beside the screen. There's a red EXIT sign glowing above it.
As I stand and look around, part of my shadow obscures the movie screen.
"Hey, down in front!" The sitting toad complains.
"Does this seem like front to you?" I ask. "I'm on your side."
"If you were on my side, you'd stay and keep watching the movie. I'll be lonely if you leave."
Wordplay! That really seals the deal— I'm getting out of here. "If you really felt bad about me leaving, you'd look at me when we're talking."
"No! The movie is too interesting!"
The toad doesn't seem too excited— he isn't leaning forward. He's sitting back, and looks a little dazed (though he seems to be able to hold conversation perfectly well).
"Well, whatever. In any case, I am leaving. I don't like it here."
I am slowly growing more uncomfortable. And now I'm getting a headache.
"Yes, well… maybe you shouldn't be here after all. You haven't been here before, right? As… far as you remember?"
"As far as I remember."
"So you must find this really strange, right?"
"That's right."
"So you want to leave. Because this is strange, and that makes you feel uncomfortable?"
"That's correct."
"Okay. Then I understand the situation, and I see why you think you should leave. And I can say, 'Goodbye'".
"Yup. OK. Goodbye."
"Yeah. Goodbye."
I walk down the aisle, to the stairs. I go down to the door with the EXIT sign. I'll be glad to escape this masturbatory dream sequence.
But I stop. This door isn't a metaphor for death or something, is it?
"You'll be fine." The toad says. "Go on. Get out of here."
"Now you're happy to have me go!"
"I thought about it. Now I am happy to have you go."
I shrug and turn back to the door. Either I stay sitting here and watch this movie forever with Tweedledum, or I go through the door. Why not go through the door?
I push through.
Like a snap of the fingers, I'm now sitting at a round wooden table. Sitting across from me is a koopa woman, maybe in her early twenties. She's biting at the ends of her fingers. We both have a steaming cup of coffee in front of us.
"Oh boy," I remark, "So we're doing this, then?"
"Doing what?"
"Oh, I'm going to get teleported all over the place, and have insightful conversations, or some crap." I wave a hand in the air. I don't know why I feel so immediately annoyed.
We are surrounded by blurry tables with blurry people sitting at them. Nevertheless, a human waiter without a face emerges from the scenery.
"I knew it!" I remark. I clap my hands. "Of course there'd be one of you."
"Sir?" The waiter's voice is clear enough, despite having no mouth. "You waved me down?"
"No. I was… gesturing…" I wave my hand again. "I was explaining to my… friend here... that I am being teleported."
"How remarkable, sir."
"Yes, yes. It's just groovy."
"But do you need anything, sir?"
"Nope!" I look down to my coffee cup, filled with the good stuff. "I'm already set!"
"Very good, sir. And the lady?"
She's looking at me with this look like she's expecting something from me. But it's a question of her damn drink! It's not my decision. Is she thirsty, or not? But she already has her own coffee, anyway…
"She's fine."
"Excuse me," She says suddenly, "But I wanted tea."
"I'm very sorry, madam. Let me take that."
The faceless waiter takes the coffee. As he turns the coffee slips from his hands and spills all over my lap. But I don't feel any of it anyway.
The waiter is shocked. "Oh…!"
"Yeah yeah yeah… Just go away." I wave a hand shooingly. Almost comically, the waiter walks backwards into the blur of the other tables, disappearing.
I stand and mop the chair and my legs with napkins.
"Don't you think that was rude?" My table companion suggests.
"Yes, awfully. But this is my dumb dream, so nothing matters."
"Why is it dumb?"
"Because," I heave a sigh, "Dreams are not real. And this is all in my head, so this is all… this is all reflecting my thoughts, or set up in some way to be some silly challenge, and I don't care, nothing I do matters in the real world already, so dealing with crap in this fake world is especially useless."
"But what if this world is more real than the other one?"
I finish the mopping and sit back down.
"Yeah, well there's a nice idea. What, uh… more psychology, huh? The unconscious mind is the true reality, or some such something…. Yeah yeah yeah…"
"It doesn't even have to be that mystical. The way you think sets up, organizes your entire world. What you think about more you'll see more of in the world— because you will notice that which you think about. That which you consider to 'exist'."
"Great great great."
I try some of the coffee. It's good. Good enough. "So what's this? Mental organization?"
"What do you think it is?"
"Ahhh here we go," I groan, "Whatever I think it is, it becomes, right? So you and the rest are just going to keep asking me what I think it is, right? Okay, I think this is a magical dream where I get whatever I want and, uh… We get it on."
"Is that what you want?"
Her tone is not even reproachful, but it's empty enough to cause me to feel uncomfortable again.
"Why not?" I chuckle nervously. "My dream, right?"
"But you don't really want it, do you?"
My face is hot! In this stupid dream, talking about nothing, talking about something that isn't going to happen, how stupid…
(Oh, so I already thought…)
"Ugh, I hate this. Let's start over. This is a dream where I get whatever I want. Okay."
"So what do you want?"
I am seized by irritation. "Just… give me…"
My head hurts. The headache is coming again.
"Okay, just give me whatever will make me happy."
"What will make you happy?"
"I… don't… know." I grin. "Give me the knowledge to know what I need to to be happy. Is that fucking good?"
She's giving me a sad look. That makes me angry.
"What?" I demand. "I don't know. I don't know anything. I've tried everything, and I'm not happy. I just keep living, getting into one situation after another, and nothing I do changes anything, really. Because I never feel content, or particularly good. I've read conflicting pieces of advice, and I've tried to think out my problems, and I've tried to think nothing at all. And maybe there's no problem at all, or maybe life itself is a problem. But I'm not happy like this, I'm not satisfied, I want to say I fucking 'quit'... that there's no use in working hard at all if everything feels the same regardless, because I can't find inner peace, I don't know where it comes from… not really… no…"
She's still giving me the sad look.
"Well, what?! We're inside my mind now, right? And what are you? Some subconscious-slash-unconscious figure? Are you going to give me some answers? That's what I'm here for, right? There, that's what I want— I want some goddamn answers. If this place doesn't have them, then nowhere does. So go on— give me answers. Tell me how to be happy, how to have peace. Like… you. Are you my anima or something? You should know all sorts of things."
She looks terribly solemn. "I am not anima."
"Okay, whatever. I don't care. Help me out here. Help me. You're from this place, right then? Tell me how to achieve peace."
"I…" She looks nervous again. "But if I'm you, I can't tell you anything you don't know already."
"But you're not me! I'm… I'm like, I'm a little stupid part of the overall mind me… you… you should have access to memories that I don't, yeah? If I knew everything I needed to, I'd be okay. But I'm not. So here I am. So give me answers."
"I'm not really that powerful."
"Okay." I grin. "Take me to management, then."
"Management?"
"Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah… who's your boss? Who do you work for? Who controls all of this?" I gesture around, at all the blurry tables and people. "I didn't choose to make this. I went through that door back there thinking I'd be returning to the outside world. Instead I ended up here. Who arranged that? Who set up this 'cafe'? Not you, apparently."
"No. Not me."
"So, what? Anima? Something else?"
"Um. I don't know."
I lean back, a little disgusted. "Yeah, so what then? I thought: this is my dream, I get to decide what happens? Right? Okay, so I want to meet someone in charge here. Give me that."
"Isn't that… you? It's your mind."
"No. No no no." I lean forward again, angry. "If I was in control, this wouldn't be such a bunch of bullshit."
"How is this bullshit?"
"That everything is so goddamn confusing, and I can't find peace, and I don't fall in love… and I'm not really happy with my job. And I'm lonely, I guess. And I get random spikes of emotional pain, and I don't know why. Well, c'mon. If I was in control, I wouldn't have any of this shit happening. Flowers and rainbows for me!"
"But you're still being sarcastic," She said quietly, "You don't want to live in a land of flowers and rainbows. That's childish and boring."
"Right. Right right right."
"So what do you actually want?"
"What do I actually…?" For god's sake! "Haven't I been explaining this?"
"No. You've said what you don't want. You've listed everything about your situation that makes you unhappy."
That stops me for a moment.
"Yes, but."
I stop again.
"Okay, fine. Let's say… I want some ice cream, right now."
The girl across from me raises a hand. "Waiter!"
"Oh, that's funny. That's so hilarious. Damn, aren't you clever. So clever. Of course, we're in a restaurant. Ha ha ha."
The faceless waiter reappears. "Yes?"
"We need an ice cream, please."
"Wait." I have an idea. "Wait. You… you can help me."
"Sir?"
"I want to meet the management." I grin. "I want to meet the owner of this cafe. Your boss."
"My boss, sir?"
"That's right. Who owns this place?"
"Well, sir. If this is all in your head, then I'd have to say it's you."
...
Unbelievable. And my headache is even worse now.
"That's really funny," I ground out, "But you know, I didn't set any of this up. This table, these blurry messes all around us… Not me, no. And I don't pay you, do I?"
"No, sir. I'm a bit of a volunteer."
"That's not my point. I didn't arrange all of this. If I didn't arrange this, then I'm not the one in charge here, yeah?"
"I have an idea. Perhaps, sir… You made this place before. In a previous dream. But you've forgotten."
"Oh, bravo. You're full of nice answers, aren't you? All of you? Because you're determined that I don't make any progress here."
"It's only a suggestion, sir."
"No no no. This is infuriating. What, you want me to… to make this revelation or whatever, that I'm in control of my world. That I'm in control of, uh, everything. I had the stupid ruby slippers this whole time, the power was within me, blah blah blah… but I can tell myself that, and still find myself unable to control my situation."
"Perhaps because you still don't fully believe it, sir. And if you don't fully believe it, it won't happen."
"Oh, go away."
The waiter vanishes again.
"He was only trying to help." My companion says.
"Yes, and I'm only trying to get out of this nightmare."
"Is it really that bad?"
"No. Obviously this is not a real nightmare. But I am… I am annoyed, and getting a headache… and if this is all supposed to help me, it's not, and…"
Another idea occurs to me.
"Wait, well who brought me here, huh? I didn't… I didn't choose to come here. I didn't even know this place existed, right? So that's not me… the person who caused this to happen. Or the thing. Or whatever."
"I don't know that."
"Then you're no bloody help. But there, how about that, that's what I want. I want to meet the person who brought me here."
"Maybe like the waiter said… You chose to come here, but you forgot doing that."
"That makes a great excuse, doesn't it… That I made every choice, but simply forgot making them."
It feels like a rock has materialized in my stomach.
"But," I blink, "That's not fair."
"It's not an issue of being fair. You're afraid of the possibility."
"Like a boy who made a bad contract with God. Ha…"
I'm sitting still.
"But, after all…" I say quietly, "There has to be a God to make a contract with in the first place, right?"
"But, after all," My companion says, "That story was just symbolism, wasn't it?"
"But it holds a psychological truth. It holds a psychological truth of… of the process of… the mind… And there's someone… there's something…" It's getting really quiet here. "...There's something that holds the contract. You choose a deal, you choose a plan, and maybe you forget making that deal, but even still, there's a part that remembers. There's a part that keeps the record, and keeps the process going. And that's not me. That's definitely not me."
The girl shifts in her seat.
"Oh. Maybe… you're right."
I look up, and she's gone. The one across from me, she's gone, and in fact, this whole cafe is gone, I think. I think there's just darkness all around, and I'm sitting at the table alone, illuminated by a spotlight from above.
"Did I say the right thing?" I ask quietly.
"And what plan did you make… what plan do you think you made… that you are trapped in?"
This voice comes from nowhere. The chair across from me remains empty. I'm not surprised.
"If I was once a little boy, and I made a deal with God: That I would suffer and suffer, and someday, I would experience the best things in life. But I had to suffer terribly first, and there's no escape from it."
"Do you actually believe in that story?"
"It's a possible explanation. Otherwise, I'm suffering for no reason. Even though I'm not evil… morally I'm okay… maybe even good… but still, I feel so bad. It feels like… I made some plan somewhere… I don't understand. I still don't know anything. But this is my dream, and I can ask for what I want…"
"What do you want?"
"I want happiness."
"What will make you happy?"
"I don't know."
"Then what?"
"I want to know what will make me happy."
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not you."
I feel seized by injustice.
"I talked with two dummies who were me, apparently. And they couldn't answer my question. And now I'm talking to you, and you're not me. And you can't answer my question either. What am I supposed to do, then?"
"Search your heart."
"That's what I've been doing! That's what I've been doing, damn it. And you should know that. And I found no answers, so I came here… I… came here…"
I blink.
"I thought, that here… this was the only place with answers. Everyone will tell you something different, but in your own mind, at least, there has to be the answer true to you.
Because even if you accept the truth from some outside person or church or organization, you're still doing it because your heart wants to.
So after all, the ultimate truth is in the heart, or the mind. And I was still hopelessly lost, and confused, so I decided… the only place I could come is here to get answers. And I made it, somehow…"
Silence.
"...But after all, I still can't find the answers here. I still can't find the answers here. But if I believed I could find the answers, could I? If I am the final power, and whatever I believe becomes the truth… then I need to believe that I can find or have the answers then, right? So I will believe… I'm trying to, anyway… I don't feel like I can control my heart like that. If my heart doesn't believe, then I can't do anything. Can I believe… can I believe that my heart believes? Can I believe that my heart believes whatever is best? So I'll do that, and… But then everything that has happened has already been pouring forth from what my heart believes. And if that's the case, then already, everything is already as it should be. But I'm not happy. I need to believe that my heart is working towards my happiness, right?"
Silence.
"Well, come on. Answer me. You're not me, but you live in my head, right? Who are you, then? And you probably know a lot about me I don't know, looking at the back of my brain when I can only see the front. Well?"
"You're very close."
"Very close to what?"
"The answer."
"The answer. Oh, well great… 'the' answer. The only one I need, then?"
"Yes."
Now fear is gripping my heart. Because… Ugh, no, I can't put it into words.
"Help me."
"I can't help you."
"Why not?"
"Because I cannot reach you."
"Why not?"
"Because, you're deep underground. You're in a room with you and you alone. And you know you have the power to win, to win what you want, you just can't see how. You can't see it, but you're closer than ever now."
My eyes are wet. "I don't understand."
"It is a great puzzle. You… are in the center. It is like a great circle made up of many rings. You are twisting the different rings around and around, trying to make a single line that connects on each ring, and so connects straight from the outside of the circle to the very core. It is one of the most difficult puzzles imaginable, because these rings are impossible to see, feel, or think about. And yet, it is a puzzle that is constantly being worked on. And now, now, praise to above, it is so very close to being finished. And when it is finished, and the line connects to the outside, it will only take a single drop of mana energy to enter from without and fall straight to the core."
"And then what?"
"And then everything will work perfectly."
"What does that mean?"
"Why don't you watch and find out?"
"Because I don't see… I don't understand, still…"
"Because you were never in control of this?"
"Yes! Yes, that's right. I didn't know anything about any of this, and yet… you say it's being worked on, it's being solved, it's almost there, and I didn't know… I didn't know, so…"
I feel feverish.
"Who then? Who who who? Who is solving the puzzle? Who is making everything work? Who is controlling this? Who? Please, tell me…" Pressure in my head. If I don't know, if I don't get the answer to this question, this pressure in my head won't end, it won't end, this thick heaviness this stone, and the rock in my stomach, and the headaches, the goddamn headaches, and this irritation, my confusion and anxiety myself, and my… and every problem, every negative warp and whool of energy that causes me to feel all flipped upside down, because it's all connected to this problem and this question and I don't accept that it's me, I've followed through on every possibility and it's not me it's not me I can't solve my problems and yet things keep happening and free will doesn't exist or even if it does I don't I can't find victory through my actions and yet after all things still exist and keep happening and and and…
Silence.
"You can't leave me hanging now! You can't be quiet now! I told you, I proved to you… all of you… I made it through your gauntlet of questions and found the way to confront you… you, behind all of this, the wizard, or magic-caster, or whatever, that cast all of this, this vision… maybe you create my dreams too, I don't know… I don't understand, but after all, there's you… just tell me… you… who are you… you… you…
...
Strawberries.
Strawberries. A world of strawberries, red as blood. Blood, and the strawberries, red as each other.
Just a world of strawberries in their bushes. Just a whole world of that… Strawberries and strawberries and strawberries and strawberries…
And that's all. That's all… That's all, after all. After all that, that's all. It's all here. Strawberries.
Is it just because of the name of the song? Your mind got caught on a song, and then you changed the thing because of the song? But what does that mean, after all? Is this petty, or profound?
The sky is blue… and there's nothing in the distance, just more and more strawberry plants. Forever. Why not?
But there's no one here, I'm thinking.
And I already know I'm wrong.
