The places we go when we dream slide like a bubble rising through the deep out into less dense spheres of existence. Pressed upon by that which is towards that which like they, isn’t. Eventually an equilibrium phase is reached and like oil rising through water but stopping at air, those dreams collect at the border of nothingness and reality possessing elements of not quite either.
In that place some minds are known by their echoes or their intransigence . Some madness becomes a fortress, a landmark unchanged by the buffeting of infinite other vision and thoughts. The consistent dreams form the foundation of this bulwark against the the void. To walk in this place is to literally tread on the overlapping dreams of the collective insane.
There are only so many colors in nature’s pallet and to paint with the mind is to copy something again and again. Time is an illusion and therefore originality is meaningless. To dream your phantom tree is to dream someone else’s because in the dream world the tines of the snow flake are lost. Only that it had tines is relevant, such is one of the properties of being that close to oblivion.
I visit there again and again and my avatar avoids beauty for the pain seeing it causes me. I see pits leapt over my the heedless sleeping, and always I alone feel the fear of the drop, and always I am a special exception and outsider. Leaving and looking up while all others live and wait in line.
Pain doesn’t no exist in this place as far as I can tell, but fear none the less does. A consequence of the echo no doubt. The dreamer so rarely knows they are dreaming and I am no exception. Still there must be perils for dreamers awaken and that is the end of creation literally. The waking of a dreamer ends a street. The grey fog of the never dreamed stretches on an infinite and yet zero distance between the border of the dream space and true oblivion equivalent to the gulf of difference between one and zero.
The gap of Zeno which can never be bridged yet has countless roads and paths and slides stabbing into it like an inverted pin cushion.
Envy the lucid dreamer for their ability to explore and guide.
Like the transition phase nature of the place so to are the people of a gradient nature leading form the fully awake and aware, which can only rarely exist in the dream work, and the mindless philosophical zombies. The NPCs of the dream game.
They don’t know they are dead. They experience nothing.