There is nowhere to go.
The door that opens, you cannot pass through it.
This new world forces you to leave everything behind if you want to enter it, to experience its magic.
And while you are still thinking about it, it happens to you: you have no choice.
It draws you in magnetically, but there is no place for you in it. Space is infinite, and in this nature, it takes away the narrowness of your imagined being. Your real dreams dissolve, and without these imagined limitations, the endless space seems overwhelming to you at first. Where are you supposed to hold on to now? This new freedom beyond your confined reality annihilates you, and completely dissolves you into itself.
You are merely space, experiencing dream.
Dreams are created and the dreamer loses himself in the dream. The condensation of himself makes him heavy there, movement becomes arduous. The door blurs in his increasingly dim eyes until he only sees what appears immediately confined before him. The original, endless freedom has become untenable. Anxiously, he clings to every piece of driftwood that floats past him, hoping to steer it in some destination. But the weight of his personal narrowness pulls him deeper and deeper into the dream. Disorientation takes him in, gently at first, but his resistance is almost as complete as the space. In increasingly bizarre forms, he braces himself against the dissolution of his limitations, against his freedom. Even love is instrumentalized and deformed in his resistance, deformed into a grotesque growth, a creeper that leaves him less and less air to breathe.
Drowned, countless times. Each death, a piece of new lightness, a piece of reclaimed weightlessness, a piece of more agility, new vibrancy.
