Last night I had a dream.
My dream was like a film.
I was climbing a staircase in a green, army-ish outfit. I was climbing and climbing, and the stairs never ended.
In my mind, my escalation of the stairs was conveyed by a series of cuts of medium shots of my lower body. My feet plodded along the stairs in a series of jump cuts not unlike the sequence in Wong Kar Wai's In The Mood For Love where prior to the visit Maggie Cheung makes to Tony Leung in the room 2046, her hesitation and turmoil is portrayed by the series of jump cuts where she climbs up a circling stairway, juxtaposing the different directions she takes.
My dream cuts away to a similar shots of another person dressed in blue mounting the same stairs. I get a sense that the person is behind me. I try to climb faster but my pace is determined by something outside the will of my consciousness.
I also remember holding the hand of another girl - my travel companion in our adventure to dress in green, army outfits and enter a castle to subvert a grand ploy I cannot recall anymore. We are walking on the roof of a building and she looks at me, grabs my left hand and says with both her lips and her eyes: Trust Me . With that, we step off the edge of the 20-storey high building. I descend into a pitch of darkness. I feel the exhilaration of free fall. I try and anticipate in my mind what it must feel like to land hard on concrete floor. Will I experience an explosion of pain? Will I enter into nothingness? Will my soul depart my body and ascend to heaven?
To my surprise, I land firmly on the ground with two feet, knees slightly bent as if I've jumped off only one step. The free-falling sensation stops. I open my eyes. She stands next to me smiling.
We press on. She climbs through a window to enter a window. I try and climb in after her. But we are discovered. By a family of indian immigrants who smile on us kindly and give us advice and deceptive costumes to infiltrate the castle where we are forbidden.
I recall pressing myself firmly against the wall in what seems like a large gallery inside the castle. A painting looms above my head. The walls painted in a soft light blue sheen... like a bleak, ghostly version of the urban sky.
I find myself in a room of mirrors. I'm not sure if the girl is there with me. I am compelled to strip in front of the mirrors. I stare at myself in full awareness of what is happening but in total lack of control in the agency of my actions. I feel a presence in the room. He sits on a chair with his back facing me. I am not sure if he is truly there. I think I know who he is. My guess frightens me. He isn't who I thought he would be. I do not love him. I never had and never understood why I previously felt obliged to say 'me too' when I didn't mean it. Or, did I?
He thinks I do not know he is there. After awhile, he knows I know.
I conclude he is a phantom. I am extremely uncomfortable with a thought.
I am roused from my sleep. Emerging from an unconscious state, stragely disturbed.
I am unsure I remember everything I want to remember.
I try and mumble audibly, the contents of my dream.
Before I fully leave its realm, I seem to shift from one plane of reality into another. I watch myself in the dream, I become the other girl who holds my hand.
I then realize, I am her.
I am holding my own hand.
Looking at myself.
