"Robert F. Young - Darkspace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

Near the fin de si├иcle Cuiran combined properties of Kant's transcendental aesthetic and Jung's
collective unconscious and came up with Lightspace and Darkspace. Lightspace, he asserted, is reality as
we perceive it, Darkspace the land of dreams. Both, he said, constitute the Kantian thing-in-itself, and
neither possesses time nor, despite the names he applied to them, space. Time and space, he maintained,
are imposed by the beholder.
He focused his endeavors on the investigation of Darkspace. After developing a drug, which he
called cuiranum and which established an emotional rapport between himself and his patients, he found he
could enter their dreams. He concentrated on their recurrent items, and began curing them by destroying
or changing the dreams. He called himself an endo-analyst. In the Catskills, John Ranch, his foremost
disciple, built the John Ranch School of Endo-psychology.

I have entered thousands of dreams.
Recurrent dreams.
A competent endo-analyst does not bother with ordinary dreams. Even so-called nightmares are
harmless. It is the obsessive dream we set our sights upon.
Patients with recurrent dreams came to me, and I entered those dreams and cured them. I know
what Darkspace is. It is many things if you explore its Jungian archetypal ramifications, but to the
practicing endo-analyst it is nothing more than what the dreamer makes it, and its clock is the dreamer's
mind. Invariably the two "levels" of reality, of the thing-in-itself, are divided by a symbolic barrier. When
the dreamer awakes, he/she passes through that barrier. The dreamed-of never can.
I am in Darkspace now. But not as an endo-analyst. I am the dreamed-of.
Cheryl's dreaming mind has fashioned out of Darkspace a woods that reverts back into itself, and a
topless ridge. She uses a woodland stream for her barrier.
She killed me, and now she keeps dreaming that I am hiding in a cave, waiting to kill her. But her
sleeping mind keeps forgetting I am here, and, unaware of my presence, her dream-self keeps climbing
the slope to my cave.
Why did she kill me?
How?
I cannot remember. The walls of the cave creep closer to me as I try to think. The cave's mouth
darkens. Just before the last of my awareness drifts away, a jagged bolt of terror tears through my mind.
If she does not dream the dream again I shall be truly be dead!

We went hunting that day. Yes, I remember now.
Cheryl, a short time ago, disappeared beyond the stream/barrier. I am sitting on the floor of my cave.
Yes, we went hunting that day.
She and I.
The day is obscure. My thoughts take me back beyond it. I become again what I was before my
murder. A practicing endo-analyst. I sit in my Beech Street office, listening to my patients recount their
dreams. I am becoming richer with each passing moment. It is said in professional circles that my fees are
exorbitant. Perhaps they are. But if a doctor does not rob his patients he will not be held high in their
esteem. In any event, I am justified in charging what I do. I spent five long years acquiring my expertise.
Even with cuiranum you do not walk blithely into dreams. And each dream is different, and you must
learn from the patient before you enter it what you will encounter, and you must know beforehand exactly
what you must do to destroy the dream or to alter it in such a way that he or she will not dream it again
and will be cured of the malaise that occasioned it.
Such dreams I entered!
A woman is walking down a street. She sees a parade of children approaching and pauses to watch
it go by. She sees that each child carries a spear. When the center of the parade is abreast of her, the
Leader cries, "Halt!" and the marchers stop. "Left face!" cries the Leader, and the children turn
simultaneously in the woman's direction. Half of them are girls, half boys. The girls are dressed in pink