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Dream (VII)

I walk up a steep mountain path, very rocky, and eventually I come to the top—at the top I see two trees filled with blossoms, perhaps cherry blossoms, and the blossoms fall to the ground.

I think, “Can there really be another world after death? Yes, there must be.”

Now I am in a room with a black lacquered floor, it is filled bookshelves that stretch to the ceiling—these are also black and filled with books, and there is some red decoration here and there.

At the far end of the room, there is a sliding door like a paper screen and a man in a black padded swivel chair.

He is in his mid-40s but looks youthful, and he has white hair like Assange.

I also sit in a black swivel chair. I have a silver laptop, and I type into it “I don’t know if anything since the events of the 25th of October is really real.”

I look up at the man behind the desk and he says, “Yes, that’s right.”

And the scene fades away into blackness, and as it does I’m told “you’re one of the few who knows”.

The man fades away to blackness—my eyes are closed but I am awake, and there is a bright white light that pulsates where the man was.

The light is so strong that it illuminates all the veins in my eyes, and it has a blue or a red tinge to it; and I have the impression that is the man with white hair as he really is.

After a while, I open my eyes—but the room is dark, because it is only 3:00 AM in the morning; and there is no light here at all.


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