by Philip Haggard Berry
When I was a child at prep school I had a kind of nervous breakdown. I was sitting in class and the teacher was wrapping up her lecture and I was a bit tired, so I closed my eyes, only for a moment, and I saw, clear as I had just seen the teacher at the front of the room, this flash of thousands of black crickets running, scourging across a forest floor. I opened my eyes and apparently some time had passed because the last of the students were already walking out the door and I was still at my desk. The teacher looked up and noticed I was still sitting at my desk. She looked very concerned and asked if I was alright. My head was still reeling from the image I had seen, and this cold dark horror was creeping upon me that if I closed my eyes again, I'd see those creatures rushing and crowding and they might just take me over entirely. I stammered a bit and said I wasn't feeling well, then slowly gathered up my books and my coat and left.
On the activities period before lunch me and the very few friends I had were gathered in our little corner of our hall and I reluctantly told them what had happened. They stared in what seemed to me at the time to be a mixture of worry and, well, fear. I had at first thought they wouldn't believe me, but I guess by the way I had told them they did. I asked them if they thought I should tell someone, my parents, a teacher, someone. They all immediately shook their heads no. So, I waited, in fear, for the next time this might happen.
The next day was a Wednesday, and on Wednesdays before school they had Early Service in the chapel. My mother and father and brother and I were all gathering our coats in the headmaster's house after the service when I, being still sleepy as it was only just 7 AM, closed my eyes for a brief moment after slipping into my coat.
I saw them again, rushing, scurrying, frantic shiny black crickets skittering over one another across the dark wet earth and dead leaves and brambles.
When I opened my eyes again my mother and father were holding me up, I had crumpled up, nearly to the floor. My mother asked me panicked what was wrong, and my father said that I had just fainted because I had gotten up so early and then I shook my head and said no, I wasn't alright. Then, there in the coat room, I told them what had been happening and that I thought I might be going mad.
That day my father brought me to a psychiatrist. I walked into the room, alone, feeling dejected, horrified that I was losing my grip. I sat down in the chair opposite the doctor's desk. He was reading a book and looked up at me thoughtfully and smiled, then closed the book.
So, what seems to be the problem.
Well. . .sometimes, when I close my eyes, I see this great rushing of crickets across a forest floor, and the vision carries me away and when I open my eyes again time has passed.
I closed my eyes hard, just to see if they were there, and they were, they came rushing back.
He looked at me, almost pitying, and I knew he could tell I had just seen them again.
You saw them just now?
Yes. Doctor, I'm afraid I'm going crazy, I don't' want to go crazy. Can you explain to me what's going on.
Well, you're not crazy.
I'm not?
No.
He seemed hesitant to tell me.
Well, what is it. If I'm not going crazy what is it?
Well. . .I can't tell you. All I can tell you is that you're not going crazy.
I felt frustrated and confused and couldn't figure out why he wouldn't tell me.
What do you mean. You have to tell me. I can't live like this.
If I tell you. . .it would mean the end of the world.
What.
If I told you what was really happening, then this world would cease to exist. I, and everyone else in it, would disappear. You would still exist, but I and the rest of this world would disappear. All I can tell you is that I know you're not crazy.
I, I don't understand. You have to tell me. You're a doctor, that's what you do. You have to explain to me why this is happening, what do you mean this world will disappear and you as well. And why do you think I'm not crazy?
He sighed deeply, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then sighed again. Then he looked me in the eye and he said,
You're dreaming.
Then there was blackness, and the doctor ceased to exist, and that world and everyone in it disappeared, but I still existed.
I opened my eyes, sat up and put my feet on the floor, and sat there, on the edge of my bed trying to take it all in.
I had always had difficulty keeping reality in check as a child, everyone else around me seemed to be anchored to this rock steady world whereas I felt like a piece of tissue paper floating and eddying in a dim and confusing world where reality was fluid.
But, before that dream of the insects, I had begun to feel more and more tethered to at least a semblance of reality.
After that dream I have constantly and continually questioned whether or not I'm dreaming yet another convincing dream. And if so, when did it start, when will it end, did it indeed have a beginning or will it ever have an end or will I just keep circling in on my self, my soul, my own dream kingdom, the great serpent ouroboros devouring its own tale for all eternity, beyond eternity.
The great dragon lies in the depths, the gulfs, the great abyss. . .dead. . .but dreaming. . .
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