My stagnant life went on for about two months after I quit and started living free and easy. Day after day of an endless lull. And then one night I had a long dream. I hadn’t had any dreams for a while. (Come to think of it, during those two months, I had slept long and deep, but had never really dreamed. It was like I’d lost the strength for it.)
The dream was vivid down to the smallest detail—and it was a dream about a library. I was working there, but it wasn’t that library in the walled-in town, just an ordinary library you’d find anywhere. The shelves there weren’t lined with dusty, egg-shaped old dreams, but with books, made of paper, with covers.
It wasn’t a very large library. More like a local public library. At a glance, like most similar facilities, it seemed to be getting by on a shoestring budget. All the equipment in the library, and the books on the stacks, reflected this, as did the well-used chairs and tables. Computers for searching out information were nowhere to be seen.
To liven things up a little, a large ceramic vase was set on a central table, but all the cut flowers in it were a few days past their prime. Still, oblivious to the belt tightening, the sunlight shone in brightly through the vertical windows with their old-fashioned brass fittings, past gaps in the sun-faded white curtains.
Tables and chairs for readers were set up next to the windows, where a few patrons were seated, reading books or taking notes. They seemed comfortable enough there. The ceiling was high, vaulted, with thick black beams up above.
I was working in that library. I don’t know what my duties there were, exactly, but I didn’t seem all that busy. There was nothing I was pressed to finish quickly, no now-or-never matters I had to resolve immediately, and I worked at a leisurely pace.
A few female employees handled the patrons directly (I couldn’t see these women’s faces) while I was behind a desk in my own office, handling paperwork. Checking lists of books to order, arranging bills and receipts, reviewing documents that needed my signature.
I didn’t feel particularly fulfilled working there, at this workplace in my dream. But I wasn’t dissatisfied or bored either. I’d dealt with books for years and was used to the work. I’d mastered the necessary skills. I handled the work at hand, took care of any issues, the time generally passing by smoothly.
At least there, I was no longer a heavy iron ball rooted in one spot. It might have been minimal, but I was headed somewhere. Where I was headed, though, I didn’t know. But I didn’t get a bad feeling from it.
Then I realized something. There was a hat on a corner of my desk. A dark, navy-blue beret, the kind artists invariably wore in old movies. It seemed to have been worn for a long time, the cloth soft and cozy looking—like an old cat napping in the sun. Still Life with Beret—and that beret seemed to somehow be mine. Which was odd, since I rarely wear hats and (as far as I can recall) have never even tried on a beret. What would I look like with it on? I glanced around the room for a mirror but couldn’t find one. Did I have to wear that beret? And why?
And right then, with a start, I woke up.
When I woke up from that long dream, it was before dawn. It took quite some time for me to realize it had been a dream—time to tear my body away from that dream world and return to reality. Subtle adjustments needed to be made to gravity.
After that I relived the dream over and over in my mind, checking each detail. I didn’t want to forget anything, so while the memories were still fresh, I wrote as much as I could recall in a notebook. Fine lines with a ballpoint pen over many pages. The dream seemed to hold some critical suggestions for me, seemed to be attempting to get something across. Like when individuals who are close send out very heartful messages to each other, and then explain them very kindly, in great detail.
It finally grew light outside the window, the birds began to chirp, and I came to a conclusion.
I needed a new place to work.
I had to get moving. I couldn’t stay here, stuck like this forever. And my new workplace had to be a library—nothing other than a library would do. A library was the only place I should go to. So simple, yet why hadn’t I realized it until now?
Finally I was gaining some momentum to start moving. The ability to gradually move ahead. Urged on by my vivid dream.