THE STRUCTURE

OF CONSCIOUSNESS

PART ONE: AWARENESS

This world has no time. It does not yet exist, yet it has already evolved, and has already been
destroyed.
This world has no place. It exists within a memory; the memory of a dream, the imagined, the
seemingly real, the memory of the memory.
This world both exists, yet doesnt. It is simultaneous yet separate. It comes and it goes. It came
and it went. It was inland, it hung off the edge, and floated out to sea. It remained still whilst
the world danced around it.

Perspective One:
ZOOM OUT.
The Observer in the distance.

I see a structure in the distance, levitating still above the choppy North Sea. But yet, this is just
the faade; within this motionless shell is a hub of activity. The building sleeps so still.
This place seems so familiar. The trace of a lost topography is captured, its steel lines are an
artificial support allowing the physical access of memories. I look down through the grid
structure, as it connects and tangles into a neural network. Dense voids reveal the sea many
metres below, the cavities enclosed with separate pathways leading to several nuclei; densities
of memories associated with place. All the roads lead off this sleeping building, which in turn
lead to the den-cities of memories. A new road is constructed to lead to the location of every
memory that comes into existence. This area is dense with roads, with paths that branch off
those.
I remember, I had a dream I was here.
From this height I can see the building in the distance lighting up like a beacon. Flooding
back come the childhood memories of celebration as we lit the beacon on the cliff edge, once a
signal to ships out to sea, and a symbol of hope. I can see where the Lighthouse stood, within
my minds eye. I hold the memory within me, triggered by being within this exact location. But
the image is starting to fade, and it is confused with the dream I had about it the other day. It is
becoming a blur. I need to remember. I replay the memory, renewing the image afresh. I inhale
the forms and colours through my eyes. I hold the memory within; the glasses I wear just help
me to never forget. I remember, I was standing on the church tower.
But I long to re-experience this place as it was, the landscape that I hold so dear, that
represents the time in which my body and consciousness existed, and the perspective of life
I saw. The world is sea and steel now, a mirage of its old self, stripped to bare topography that
forever marks the lands final moments. Im presently at the summit of the empty scaffold, my
climb rewarded with an opportunity to re-experience the memories that I associate with this
place. Ive just now re-visited the memory I chose to access; an observer into my own past,
re-living the environment I was within, as determined by the choices I made at the time. But I
wish to go deeper; to both observe and create a new memory - one which never happened in
physicality, and existed only within my mind. I wish to gain awareness and take control of my
dreams.
But the Lucid Dreams I will save for tonight, because for now, I am on the top of the memory
of the church. I look down again and can see that within the centre of each crossing path is a
structure made up of a series of platforms allowing access to curious headsets, their docks
indicating the eye-levels of the observers who once stood there. I notice headsets up here
too, and as I walk closer towards one, it comes into view that this headset is an Oculus Rift.
Stationed here is a portal to my dreams - a way to re-experience a memory, or a memory of a
dream, from within another reality; a Virtual Reality.
My mind is transported into the software, the environment constructed by code, bound by
location, unlocked by the user. I walk on the spot, images revolving around me from all angles,
aligning and orientating with precision to my viewpoint.
I re-experience the dream I had when I was here.

Perspective One:
ZOOM IN.
The Observer approaching The Structure of Consciousness.

I see a structure growing with each step I take towards it, its scale magnifying with my
approach. The building awakens its heavy eye-lids absorbing sunlight and sea breeze. The
ground below is solid; the sea is still at a safe distance. I hear a rumble, and my head turns as I
notice walls tumbling out towards the beach, only to be caught moments after. I begin to
observe this structure as a machine, regulating its own internal processes based on information
fed to it by its occupants.
I keep walking forwards, looking upwards, allowing rain to brush my face as I marvel at a
pixelated cloud of glass, some spaces transparent, some solid, some concealed by an opaque
mist. The spaces where I have a clear view are full of people moving in a synchronicity of their
own. I wonder how they got up there, if there is anything concealed to the naked eye within
the empty spaces, and if the dead end roads do in fact lead to somewhere?
I am intrigued by a pixelated wall around me making up images. I look up at the screens
seemingly immense scale, its pixels retracting in and out, revealing a constant source of
three-dimensional imagery; dream fragments. I am standing right beside an Oculus Rift portal
entitled VR3. I lock myself within the safety restraint and put on the headset, to see the same
scene with minor changes the fragment wall is now not immense - it is infinite with
fragment parts crumbling off towards the ground, before swooping towards the simulator.
I withdraw the headset, and lead myself towards the simulator. I can see new walls being
constructed by an army of robotic hands. Metal tongs fold down from the ceiling, pinching
walls and orientating them with precision to line up with oscillating tracks. As walls move ever
linear, the image fragments off the cliff edge, neatly tumbling onto a treadmill that transports
wall parts back on itself to be recycled or dismantled. I ponder at the physical construction of
the image, questioning my own reality within a quantum plane.
I notice below my feet that I am just one of the many lights which illuminate the thoughts
generated within the space; I am sharing the space with many others, on the same walkway
as me and high above on platforms. I see other users submitting their memories in return for
fresh data chips. We each contribute our thoughts; every light which illuminates underneath
our feet represents a single contribution to a larger whole, passed down from our ancestors
and to our grandchildren, a web of synapses and neurons spanning eras, analogue through to
digital.
I weave through The Structure of Consciousness; aware of myself, and acutely aware of the
environment. The wind is cold and chaotic, dancing through the space as well. We are all
atomic specs riding on a breeze.
I traverse the static walkways, and notice rotating walkways appearing out of the clouds. I
realise after having completed my circular lap under and above, sheltered and exposed, that in
order to access the structures in the sky I must decide to become an Oneironaut. From these
exclusive perspectives I can further contemplate and question the images being processed
through my eyes.

Perspective Two: The Psychoanalyst

The stars shine in the sky as The Psychoanalyst makes his way up the beaming path, creating a
smooth linear trail as he runs his finger along the beads of dew on the frozen railing. Light
reacts with the piercing cold wind creating a smoky haze. As he approaches the peak of the
gradient, the door senses his approach and slides open vertically before closing promptly
behind him. He walks swiftly to his office via the vending machine to dispense his morning
coffee, and scans his card along the door. He pushes the door on its hinge, the lights spark up
with a flash, glowing so bright the ships out to sea know not to approach. With the flick of a
switch, the vibrant plasma in the walls dissipates into clear glazing, and he watches a couple of
Observers gravitate towards the structure. He notices a single light source ascending the lift,
hovering a little in situ before ascending again, until the lone Oneironaut is seen briefly
clinging on to the rotating stairs. The Psychoanalysist awaits, sipping his morning coffee.

Perspective Three: The Oneironaut.

I see a structure in the distance, hovering above the land. I observe a twitch of movement to its
faade revealing a momentary glimpse into its vast core. The building sleeps, flexing an
occasional spasm in the night.
I have traversed the network of roads which lead to this place, and upon closer inspection
realise the roads pass underneath the building. They once ended abruptly, but now continue to
re-establish lost routes that access the memories. The building is raised on stilts, which extend
down through the land and deep into the sea bed. The right angled forms of concrete, steel
and glass are occasionally softened by a cloud like blur. The buildings scale is immense,
reminding me of the castle on a cloud I like to visit in my sleep. Walls crumble off the edge of
the cliff, falling into the sea like a waterfall.
I find an elevator marked Enter to raise me up inside the space. I am disappointed at how
unceremonious this vertical corridor actually is, yet I understand that this represents the
mundane banality of a good nights sleep which passes you by, fleeting and uneventful.
Suddenly, out of the darkness of my ascension, a vast space comes into view. I can but peer
through the clear glass of the tunnel I am encased within, and wonder where I will stop first. I
am disorientated, unsure how long I was ascending in darkness and I question if I was ever
really ascending at all? I finally stop, and seemingly impossible stairs on the walls make me
question whether I may in fact be upside down, and stairs rotate from all floors connecting to a
few mysterious doors, with mirrors above and below projecting a sense of infinity, before
fading back into the comforting natural landscape I find so familiar.
A set of stairs rotate towards me from a central pivot, granting my access into a world in which
the route is now out of my control. I take the stairs hand, and climb the steps as it turns
towards a door I did not choose. But I trust the building, as I know I am on the right course, as
I sense the building anticipating my movement, continuing to run like clockwork. I glide
towards a door, and the stairs lock into place. I am compelled forward towards the door; my
hand reaches and turns the handle. It is cold to the touch, a reminder of my certain physicality.
The door slides slideways and not forwards as I expect, and a light filled room encased in mist
stares at me. I find myself propelled into the light, my feet still, the ground under my feet
pulling me in.
Abruptly, the door shuts behind me and light turns to dark in an instant. Confused and now
a little frightened, a comforting circular glow in vivid colour beams out of the darkness. More
and more circular glows of light beam from the ground up, the mist dissipating out of the
room through some unknown ventilation system.
The light beams become clearer as the haze fades, revealing a display of plinths set to a grid.
Like a strange dream, I see a slot in the plinth for a coin, and Im not entirely sure what
inserting the coin will actually grant me. I take the chance, put my hand in my pocket and drop
a penny through a slot.

A magnified echo of the drop vibrates around me, seemingly triggering the descent of a pair of
glasses which lower from the ceiling. It prompts me to look up, and I realise it is here that the
fog is gathered. A little backpack is dispensed from the plinth, and I look with curiosity at the
hanging glasses. In my peripheral a light source catches my eye, as the word memory
illuminates from the mirrored wall. The word diminishes into a shadow of itself, and I look
back at the curious objects.
I open the backpack, and find a note inside instructing me to wear the bag. I also find the
penny I had just dropped, a pocket watch running forwards with a unique number engraved
onto it, and a red book entitled Liber Novus. A bookmark falls out, and as I pick it up off the
floor, I see the words Read me later, but for now, put on the glasses so I put back the book
into the rucksack, and detach the spectacles from their hanging antennae, which are released
into my grasp. As the lenses coat my perspective, I am stunned at how normal these glasses
feel. That was underwhelming I reflect, but revel to myself at the glasses novel aesthetic.
The room is suddenly coated in darkness, and for two seconds, the noise of the plinths
retreating into the floor whirl into my ears, and a diagonal route is displayed in lights cutting
across the floor where the plinths once interjected. My feet start walking, as I find myself
instinctively following the light path. Once again, the door feels my presence and glides open,
whilst fog bursts from both sides of the doorway.
I realise the door has closed behind me, and although surrounded by darkness and fog, I can
just make out a feint light a little way in front of me. Arrows of light appear on the floor to
reassure my uncertainty, so I walk on, each step making the destination lights brighter, and I
make out a cube of light and stand on the X.
Again, the door closes behind me, and I become horrified as I realise that I am floating above
an infinite drop, but my feet feel firm on the glass base however, dulling my momentary shock.
The lift shifts down with a jolt and I can see that I am surrounded by row after row of what
appear to be post boxes, red and shiny with a tiny slit. I inspect one up close and see an eject
button, which my finger presses lightly with curiosity. I hear a godlike male voice instructing
me to please insert memory chip.
Confused, I spin around to notice the door of the lift is made up of screens which light up
to become a useful guide and I know what to do now. I push on the right side of the glasses
frame and pause my fingers to the left hand side ready to collect the data chip, which pops out
instantaneously. I place the golden chip onto the palm of the plate and it quickly retreats back
into the wall.
The lift pulls me upwards into a glossy circular room of white light. The walls illuminate with
projected images, and I realise I am in a hologram of light. I float down towards myself from
the ceiling, and watch my hands come forward as I place the glasses on the bridge of my nose,
and from henceforth this footage is reminding me exactly - as recorded from my own
perspective - what just happened from the moment the glasses came towards me, to the
moment I removed the chip from the spectacles. The room goes dark, and the lift is
illuminated once more. I travel back down, and stop at a slot awaiting me, palm out, data chip
in hand.

Your data protection is very important to us. Your memories will not be displayed to any third
party without your consent. Continue life tracking? I visualise people watching me sitting on
the toilet at first, but then I consider the many benefits, such as being able to locate my lost
keys, or looking back to see who was in the wrong during an argument. I take the chip- I guess
that was my way of suggesting affirmative.
The lift moves its way up high to an observation platform, and I can see through the clear
glass that I am on one of the highest points, and am able to overlook the whole of
Happisburgh and beyond. I see the building from a whole new perspective. I watch the
building spit walls into the choppy sea, crashing down like eroding cliffs. I see the church, my
old house, the lighthouse, the water tower, St Marys manor house. But I also see memories; my
four-leaf clover patch, the ghosts of the old lifeboat shed, ramp and steps. I imagine Wimpwell
Green, a village lost to the sea, out in the distance floating stationary above the waves. I
wondered at this point, whether my thoughts could be tracked too? I decided this might be a
bit too intrusive all the time; I wouldnt mind, but only on my terms.
I notice the glass display start to pixelate, and now Im starting to question if this is a real view
at all or just a very clever simulation. I pinch myself for clarification. I seem real enough. Real
or not, the glass continues to crack into linear channels, and I can see grids overlaying
vertically in parts of the village. I can see I the distance beyond and dense areas of grid activity.
Some grids appear to disappear into the sky. I see they are chronological markers, noting the
time of something. Structures appear along the grid lines, stacking up like an impossible game
of Jenga, and looking dense in some areas, scarce in others. I look around for a clue as to what
this all means, and upon no answer decide that I will forgo the view to continue on with my
quest.
The lift doesnt take me back down, so I move myself onto the only other position, a circular
walkway. With a creak, the building jolts into life, walls rotating around the walkway, whirling
as slowly as the cogs in my confused brain. I see two other potential places I might stop, and
stop at the first. I feel a water droplet on my skin, and look up at the luminous tensile fabric
shielding me from the heavy rain. I can see down through the metal mesh to the ground below
and do hope no one can see this high up my skirt from below!
I slow towards a glass pod, the stem of which sprouts from the building. I step into this
self-contained space, just big enough for myself. I see a treadmill on the ground, a joystick with
a big red button, and an Oculus Rift headset hanging once again from tentacles. I step onto the
treadmill, and the pods arms clasp around me so I am contained safely within the space. The
headset is not as flattering as the glasses, but they fit over the top nicely.

Entering Software VR1

The display is dark, and from the centre point the light expands into the darkness, the colours
that make up the image zoom clearer into my focus and like a reoccurring dream, or even a
dream in a dream, my sequence of events is replayed- this time connecting up the data from
both chips, and responding to the control as asserted by my feet. I retrace my steps through
the room where the penny dropped, down into the data store, up into the hologram room, up
further into the observation platform, around the rotating walkway and into the space Im in
now. The penny dropped; I didnt have any control over which room I visited, I was led here
as if there were a trail of sweets. But now I could control this; I was lucid in a non-physical
environment, and the glass walls melt into a selection of doors. I remember the joystick in the
room and shyly shift the stick forwards. I feel self-assured by my own intuition the moment I
realise that, with not a seconds delay, the display shifts forward on my control, and I approach
the door to the edge of the platform. I turn my head from left to right as I scan the visuals of
digital Happisburgh. I feel my mind is separate from the image, and I trust that I really wont
fall off the edge.
I decide to run through the doors and with my arms out I prepare to fly. I soar around the
building, exploring it from every possible perspective. I fly for what seems like hours, taking in
the view, and recording it all in my memory. I enjoy the freedom, as I zoom in and watch the
building grow before me, its sense of scale shifting as materials and forms enlarge or dissolve
depending on my location and perspective.
I gasp for air as I feel my body spasm, my limbs confused from sensing objects not really there,
reaching for a physical sensation. I remember that I am just exploring the exoskeleton of my
own head, which prompts me to recall that the space I am in is just the
fabrication of the software.

Back to reality

I remove the Oculus headset, and marvel at the architecture surrounding me. I notice the
windows closing around me; they had all opened to allow the wind to enter enhancing my
flying experience. I try to walk and lose my balance, dizzy from the adventure within my own
head; I have completely confused my body.
I wondered now, if the space I had just visited was even real, and whether I would recognise
the space within physical reality. From this exclusive perspective I can further contemplate and
question the images being generated through my eyes. I looked down at the view and walked
back along the bridge to the walkway. I could see the walkway ahead of me rotating, and I
waited for the bridge to twist towards me and grant me access. The pathway paused a little and
the gate beckoned me in, allowing me time to step on to the other platform, before
proceeding on to its rotation. I stood a while, watching the world curve around me, allowing
myself to focus on the centrifugal wind force tickling the tiny hairs on my face.

PART TWO: CONTROL

I have lost track how many times I have spun on this axis; I focus out of the trance and I
realise I am engulfed in a cloud. This is not an everyday occurrence. Am I dreaming? I press
my fingers into my palm and feel a slight sweat to the touch on my palms with my fingertips
definitely awake; last time I was here I put my fingers right through my palm before inspecting
my fingers further to realise they were all broken. Having established my full lucidity, I realise
the building is now granting me freedom in this dream like space but within the limitations
of physicality. I fathom that just moments ago I was entering spaces on the buildings terms, but
now I am presented with a choice
I see the word exit glowing on the floor of the lift, breathing flames of light which curl in the
mist. The walls of the walkway ripple into an instructional formation, vaguely directing me that
a left turn is explore (turn to page 3 ), a right turn is analyse (turn to page4), and moving
straight ahead is reveal (turn to page 5). To go home, (turn to page r).

Left turn: Explore

From this elevated perspective I look down at many people in giant test tubes, moving
frantically, laughing with delirium. I find a vacant pod, and I enter one. Hanging Oculus Rift
headsets are bound on tentacles. I also observe a safety restraint, a left-hand joystick to move
around in flight, a right-hand joystick and button to operate the treadmill and its speed, select
buttons marked yes and no, up and down, an eject button, a drawing tablet, a keyboard,
and a word scanner. The pod has once again sensed my arrival; the transparent glass lights up
as a display, asking me for my unique number. I rummage around my rucksack looking for the
code engraved onto the pocket watch, whilst out pings a tray from the dashboard where I slot
in the memory chip from my glasses.
I tap in the code, and put on the headset.

Entering Software VR2

The space expands to accommodate a seemingly infinite storage system, the more I zoom in,
the more data stores are revealed. This fractal world is like existing within a Russian doll; the
closer I get, the further away I seem. I find a random door, and to see what happens I pass
through it; I am in a room, but the data is concealed. I retreat back to the great hall and
continue to fly on, paying attention to the number I am up to, but I am still nowhere near, so I
turn a cog to my right and the numbers shift on the panel until the row I want gravitates
towards me. I enter the room and see a display with a clock on the wall. The hands each run in
a separate direction so fast that the time is incomprehensible. A menu comes up on the three
dimensional screen, luminous writing asking me to choose from the following selection:
1. Replay memories categorised chronologically
2a. Replay dreams categorised chronologically
2b. Replay dreams categorised by reoccurrence
2c. Replay dreams categorised by recognised location
2d. Replay dreams categorised by part-recognised location
2e. Replay dreams categorised by fictional location
2f. Replay dreams categorised by theme people, places, objects
2g. Replay dreams categorised by lucidity
3. Dream submission
4. View collective conscious imagery

I consider hitting number 1, but then I remember that I have only just now replayed the only
memories I have currently stored on the chip, so Ill save this button for my next visit.
I hit button number 2a. Around me lights circle in red light, Error, error the room exclaims
you have no dreams on file. Please visit a psychoanalyst for more information. I thank that
brief exclamation for I would have gone on to hit all of the number 2 buttons, so I arrive at the
assumption that I should speak with a professional before submitting dreams, of which I have
no clue what to do. So I hit button number 4.
I feel the tentacles around my head, tracing the neurons that run through each synapse. Its
experimenting on me, extracting information radiating through brain signals. Random images
start flickering around me that make no sense. These disjointed flickers of memories are not
my own; they are other peoples memories. I recognize no one, yet some of the images trigger
memories of my own by some sort of random association. The tentacles absorb my brain data,
understanding a little better the way in which I respond to specific images.

Exiting Software VR2

The space removes itself from my vision as I pull off the headset and shift my awareness back
into the physical room. The panel asks my permission to use my data for experimentation to
which I select affirmative, and the door opens up to adhere to my will to leave. I find the salty
air refreshing as it collides with the air released from within the stuffy chamber. However I
look forward to my next visit so I can carry out the rest of the options that were denied to me
due to this being my first visit.

Keep walking ahead: Reveal

I walk straight ahead towards the barrier, but the platform keeps spinning round. It will not
stop. I notice the instructional display warning me that there is an error. It knows this is my
first visit, and that the pages in my red book are blank. Until I come back again with some
content for the building to process, I must resign myself to selecting another route.

Right turn: Analyse

The Psychoanalyst greets me into his office.

Ive been expecting you. Coffee?

If its no trouble. I reply.

None at all, mines gone cold so I need another. I can feel him analysing me.

Im not here to analyse you, he reveals with a smile, Im here to help you to discover
the parts of yourself that you never understood, and you may never have even known existed.
You are within the Structure of Consciousness; the worlds largest storage facility of mental and
physical imagery, all drawn from yourself, and millions of people just like yourself.
The plasma within the walls shifts to create a gap where the Oculus Rift pods are clearly in
focus. You are part of a consciousness that spans space and time, and it is my job to explore
this theory. In return for your cooperation within this experiment, we will give you the gift of
memory storage. And not only that, your memories and even dreams can be re-experienced
with full or no control, within both physical and virtual reality.
I look across and down at the inhabited pods, people engrossed in the freedom of flight, tears
of emotion running down cheeks as memories with lost loved ones are replayed, gripping the
empty air for a hug, imaginations creating sensations for belief in the physical.
If you imagine hard enough it becomes real stated the Psychoanalyst.
I wanted to experience the pods again, to collect my own data and never forget.

...But what about my privacy? I questioned.

You can switch off the recorder during intimate moments if you wish, but remember,
there are millions of others also sharing data- there is no judgement, and footage will never
be shared with others, unless you agree to it. No one has yet criticised or even hacked into our
data protection system, it really is world class. We have had reports that people have become
more friendly, more tolerant, and more forgiving, amongst many more positive side effects. We
assume that through the thought of being judged by others, individuals become more
conscious of their own behavior. But we do not wish to study your Ego, for re-experiencing
memories is for your own entertainment; a gift from us. We wish to study your Self, the part of
you that is behind the faade, and although we make use of your memories for cross reference
and formation of images, it is your dreams which reveal the parts of yourself that you never
knew - or understood. I see you have your backpack. How was your experience of the memory
chamber?

Surreal, I joked, and a little frightening.

Why was this? He asks, scribbling down notes.

Well, I have a fear of lifts. I confessed.

Your phobias and complexes should fade with the program. Curing of anxieties,
depression etc. can be handled within the dream state. Have you ever had a lucid dream?

Yes, I replied, three times.

Fantastic, a natural! He exclaimed, lets explore further! I do hope you havent
forgotten them?

No of course not, they are experiences I will never forget- they felt so real.
The Psychoanalyst lead me to a table, with a drawing tablet and a word scanner.

In your rucksack is a red book. This is now your personal dream journal. Until we
develop the technology to extract your dream imagery, Im afraid that your dream
submission must be manual. Laborious I know, but very useful in the process of self-discovery;
the most thorough method. Are you ready?

I think so. I uttered, not quite sure what to expect. The lights dimmed, focusing all of
my attention onto the softly backlit tablet.

The first lucid dream experience of yours; please describe the environment and any events
that took place. I proceeded to sketch out the space, the digital screen correcting my messy
drawing into linear pixels.
So I see when the awareness hit your consciousness, you struggled to perform your mid-air
forwards roll. Were you not fully in control of your motion?

I suppose I wasnt in control no. Sorry, does that mean it was just a regular dream?

You were aware that you were asleep, therefore it was still a lucid dream. You became
aware that you were dreaming the second you noticed your fingers were not normal. You need
to create stronger triggers that allow you to become in control, and not just aware. Much like in
the memory chamber, you were lead through the space with little control, the rooms allowing
you in on their terms, the lighting changing with no input from yourself. You need to be able to
recognise that from within the dream that you are dreaming. The Psychoanalyst observes me
removing the pocket watch as I note the hands moving clockwise and linear.
Your instincts are correct; that pocket watch is your trigger to recognise your existence within
the dream world. Your brain works very hard in tricking you into believing what you see is
real, but your perceived reality can shatter the second you suspect that something is not quite
how it should be. Try and zoom in within a dream, and you should hit a block. Try and read,
and the writing should scramble. As you know, observe your hands and note how alien they
look. Walk through walls, or punch a hole through your body. Watch the hands on your pocket
watch travel backwards. Once you recognise you are dreaming, you will have your own
adventures in the dream world that feel as real as within an Oculus Rift, if not more. If you
keep a regular dream journal, do frequent reality checks, and that includes visiting this
building - because people have commented that this space does make them pinch themselves,
he says with a smile, you will find you will become a true Oneironaut, free of physical
limitations, and free of negative emotions such as the anxiety you mentioned.

I do have another dream I mentioned.

Save a detailed account in your journal upon your return home. On your next visit
well upload some backdated dreams. Here, have a pamphlet about the work of Carl Jung.
We pass some more offices, with some experiments taking place that seem far more intense
than what I just encountered. One room was full of vertical beds with a handful of people fast
asleep, Psychoanalysts crowding around, fiddling with monitors and turning dials whilst
tentacles feel their way over the persons skin detecting brainwaves and heart beats.
Some very technical experiments are taking place in here; we are studying how to extract
information from the sleeping participant.
All very exciting! I reply. I cant help but feel part of something bigger than myself, and I am
intrigued how it can be possible to understand myself better.
I look back at my pocket watch. Time, within the physical realm at least The Psychoanalyst
adds, is just a sequence of images. I ponder on this thought.

Descent: Exit
I am exhausted; this is enough mental and physical energy use for one day. On my way past my
house I see an Oculus Rift portal stationed, so I put on the headset. I whirl through a tunnel
into the simulator and memories and dreams from this space come flooding back that I forgot
I had. They were stored here all along, and now I can access them.
The building was constructed from the turbulence of a hurricane back in 1987, and I have
been storing my memories on the sacred ground of my four-leaf clover patch ever since.
I go home to Thrums. My eyes are so tired. I sit in bed and tip out the contents of the backpack
onto the quilt. The unique number engraved into the metal permits me to access my data only.
The pocket watch is now ticking forwards this is real, time is consistent and linear, a trusty
object to associate with my physical perception reality check. Thank god Im awake, I think, as I
peacefully drift off to sleep.
My hands begin to relax as I slowly release my grip around the coin. The penny drops onto the
hard floor creating a vibration that resonates in my ears. The sound ripples into the dream,
bursting the construct, shattering my world into water droplets around me. My body connects
to the atoms in the air and I swim on the vibrations. I realise I am not swimming, but I am
flying, just like in the Oculus Rift. I reach out for the joystick to propel me forwards, before
realising I am forcing forward on my thoughts alone. I reach out for the red button, but my
hand slides clearly through the space. I reach for my headset, but cannot even feel my own
body. I realise I am within the construction of my imagination; this is my software programmed
from within my own head. I am disappointed the memory glasses wont have tracked this so I
can replay it when I wake up. But I dont need the glasses in order to remember, they just help
me to never forget. I wake up in excitement, and reach for the red book to write all this down.

Visit Two+

Years have passed. I carry my rucksack full of words and diagrams with me on my regular
pilgrimage to the building, with each visit the earth crumbling away revealing the foundations
like exposed tree roots. The frothy sea splashes up from below, the lighting creating distorted
reflections in the water. My body goes into autopilot mode as I descend up a memory data
store, vacantly uploading memory chips as part of my habitual routine.
I stop at multiple floors before finding a vacant pod.
The room knows Im here, but still carries out appropriate security identification protocol
through confirming my personal code, of which I have now memorised. The glazed window
displays the many options for intent, and I select number three, dream submission.
I have been busy narrating my nocturnal adventures, and the red book is fresh with new dream
entries. I place the book down upon the designated ledge, and proceed to scan the words, each
beam of light transcribing my written word into binary code, storing and analysing both words
and drawn image.
I intend to re-explore and question some of the vivid reoccurring dreams I have had lately, so
I put on an Oculus Rift headset, my fingers sensing the buttons from the joystick, tapping and
directing with innate sensory understanding detached from vision.
Before I get started with carrying out my intentions, the pod needs to confirm my dream
entries with myself. Only a few seconds pass, and I am surrounded by flashbacks from my own
life, reformatted as if these memories were the original dream. The computer asks me to
confirm if the dreams and memories do in fact correlate.
I select button 2a from the same menu now displayed to me from within the headset. The
curtain falls around me to reveal a pitch-black room, illuminated only by the light of
holographic thumbnail images of my dreams projected into the air. I flick through the
chronological list, adding notes to some dreams I now recognise as taken from the film I
watched the other day. The software allows me to bring up my memory store thumbnail images
simultaneously and match the two events up. After organising my dream fragments, I exit the
pod. I can see my newly submitted dream fragments adding to the collective conscious data
store as I make my way back up to the revolving control centre. I step towards the simulator,
the motion sensors detecting my presence, and stopping precisely at the correct time to allow
my entry into an empty environment chamber. I first take a second to synchronise my
intention with the building through imputing the necessary dream data onto a screen
beside the entry door, which opens automatically to permit my entry. The corridor leading
up to the simulator is long and narrow. The building knows my preferences and switches the
opacity to allow me a clear vision to the outside. The building glows and reflects in the
sunlight, quantum dots absorbing the suns rays, whilst the sea breeze flicks against the sides
creating momentary spectral displays. I walk over the memory location of my four-leaf clover
patch and ponder upon the rainbows that so fleetingly took my gaze. The rainbow is real, and
yet my hand passes straight through it. This image exists within another dimension that
integrates with our own. I sense the energy of movement, as the building awakens and
stretches with a yawn, configuring walls into position, dimming lighting, and transferring
digital data from the dream store into the building switchboard.

The simulator is ready for me and the lift arrives. I step on and descend into darkness. The
building allows me time to meditate into the zone, into a state of relaxed concentration. I am
alerted to a colour ahead of me, zooming towards me as more colours appear on the horizon,
sparking in my direction. The chamber is so dark that I cannot see my body clearly. The ground
under my feet jolts, prompting me to walk along. With each step, I walk further down a street,
the image of which I know is projected onto orientating screens that align with my eyes. Each
intention to turn my feet rotates the field of vision. I cannot see the walls clip to the track, it
is too dark and foggy. I walk through a wall, observing the section cut as made up of vibrant
light. As I enter the enclosure, I sense the environmental chamber dull down the sensation of
wind, and a vile smell enters my nostrils. Disgusted, I find the door suddenly opening and I am
underneath the building, the natural air refreshing my senses.
I walk along the path. Ahead of me are the pods, still full of people with limited control over
their limbs. I stumble diagonally, the railings catching my body. I look back upon the giant
simulator as I leave to go home, watching the image from my external perspective construct
itself as the future perspective of the Oneironaut within, to pass the present moment from
within the environmental chamber, and ultimately shattering off the edge of the cliff in the
past; this image no longer visible from the perspective of the Oneironaut. The images of the
past are but a memory, the images of the future are awaiting my orders to construct them.
I return home, to remember a dream I had the other night, where I was standing on the
church tower looking towards the Structure of Consciousness. I had forgotten to input the
entry into my journal. I put on my Oculus Rift headset; everybody has one now. The Internet is
a place you enter, the construct surrounding you rather than laid upon a flat surface as it used
to be. The World Wide Web extrudes like a black hole, spiraling into infinity. The website allows
me, upon authentication, to enter the software of the building. I fly straight from my bedroom,
into the computer screen, and out through a tunnel which leads me straight to an observation
platform. I fly though the building, past avatars - this time still as statues within the pods - up
through infinite data stores to which I fly back down at light speed, through the walls and into
the simulator. I try to defy the image, and stand on the cliff edge observing the parts of the past
as they fall towards a reoccurring future. I consider the images as one and the same thing. It
doesnt matter whether the image is physical or virtual; it was constructed by thoughts. I enter
the lift, and find myself sucked into the corners, unable to move. This will be a long wait I think
to myself, resigning myself to this sensation.
I feel my eyes becoming drowsy. As I awaken within my bed I immediately sense the
confusion. I feel the suns rays beaming through the window, warming the skin on my limbs
that are poking out from under the quilt. I close my eyes, tracing wild colours within my lids. I
open my eyes again, sensing the weight of my body, and touching the smooth cold white
painted wall beside my bed. Again I close my eyes, watching the colours dance and swirl,
watching images forming and fading within my mind. I start to control the colour, directing the
pixels into formation. This is my reality, and I am no longer just an observer aware of my
existence within an unknown space, I am now in control of my own location within time and
space, self assured that the line between thoughts and reality arent just blurred but directly
linked.

No matter what reality I am within, if can dream it, I can certainly do it.