The Spinning Libraries and the Colours of Sound

In my dream, I found myself in an infinite, spinning library. It was neither a building nor a room; it was a labyrinth composed only of giant, circular shelves suspended in the air. All the books on the shelves were white and blank, but their covers grew vibrant mosses that changed colour according to the reader's current emotion.

As I walked through this library, the shelves constantly shifted with every step I took. When I wanted to turn a corner, the entire library would begin to rotate slowly, moving my destination away from me. The ground was not smooth marble, but crystallized cloud fragments that gave way slightly when stepped upon.

Suddenly, the sound of the dream turned up. But these were not sounds as we know them. Music transformed into a physical form:

• When someone spoke, the words appeared in the air as red, trembling cubes and fell to the floor.

• When a piano sound was heard, long, blue threads began to dance in the air.

• When I formed my own thoughts in my mind, transparent, glass butterflies began to flutter rapidly around my head.

I stopped in front of a bookcase. There was no human or animal there; only a three-armed, glass-bodied statue. The statue's arms constantly spun like the parts of a music box. It turned towards me and, without saying anything, simply dropped an open purple feather.

The moment the feather touched the crystallized cloud fragment on the floor, the entire library stopped spinning. The shelves were fixed in place, and for the first time, I experienced a still moment in the middle of infinity.

I realized that the purple feather forced me to focus on a single point amidst the endless chaos. Just then, the sound of the dream returned; but this time, only a deep, echoing bell toll was heard. With the sound of the bell, all the white books suddenly filled with writing. And I woke up, holding that purple feather in my hand.