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There is a voice coming from the elevator speaker asking you to say where you are. "An elevator."
"An elevator. Good. It already has a door inside of it. That's very intuitive, Rudy. Is the elevator moving?"
"Not yet." Obviously. You haven't pressed the button.
"Could you make it move downward?"
You press the button. It lights up <span class="mu-r">red.</span> The elevator starts to rumble and hiss like a tape recorder, and the abrupt sinking feeling in your stomach tells you you're on your way.
"While you're waiting in the elevator, I will tell you a little about what you will see at the bottom. When the elevator door opens, you will be looking into your own subconscious. It may seem strange or unexpected to you. You may begin to feel apprehension or dread. This is nothing to be afraid of. This is your own mind trying to ward you away, because your consciousness is not intended to be there. It is intended to be above, handling the act of thought, while the subconsciousness comprises the vast and unexplored majority of your being. Think of it as if your waking mind was an island, and your subconscious was the entire ocean around and underneath it."
You are a tiny island. The elevator is sinking in water. The button is glowing brightly.
"Just because it may seem alien doesn't mean that it is. It is part of you and vice versa. You will be protected by your dreaming mind. Even if you happen to wake up inside of it, you will only temporarily lose consciousness and awaken back in your body unharmed. There is no way for it to permanently harm you. Your mind wants to keep you alive and safe. Do you understand?"
"Yes," you say.
"When the elevator reaches the bottom, the door will open. You will step confidently outside. You will look around and identify if anything seems like a foreign body, and you will tell me about it. If it speaks to you, remember what it says. If it attempts to attack you, remember you are perfectly safe. Can you do this?"
"Yes."
"The elevator has reached the bottom, Rudy."
The elevator has reached the bottom with a bone-shaking judder. Your face slides away as the door retreats into itself. The air smells like bleach and incense.
Outside the door is—
Outside the door is—
Outside the door—
Outside the door it is the kind of <span class="mu-r">RED</span> that drills holes in you, that hammers itself through your eardrums and eyesockets and teeth, the kind of <span class="mu-r">RED</span> like the surface of the sun, like the night sky, like a mirror through your eyebrow, the kind of <span class="mu-r">RED</span> that eats you up, the kind of <span class="mu-r">RED</span> that spirals, eating up itself. That kind of red.
>[1] Step confidently outside.
>[2] Stop.
