Winter Dreams Pt. 3

Winter Dreams Pt. 3

By Asa Montreaux

‘So,’ Amory said. ‘What is it that your book was about, remind me? While I am familiar with your work, lately I have not asked much about your project because you seemed so immersed in it. Now that it is finished, at least the writing, what is the new contribution?’

Richard sat back, sighing, and pondering how to answer the question. ‘Well, thank you, Amory, I had not been trying to keep it a secret to my friends, but I preferred not to reveal too much information about it, if I didn’t have to, to tell you the truth.’ Richard scratched his chin. While he had been writing every morning, perhaps most afternoons, he was clean shaven always, and was always taking care of himself. ‘The idea that is going to blow people’s minds is not necessarily originating in the human brain, but now, it is there, it is very there, and it always will be. But it originated in myths. It is, the archetype.’

Amory felt a little color drain from his face. Though he felt excitement at the same time. He wished a little that he had been the psychiatrist that discovered this, though this had very little to do with his field. He had already understood the idea, as soon as Richard said the word, ‘Archetype’.

‘Richard, that’s sounds absolutely brilliant. How did you think of such a thing?’ Amory asked.

‘Well, Amory, I owe some appreciation to you, because it was through becoming friends with you that I found I quite enjoy your work. You see, I have been quite interested in these archetypes for many years. And when I found them in your books, I knew right away that I had found something that stretched through almost all of human existence, since the very first story was told on earth.’

‘There have always been these figures that we associate with people we meet in the world. And they can be traced back to the early myths. There is the Great Mother, the Trickster, the Old Wise Man. The hero. I suppose my work may have as much of an impact on Literature as on psychology, but I am excited all the same.’

Amory felt it sounded almost exactly like he had imagined It when Richard defined it. But he knew he had never thought of it before. He was not jealous, though it was a missed opportunity to not be a philosopher, a thinker, he realized. A writer could easily be a creator of ideas, and a great philosopher. This would be his discovery, that he would begin creating ideas, to branch himself out of the art that he seemed to make just for people to consume and forget about. Sometimes, no matter how good it was.

‘This will be a significant event in psychology, and philosophy. You have stumbled upon research that explains whole aspects of humanity to us for the first time,’ Amory said. ‘To think that our minds could be shaped by stories. Fascinating.’

‘Yes, there are certain thoughts that automatically appear in the unconscious mind of all humans now, that had originated only in stories, that we had made for each other. To explain our world for ourselves.’

That seemed to be about the whole of the idea. Amory thought about asking more about it, but he feared sounding out of his depth. There was nothing more to ask about it, having read nothing about it, that would sound intelligent. Amory decided to ask, ‘Richard, will the dinner being prepared be finished soon? My wife and I were hungry. We haven’t eaten anything since lunch in preparation.’

‘It was just finished. It is prepared now, and it is up to you when we shall eat. Would you like to have the dinner now?’

‘Why yes, now would be more than amenable.’

‘Very well,’ Richard said.



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