ABSTRACT
In my mid-20s I had the following dream:
It is late evening, I am walking on a road, and I see a two-story house that dates from the 18th century. One room on the first floor is lighted. I approach the house and walk in. I know that in the lighted room Immanuel Kant is dying. 1 glance into the room. It is lit by candles, and several people are in there, murmuring. The atmosphere is subdued, sad; people try to be with Kant in his dying hours.
I do not enter the room. I am not sure whether I see Kant himself or my inner image of him. I move on. Somehow, from the house I enter a subterranean tunnel that leads me into a subterranean bookstore. It is long, winding and leads deeper and deeper down.
