A cold wind suddenly whipped my face. I saw that Dr. Wright and I were standing on top of a tall building in Manhattan. Below us were countless cars stuck in traffic bordered by the swarms of people.

“I can see the whole city from up here!” I exclaimed over the violent wind. I realized that in the distance, dark clouds were gathering and gaining strength. A storm was approaching.

I took a moment to try to grasp the complexity of the picture I saw before me. It was Manhattan, but like I’d never seen it before.

“Why are we all the way up here? Why is Manhattan in my subconscious?” I asked.

“This only looks like Manhattan to you,” Dr. Wright’s voice was raised high enough for me to hear her over the roiling wind. “This is a representation of the collective images that create the world you see in your waking life. Think of it as a sort of dimensional cache.”

I walked to the edge of the building. The skyline was shining with a sheen of crisp clarity. I asked Dr. Wright how any of this was possible.

“You don’t have to experience something to imagine it,” she replied without looking away from the glowing city sprawl surrounding us.

“This isn’t some daydream,” I said as I stepped away from the edge and walked toward her. I needed more than just her vague explanations to convince me that I wasn’t already in some mental hospital imagining all of this. “This is more than imagination.”

“Everything you experience is the sum total of sensory information that your brain is able to capture at any given moment. The way you see the world is always translated through your subjective mind’s eye. Everything is imagined, Sam.”

“Yes, but…”

For the first time, I noticed Dr. Wright getting slightly annoyed. “I’m surprised that after all I’ve shown you, you still doubt me.” She sounded a bit disappointed.

“I don’t doubt whether or not this is real,” I tried to elaborate, but then I threw up my hands and shrugged. “Real doesn’t seem to matter much anymore.”

Dr. Wright smiled. “Then what good does it do you?”

“What?”

“Explanations. They only exist to prove the validity of something. But this is clearly real, and you are clearly experiencing it. What good does it do you if I explain how it is happening?” Dr. Wright seemed genuinely curious, as if she wasn’t just trying to understand something about me, but perhaps something about people in general.

When I thought about her answer, it occurred to me that she could tell me anything as an explanation and I would’ve accepted it. It didn’t matter if it was any more or less fantastic than what I was experiencing, but a part of me still felt like having some sort of explanation would help me prove to myself that I wasn’t crazy.

But then again, who was I trying to kid?