Someone at the end of their life dreamed a dream of a wonderful and beautiful place. There was a gate, which could never quite be opened in the dream. The dreamer heard of a drug that could induce these dreams. The dreamer took the drug and found the gate, opened it and went through, what the dreamer found was not full of color, but of white, and the dreamer was happier than they had ever been.
I tend to suspect that H.P. was somewhat obsessed with alternate states of being. This story speaks of death; it really can’t be anything else.
I tend to think that the dreamer in this story was a suicide.
I’m going to take this story as death. This tired, worn out dreamer finally died and entered into a peace that they had not known before. I think this story is probably correct in assuming that death will be quite the peaceful respite, but it is just a bit morbid. Look, I’m sure when we’re all tired of living, we’re all going to be glad to finally die and not have to deal with this life stuff anymore, but it’s generally better not to talk about it a whole lot.
Do you think the dreamer died?
What do you think the dreamer found after the story ended?