Chagrin and anguish stung me to the heart. I cursed the returning day which called me back to an existence whose truth and significance were now involved in doubt. I awoke in the night from unquiet dreams. I sought anxiously for a ray of light that might lead me out of these mazes of uncertainty. I sought, but became only more deeply entangled in the labyrinth.
Once, at the hour of midnight, a wondrous shape appeared before me, and addressed me: -
"Poor mortal," I heard it say, "thou heapest error upon error, and fanciest thyself wise. Thou tremblest before the phantoms which thou hast thyself toiled to create. Dare to become truly wise. I bring thee no new revelation. What I can teach thee thou already knowest, and thou hast but to recall it to thy remembrance. I cannot deceive thee; for in every step thou thyself wilt acknowledge me to be in the right; and shouldst thou still be deceived, thou wilt be deceived by thyself. Take courage - listen to me, and answer my questions."
I took courage. "He appeals to my own understanding. I will make the venture. He cannot think his own thoughts into my mind; the conclusion to which I shall come must be thought out by myself; the conviction which I shall accept must be of my own creating.  Speak, wonderful Spirit!" I exclaimed, "whatever thou art! Speak and I will listen. Question me, and I will answer."
The Spirit. Thou believest that these objects here, and those there, are actually present before thee and out of thyself?
I. Certainly I do.
Spirit. And how dost thou know that they are actually present?
I. I see them; I would feel them were I to stretch forth my hand; I can hear the sounds they produce; they reveal themselves to me through all my senses.
Spirit. Indeed! Thou wilt perhaps by and by take back the assertion that thou seest, feelest, and hearest these objects. For the present I will speak as thou dost, as if thou didst really, by means of thy sight, touch, and hearing, perceive the real existence of objects. But observe, it is only by means of thy sight, touch, and other external senses. Or is it not so? Dost thou perceive otherwise than through thy senses? and has an object any existence for thee, otherwise than as thou seest it, hearest it, &c.?
I. By no means.
Spirit. Sensible objects, therefore, exist for thee, only in consequence of a particular determination of thy external senses: thy knowledge of them is but a result of thy knowledge of this determination of thy sight, touch, &c. Thy declaration - 'there are objects out of myself,' depends upon this other - 'I see, hear, feel, and so forth?'
This dialogue continues for some time and in the end "I" (Eidolon) is convinced by "Spirit" (Daemon) that 'reality' (Bohmian IMAX) is an illusion.
Here we have Fichte being presented with one itladian theme (the Bohmian IMAX) by a being very similar to our Daemon in a very similar set of circumstances (late in a sleepless night) to those described by Friedrich Nietzsche:
(the painting at the top of this post is The Wanderer by Casper David Friedrich.