Von Franz is pointing at something the ego resists almost automatically: that the dream's villain, its victim, its landscape, its embarrassing side character, and the one who watches it all from the back of the theater are equally you. Not metaphorically you — actually you, continuous with waking life, authored by the same psyche that you think you are looking at from outside. The dreamer who wakes relieved that the monster was someone else has missed it. The one who wakes ashamed of what a figure in the dream did has also missed it, differently.

What makes this startling — von Franz's word, and it is the right one — is that most of us approach a dream the way we approach our symptoms: as news from elsewhere, as something that happened to us rather than something we are doing. The drama metaphor refuses that comfort. You wrote the lines. You staged the betrayal, the flight, the impossible room. The prompter whispering from the wings is not a foreign god but your own unexpressed knowledge. The surprise, when it lands, is not "what a strange image" but "I already knew this about myself and was busy not knowing it." That is the disclosure the dream is after.