Blank-out Project

Do we dream in a coma?

Do we dream in a coma?

The dirt path moves in front of me like a treadmill. I keep moving, but it feels like I’m going nowhere. White crystals crunch underfoot. The euphonic sound of folk music faintly touches my ears. I know I’m close now. The path twists and turns. It seems as if it will never end, but I know what lies ahead. At last the scenic trail ends and the gates to the village approach me. Massive icicles hang off the sparkling twelve-foot iron gateway. Cautiously walking under it, I step into the village. I pass the homes and shops. Wandering through the village, as I take it all in. I see the snow-covered awnings of century-old storefronts; the street performers kindly accepting donations; swarms of children running about in their winter clothes. All the wonders of this place, all of them here, all so normal, but so extraordinary in the same moment. Magical almost. I remember my father telling me that the town is designed to be a spiral, so that no street would be neglected. I journey farther into the town. At this time every year the village has an enchanting festival. There is singing, dancing, music, and delectable foods. The festival goes on for a week. The village gives off a warm feeling, a sense of carefree joy. An old lady that I want to call grandma gives me a Spekloqa: a special pastry made only at this time of year. It is best explained as a cross between a croissant and a pretzel. The most defining thing about them is not how tasty they are, but how they never lose their heat. Biting into one brings back memories of coming here with my parents. It’s just as I remember: the shops, the food, the people. It’s the same. The village that never ages. Before I know it, the festival is almost over. The booms of fireworks overhead catch me by surprise. The fierce reds, the golden yellows, the astral blues, and the magical greens light up the midnight sky like nothing I’ve ever seen. Just as suddenly as it started, it ended. I could fall asleep here on this bench. In infinite bliss I could lie here. I’ll just take a quick nap then walk home. Just a quick nap…

“Hello, is this Ms. Diane Hammond?”

“Yes, what do you want? It’s three in the morning and I have to get up in a few hours.”

“It’s the hospice, your father… his brain activity ceased fifteen minutes ago. He’s passed away. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

“...”

“Ms. Hammond?”

“Do you need me there?”

“Well there is paperwork, but if you need time…”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I really am sorry for yo-”

“Do they dream?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you dream in a coma?”

“I’m just a nurse I don’t kn-”

“I hope he dreamt. He used to tell me stories of a town he went to when he was a kid. It was the spark in his eyes. It was his life. It was all he ever wanted, to be in that village, sitting on that bench like he was four again. It was all he ever wanted.”

Excerpt from Dhkmer

Excerpt from Dhkmer

Listen here, I said, an example to delve your mind to see the true nature of the Dhkmer. A dhkma bound in the confines of statis. Three of them in fact. Say they have been there their whole lives. As children and now adults. They can see, and speak, but not move. The shackles of ice hold them in a bind. All they know is what they see. They are positioned to peer upon only the edge of the realm. The span of rust beyond, and in the rust of the ages, a single tree stands, dead and decrepit. Howling winds help the tree sway to and fro. The endless plain is all they know, they have no knowledge; no intellect; no words, all they have is their eyes. Do you follow?

Go on, he said.

Here they are, stuck for years. they know nothing more than what they see.

How are they to survive? He asked. They have no food and no water?

That is irrelevant. Just listen and you will understand. Let’s say that one of the trapped dhkma is released into the world. He is dragged out onto the warm desert sand. A vast lush canopy resides behind the pods in which the two other Dhkmer stand frozen. He sees trees that are not dead. He sees ground that is not dead. Do you agree that his reaction would be one of extreme confusion that would turn into awe?

Yes, he said, that seems appropriate.

And say he would see the sun, glaring deep into him. He would feel pain shoot through him as the sun would sear his eyes. This would be the first time that he would have seen a sun, a true source of light. For so long he knew the sun as just the light from behind him. Would you agree that he would be most understanding of this revelation?

Of course.

So, I said, then you must agree that him viewing a living tree would change how he sees trees? As well  how he must detest the travesty that was before him. The dead heap that was perched in his eyesight. Alas, now his definition of tree has changed. He now knows what a tree should look, feel and smell like.

Quite so.

He would be forced to watch the suns rise and fall, the stars and moons circle around the planet. He would watch in euphoric splendor wondering what it all was, no?

Certainly, he said.

So, I said, you would say that he is overwhelmed at this point, taking in all of this knowledge, all at once? The knowledge of what the sun, trees, the cosmos and everything really are? And the knowledge of not knowing what they are. The point of knowing what something is, but not completely understanding it with depth. Is that not the limbo where his mind would be present in?

I agree, he said, go on.

Now, let’s say that he remembers the place he was before. The two others next to him are still frozen in place. He would go back to them to tell them of the wonders that he has witnessed. He would go up to the first one and tell him what a tree is supposed to look like. He would explain how the tree should be upright, green, lush and tall. Would this be the appropriate reaction do you think?

Certainly it is, he said.

Once he would finish explaining what a tree should be to the bound man, the bound man would burst into laughter. The bound man would tell the free man how preposterous his story is. For what the bound man knows to be a tree is what is in front of him. A brown aged tree is the only tree the bound man knows. The free man would get frustrated and try to convince the bound man with telling of the green grass and the stars and sun. And again the bound man would dismiss everything he would say. Once he would run out of ideas, the free man would ask the bound man why he would not believe what he says. The bound man would ask him if their roles were swapped and the bound man was telling outlandish stories to the free man, would he not be skeptical in the slightest? Would you believe all that would be said if you were in that position?

I doubt that I would.

In that case, would you say that a majority of the dhkmer populous would have the same reaction as you?

I suppose they would, he said.

So it would be safe to say that the reaction of the next man would be similar to the first bound man’s reaction?

Yes, it is.

So would it be safe to say that as the free man tries to liberate the bound men with knowledge, he would be met with the hand of ignorance? The hand that preserves ones conscious and bars the flood-gates of knowledge shut?

Yes, he said, it would be.

What this allegory represents, I said, is how stubborn and ignorant we ,the Dhkmer, are as a race. We are told what is and what isn’t. Forced by the hand of oppression. Skepticism is held as a virtuous skill used to fight of lies and deceit. The unofficial slogan of the Dhkmer: Ignorance is bliss. A phrase that reflects on how shallow a society we have become. Strapped to our technology and pseudo-freedom. Whilst we forget about the umbilical cord still holding us in place as an accessory of a conglomerate nation that takes our morals and values and crushes them like insects. When someone “sees” the light, we tend to ostracize them due to their different mindset. The unhealthy cycle neglection will never stop, it is who we are now. The shallow morals that are pounded into us when we are young, will resonate throughout generations to come. The age of the closed-mind has begun.