Liminal

I guess what I noticed most in that instant was that there was noth­ing to notice, which may not be a cor­rect inter­pre­ta­tion of the sit­u­a­tion. It could as eas­i­ly have been true that I was with­out the capac­i­ty to notice any­thing. What does that mean? Well, it’s like this… to say that I was in a dark room would assume two things imme­di­ate­ly. One—I am in a room. Two—the room is devoid of light.

In my cur­rent state, I can assume nei­ther of those things. I can sense noth­ing to con­firm I am in a room. Neither can I sense any­thing to con­firm that my sur­round­ings are dark. In fact, I can sense noth­ing to indi­cate the exis­tence of my sur­round­ings. So, is there noth­ing to notice, or am I inca­pable of notic­ing? As it turns out, I have the answer to that ques­tion. At least, I thought I did at the time.

I know what dark­ness is. I mean, I know how to sense dark­ness. Wow, that sounds vast­ly too meta­phys­i­cal. What I mean is I know the dif­fer­ence between a bright­ly lit room and a dark room. I also know what a room is. If I had nev­er had the sen­so­ry capa­bil­i­ty to expe­ri­ence those things, then I would have no con­cept of what a room or dark­ness was; hence, wher­ev­er I am, there must be noth­ing to sense or some­thing to pre­vent me from sens­ing it. I mean some­thing like a blind­fold, except there is no blind­fold because I could feel a blind­fold, and I cannot—nor can I feel the lack of a blindfold.

And there’s the rub.

All of this strikes me as very odd because, as I remem­ber it, I was just hav­ing a con­ver­sa­tion with my ther­a­pist, Grace. I was telling her about my dream, then she told me the girl’s name, then she called me Jack, then we stopped talking.

And then I noticed I can’t feel any­thing, nor the lack of anything.

“Grace? Where are we?” I asked with­out voice into the nothing.

We are not. Grace chimed in her response.

“We are not what?”

We are not togeth­er; there­fore, “we” are not some­where. Furthermore, you are not anywhere.

Grace answered with detail, but alas, no fur­ther clar­i­ty. Let me try a dif­fer­ent question.

“Fine, Grace, if you’re not going to tell me where I am, where are you?”

I am every­where, which is infi­nite and there­for equiv­a­lent to being not anywhere.

Grace’s response was per­fect­ly log­i­cal, but not at all helpful.

“But you said we were not togeth­er, or rather not in the same place. If you are every­where, don’t you then have to be where I am?”  I sparred with counter-logic.

At this point in the con­ver­sa­tion I real­ize that I have more press­ing issues, like, what is wrong with my body ’cause I can’t feel any­thing. I won­der why I’m argu­ing about phys­i­cal loca­tion… with an unem­bod­ied voice… in a non-where…

We are not togeth­er because you are not.

Grace—short, suc­cinct, unin­ter­pretable, aggravating.

“I am not what? Together?” I’m start­ing to won­der if my ther­a­pist is antag­o­niz­ing me on purpose.

You are not any­where, there­for I am not there.

Yep. She must be. Let’s get to the more press­ing issues.

“Grace. I can’t feel any­thing. I just real­ized I also can’t see any­thing… nor taste or smell any­thing. In fact, all I seem to have left is my sense of hearing.”

You can not hear me. Grace’s hol­low bell voice returned.

“What do you mean? I heard that. Demonstrated by the fact that I responded.”

You did not hear me.”  She states this as a fact, as if my response didn’t prove that I’d heard her.

“Why?”

You did not hear me because you have no ears, and I have no mouth.

“Then how are we communicating?”

These are just thoughts. Thoughts require nei­ther expos­i­to­ry nor sen­so­ry hardware.

Ah well, now that’s all cleared up. And I still can’t feel any­thing and have no idea where I am.

“Let me try this ques­tion again in a dif­fer­ent way. Assuming you are every­where, and you are not in the same space as I am because I am nowhere, where exact­ly does that put me?”

Let me try answer­ing that ques­tion again… in a dif­fer­ent way. You were some­where, and you will be some­where again. In fact, there will be no space between those two events. The space in which we are hav­ing this con­ver­sa­tion is not a space at all. This is lim­i­nal. You see, Jack, thoughts have no dimen­sions. Thoughts take up no space in the phys­i­cal uni­verse. Thoughts are also instan­ta­neous. They take up no time. At this moment you are not any where. You are in the space between. And the beau­ty of the lim­i­nal is that it can hold an infi­nite amount of things that take up no space and no time. Just like these thoughts.

“How long will I be here, Grace?”

That is anoth­er time relat­ed con­cern, Jack. The rules regard­ing tem­po­ral loca­tion are not rel­e­vant in this encounter. Perhaps this will help you judge, rel­a­tive­ly. Because secrets are ideas, and ideas are thoughts, the lim­i­nal is a great place to keep secrets.

“What does that mean, Grace?”

It means that we will prob­a­bly be here until you have found every­thing you want­ed to find… or hid­den every­thing you were afraid to. Grace concluded.