Rude Awakening

Imagine, if you will, nothing.

If you are like most people, you are picturing a vast expanse of endless black. If you consider yourself to be an individualistic person, you may be imagining a white void instead. Either way, you’re wrong. “Nothing” has no color, size, nor recognizable form. By “nothing,” I do not mean a lack of visual stimulus; I mean a lack of sense itself. There is nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to smell, nothing to touch, and certainly nothing to taste. Furthermore, you are unaware of this lack of senses; in fact, you are not aware of anything at all. With no senses, you are left alone with your thoughts; but the problem is, there are none of those, either. Without senses nor thoughts, you are unable to acknowledge your own existence. Do you exist? How could you float in a sea of nothingness?

For you humans, brimming with thoughts and sensations, this scenario may be difficult to envisage. Let’s return to that blackness instead. 

Close your eyes for a moment. 

...Are you back yet? Okay, let’s resume.

When you closed your eyes, you probably saw spots of radiance - an unwanted byproduct of various surrounding light sources. We want to blot those out. 

Once, I visited a cave. Not alone, though I took the proper precautions. I blended in with the animals surrounding me - a proper tourist, I was. One of these beasts led our meager expedition into the Earth. At the conclusion of a brief trek earthbound, the queen beast sealed the exits and turned off the lights. The result was not dissimilar to drowning in a deep pool of darkness, the likes of which you have likely not experienced in your lifetime. I frantically waved my ephemeral human hand in front of my ephemeral human face and saw nothing. Of course, had I occupied my true body, I would have been able to see. I can see everything. But my brittle human body began to hyperventilate and panic, deprived of one of life’s many constants. I was left only with the cool air of the cave and the din of my shaky breath. Meanwhile, the other brittle bodies surrounding me oohed and aahed in response to the strange experience. At that moment, I couldn’t help but commend these lesser creatures. 

This is the kind of darkness I am talking about. The kind that will strip you of your sanity after a few days in its grasp.

Now, I want you to imagine emerging from nothing to darkness. It would be a relief, wouldn’t it? You would think so. Of course, you would have no recollection of dwelling in nothingness - as I said earlier, your brain would be unable to perceive nothingness and form memories from within it. So, suddenly finding yourself in a cave-like darkness, you would probably just panic. 

The nice thing about caves is their spaciousness. In the darkness, I never considered the possibility of asphyxiation. You have no such luxury. 

When you gain consciousness, the first thing you notice is the stale air. You breathe in sharply, like an addict taking a long drag after months of sobriety. Breathing through your nostrils, you notice an unbearable stench. You feel two walls pressing up against your arms; firm, but soft. 

You know that crust you get on your eyelids after waking up? This is a hundred times worse. The crust has gotten mixed up in your eyelashes, tangling the tiny hairs. The lip of each eyelid is covered in questionable goop, sealing them together with the efficiency of Elmer’s glue. Unlike most mornings, it takes several painful attempts to open your eyes. But it’s no use. You are met on both sides of your eyelids with the exact same vision: darkness. 

You try to sit up, to move your arms, but there is a hard barrier directly above your face, restricting your movement. You realize you must be in some kind of box. Pushing on each side, you notice an insurmountable pressure on the walls. It’s impossible to escape.

This is when you start to panic.

You shove the barriers surrounding you with all your strength, well aware of the task’s futility. You cry out for help, beginning in hoarse, pained whispers. Your throat is so, so dry. You build your way up to screams; a cacophonous crescendo of adrenaline and anxiety. No one hears you, but you keep on screaming.

The dryness of your throat eventually catches up to you, and you unleash a series of excruciating coughs. You stop your yawping. 

There’s a pervading silence that would be awkward if there was anyone else around. You realize just how inexorable your situation is. So you begin thinking. How did you get here? Where is “here,” anyway? 

You remember falling asleep. It seems distant, like a childhood memory. Exactly where and when you fell asleep remains a mystery. 

You shiver in the chill, but your breathing and body heat warm up the small space ever so slightly. 

You become very sleepy. Maybe it’s the darkness. Maybe it’s the soft cushioning pressed against your back. It’s probably the lack of air.

You close your eyes again. Your imperceptible suffocation keeps you from thinking logically. You’re so tired. Might as well get some shut-eye. 

The various centers in your brain notice the inevitable shutdown. A few of them make last-ditch efforts to keep you alive. Others sit back and enjoy the show. I even saw two of them confess their love to each other. Might as well, eh? 

Your bones let out one last grunt of exertion before giving up completely. Your lungs search for air, but there’s none to be found.

At last, you fall asleep.

Some distance away is a loved one. Maybe it’s your lover. Maybe it’s your sibling. Maybe it’s a co-worker who never said how much they care about you. I feel especially sorry if it’s your parents. You must have died young. 

In any case, your loved one stands expectantly in front of a man. The man is ancient and wise. A proper Gandalf type. If you expected the secrets of the universe to come from any one person’s mouth, you would expect it to be his. He’s wearing dark robes, the likes of which no human has donned since they went out of fashion centuries ago. His wrinkles litter the topography of his face like roads on a map, and his long, flowing hair droops down to the middle of his torso. He opens his eyes after an intense bout of mental strength.

“Well?” asks your loved one, tears in their eyes. “Did it work?”

The man hesitates a moment before responding. “Yes.”

Tears flow vigorously from your loved one’s eyes. “Thank you!” they manage to respond. 

“...For a while,” the man finishes. 

Your loved one’s joy is shattered by confusion. They stop crying to let out a tentative, heartbroken, “Huh?”

“Well, the resurrection worked well enough.” The man eyes the ground in embarrassment. “But we probably should have dug up the coffin first.”