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Memories and experience fade over a lifetime. If a person were able to recapture these memories, would she feel more confident, or inferior?
Generations of life have been forgotten over history, with no way to "remember" these lost experiences. Yet, if a woman could stand on a precipice of knowledge, would she take the plunge to learn all mysteries?
A better way to look at this is to imagine a precious stone artifact that, when touched, reveales all the knowledge of the world. The woman stands before it, a Pandora of sorts, and places her hand on the stone. Does the stone's reaction determine our history? Would it light with the happiness humanity has created or red with the blood spilled? The knowledge seeps through her skin and mermories which are not her own flood her mind, as though all of history has been written into a single textbook and the pages are being flipped through at a rapid pace.
Kings, rulers, tyrants, martryrs, noblemen, their names, brith dates, accomplishments all encoded into her memory along with every fact about each person they touched. Boundries and battles over these boundries, the compnenents of air and the knowledge of the atomic particles of every element in existence. She experiences every happy moment ever exerienced, along with every heartache and tragedy.
She jerks her hand from the stone with effort, heart racing, the knowledge permenantly placed in her mind. She stares into the distance, numbed, as silent tears begin to fall down her cheeks. When she realizes she is crying, she wonders why. Immediatly, thoughts of authors and books she has never read stream through her head. Her mind is reading over a scene from the book Fahrenheit 451 in which a woman spuratically cries after being read a poem called Dover Beach. The situation does not fit. Another scene from a short story "Harrison Bergeron" where a woman's son is shot, and she cannot remember, yet she cries anyway. The situation does not fit.
Dozens more books flit across her mind, none of them fitting what she believes she feels at that moment. There are scenes of fear of the unknown, and the knowledge that one will never remember. However, the woman knows that this is not the case, because she will never experience the unknown again. The knowledge is inside her, and she cannot separate this knowledge from what she thinks are her own thoughts. The knowledge of the world weighs heavy on the shoulders, and once again books flit through her mind without her percieved knowledge of it. This time, scenes are replayed in which the phrase "ignorance is bliss" keeps repeating itself.
 Qua Quidam · Sun Feb 15, 2009 @ 04:52pm · 1 Comments |
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