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In the place where there is no darkness, she is the light.

The light stands for purity.

Brightness does not connote any clarity of mind nor perspicacity of vision, and so it is in this place where dreams and reality meet and mingle, a confluence of characters and visions and hopes; it is here that countless, boundless, sometimes contradictory aspirations meet their full realization.

This place is heaven.

She is blind but, unacquainted with sight, she has never thought to want to see. To say that she lacks sight is not exactly correct, since nothing about her is lacking. Where we are now, sight is only a convenient paradigm and she is at an advantage; she is familiarized with more subtle and circumspect methods of surveying her surroundings, those which so readily lend themselves to the soul's inquiries.

She has never seen the light, but she does not live in darkness.

True, her avatar here has eyes, but they are empty, reflective only; to each of us she looks different, although she acts and smells and speaks the same to all. Superficially it seems our individual perceptions define her, but a closer inspection reveals that her true self never changes. On a plane of existence which seems to disavow the physical in us, it makes perfect sense that her appearance should be perfect, her real self unchanging. While the rest of us have some unique self-image which we project at expense of all others, her outer mutability makes her a special case. And her dealings with others are also affected; though her understanding of human nature is far from perfect, she instinctively assesses people on the basis of their spirit rather than their surface, an accomplishment which all too many of us must strive to mimic.

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

There are no light switches up here (none of us being quite sure where this is, up is as good a term as any), and so we can never turn off the light. She could hardly be expected to notice; but those of us who cling to our memories of the flesh, pale shade of the present though it may be, sometimes have trouble adjusting to the insomniac lifestyle which necessarily accompanies a fatigue-free existence. In contrast, lacking visual stimulus, she always perceived sleep as a predictable, rhythmic interruption to her life. She notes its absence disinterestedly. She never dreamed.

It is difficult to fulfill the dreams of one who has none.

At an early age she learned that when she was the first in a room, she should always find the light switch; classmates and acquaintances were understandably spooked by her tendency to sit patiently in a dark room, impeccably punctual but disquietingly unobtrusive. She has since learned to make her presence known.

She is modest, not invisible.

Perhaps with a little effort, here where everything is possible, she could be trained to open her eyes and look around her. But I fear that in this bright place, she can never learn to discriminate light from dark; having never known the pitch blackness of the terrestrial, she has no standards by which to judge the interminable beauty of the celestial.

She stands for hope.


'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' O'Brien had said to him. He knew what it meant, or thought he knew. The place where there is no darkness was the imagined future, which one would never see, but which, by foreknowledge, one could mystically share in.
-George Orwell, 1984

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