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Quantum Hands

For as long as I can remem­ber I have been hav­ing a vis­ion. Not always, not every night, but recur­ring through­out my life. The vis­ion always appears at the crepus­cu­lar bound­ary between wak­ing and sleep, when I settle down in my bed and pre­pare to leave the day behind. As I sink into sleep, first I let go of my body. I close my eyes, I lie still, relin­quish con­trol of my muscles, and wait for my hear­ing to fade and stop pick­ing up envir­on­ment sounds.

At one point, only my core con­scious­ness remains. No longer awake, not quite asleep. I am not yet dream­ing. It is here that my quantum hands mater­i­al­ise. I sud­denly feel a taut­ness in my hands and lower arms. It is as if they swell to massive pro­por­tions, while at the same time, my bones shrink down to the smal­lest size pos­sible without break­ing under the strain. For a meas­ure­less period of time, my phantom limbs are dom­in­ated by this para­dox­ical ten­sion. It com­pletely absorbs my self-exper­i­ence, while my sur­round­ings -- no longer dir­ectly per­ceived, but ima­gined -- are reduced to a desert under a clear purple sky; void of stars and life. Both occupy the whole of my exper­i­ence at the same time; I am reduced to a quantum state of an infin­itely shrinking/expanding pair of hands, filling the whole or noth­ing at all of a bound­less prim­or­dial gap.

The ten­sion holds until slowly all per­cep­tions fade away and I fall into sleep, dream­less or not.