The view of the valley
You gaze down into the green valley. Blink eight times. Now you see something different: on the facing hillsides is a dense copse. A few metres in front of it something catches your attention, and repels you at the same time. You try to wrap your head around what you see. Your brain categorizes this enormous thing in concrete terms: Tree. Oak. But at the same time, your mind resists those labels. It has the dimensions of a multi-story skyscraper. Even from this distance the trunk alone appears so thick that it would take fifty or even a hundred people to encircle it completely. Thick branches extend from its trunk, twigs branch out, and you think for the first time that the word crown is entirely appropriate here for describing this being (and that it’s ridiculous that people would use the same word to describe something so tiny that it fits on their head). Around the tree you see various crooked stone buildings, seemingly nestled up against its trunk. From this distance it’s difficult to say what their purpose is. But if you shield your eyes from the bright sun with your hand, it becomes clearer: the buildings are covered in colourful splatters—probably drawings and symbols. You’ve often wondered why archaeologists, whenever they’re unable to determine the specific purpose of an object or a building, assume that it belongs to the realm of religion or cult. But here you catch yourself doing it, too: to you, this place on the other side of the valley looks holy. Yet it is teeming with people. Admittedly, from this position and in comparison to the tree, they appear as tiny as ants, but they seem to have come from near and far. The roads there are dotted with carts of different sizes, loaded with variously shaped objects. The sound of voices blows quietly over to you. Then, louder and closer, you suddenly hear Anna Kpok’s voice: “You’re right,” she says impishly, as if she could read your thoughts. “This tree is holy.
But not in your dimension’s sense of the word. The people here don’t consider the tree to be something otherworldly, divine. They respect it and like being around it; they meet underneath it because everybody knows where it is. They enjoy spending time in its shade and leave messages for one another there. From time to time, the stone houses are painted white to make room for new communications. In this dimension there is only “here” and “gone”; there are a thousand stories, but not a single “past”. And—here I’m not sure whether I should say in spite of or precisely because of this—there are stories in this world that very nearly describe what we are experiencing right now: there are many different dimensions that are constantly splitting into even more dimensions.” Anna goes silent. As she spoke her last words, the tree and the buildings already started to fade. The pervasive green has once again given way to the omnipresent grey-brown colour of the Ruhr area that you’re familiar with. Lost in thought, you look to the cemetery directly below you. What would become of your own dimension, if the people there all knew about the other dimensions? If they knew about alternative ways of living and were familiar with other ideas about the world, life, and concepts of meaning?
That’s certainly something to turn over in your mind for a while.
I’m going to stay here for a bit and jot down some notes. But you should get up.
Now walk back down the hill until you reach the small gate—the entrance to the cemetery will be on your right. Once you get there, stay put and continue reading on page 56.
Memorize the page number, close the book, and go.
If you’re worried you’ll forget it, feel free to leave your finger in this page of the book. I can’t say for certain, but I think you’ll be able to remember the number 56 until you reach the gate, won’t you?
Time to go.