文／HuSir

　　我如今生活在一个自由的国度。那里的街道宽阔而安静，阳光透过高大的枫树洒在路面上，孩子在草地上奔跑，教堂的钟声每天都准时响起。人们彼此尊重，彼此信任。我喜欢这样的生活——早晨可以带着家人去散步，午后一起喝咖啡，周末去教堂参加敬拜。在这个国度里，没人强迫你说谎，也没人因表达信仰而被羞辱。孩子们被教育要思考、要提问；政府的权力被法律约束；每个人都可以因为自己的努力，平等地生活。这样的我，以为自由是理所当然的。直到有一天，一个梦降临。

一、梦的开始

　　那是一个漫长的梦，开始时并不惊人。梦中我仍在上班、回家、与人交谈，一切都似曾相识。只是，空气渐渐变得凝滞，街头的笑声少了，人们的神情变得谨慎。我发现自己身处一个陌生的国家——他们称之为“大洋国”。
　　在这里，学校里不再鼓励孩子提问，老师说：“思考太多会出错。”工作单位每天开会学习“文件精神”，每个人都必须表态、表忠。有一天，我因在会议上提出不同意见，被领导当众批评：“你要站稳立场。”，同事们沉默着，没有人敢为我说一句话。

　　我看到大洋国的年轻人失去了梦想。有人考编、有人考公、有人拼命“卷”；他们说：“只要稳定就好。”那些不肯沉默的人被标签为“危险分子”，那些提问的学生被教育成“思想偏激”。在这个国家不允许有个人追求，信仰被重新定义为“私人情感”，教会被监管，牧者被训诫。偶尔有大胆的人说：那个“老大哥”以为这是胜利，其实是灭亡的开始，看似安定团结的人民群众看似无言，但我只觉得无数的灵魂在流血。

　　晚上，我看着窗外的城市。街上人很多，却没有声音；灯光明亮，却没有温度。我的心忽然发凉——我明白了，这里禁止一切“不同”，也禁止一切“真实”。如果你要上网，忽然发现以前可以自由访问的主流媒体网站居然无法登陆了，如果想访问就要使用所谓的翻墙技术，而且有被查获处罚的危险。

二、梦的延伸：沉默的生活

　　在梦里，我的生活继续着。我看到人们渐渐学会“识时务”，学会“明哲保身”。他们低声议论时，总要先环顾四周；发言之前，总要猜测上级的喜好。
　　新闻播报永远在歌颂成绩，学校考试永远在考忠诚。我认识的一位朋友，因为在网上写下“我渴望公义”几个字，被单位约谈。一位老教师因拒绝修改教材而被停课；一位医生因拒绝夸大疗效被调离岗位。人们开始在恐惧中生活，却又习惯地笑着。
　　我也开始改变以前在自由过度生活的习惯而变得沉默——因为我知道，沉默才能活下去。但有一天，当我发现女儿在梦中也开始重复那些口号，说“自由没有意义”时，我的心彻底崩溃。我立即着手给她办理了出国留学手续，并迅速将她送回了自由国度，那是我做过最艰难的决定。因为我知道，留在大洋国，她会被教育成一个乖顺的孩子，一个永远不敢问“为什么”的人。我想让她重新自由地呼吸、自由地思考、自由地爱。我告诉她：“那边有阳光，有公义，有不被禁止的思想。去吧，不要回头。”她含着泪点头。飞机起飞的那一刻，我看着天空，心中充满了安慰，但我也知道，我能做的也只有这一些，余下的生活得靠她自己了。
　　后来她时常与我联系，说那边的学校很宽容、老师倡导平等，街上有自由的音乐和笑声。家人都替她高兴，但也替我们惋惜，觉得我们失去了家人间的‘天伦之乐’，而且随着我年龄的增加，在需要女儿陪伴的时候却看不到她的身影。可我知道：她已经习惯了恢复自由的生活，而我们中间隔着的不仅仅是距离和环境，而是不同时空下的生活方式，这原本是我们希望拥有的。我想这也许就是很多大洋国式的父母之爱吧——哪怕自己仍在黑暗，也希望孩子生活在光里。诸多和我一样的父母因着单位里的一系列限制而无法出境，却竭尽全力将子女推出了所处的境地。

　　我跪在地上祷告：“主啊，求你让我醒来。”但没有回应，我想这是不是主在熬炼我的耐心和对祂的信心呢？在这样的环境中，我熬过了几十个春秋，不知不觉中，恍如隔世，而大洋国的极限统治也在变本加厉的愈演愈烈，我似乎看不到梦醒的那一天。

三、梦醒

　　有一天，我猛地从梦中惊醒，额头满是冷汗。窗外是黎明的微光，远处传来鸟鸣。我愣了许久，才意识到自己仍然在自由的国度里。阳光从窗缝照进来，那熟悉的温暖让我几乎想流泪。我起身，推开窗户，深深地呼吸。回想起梦中经历的那一切，我不禁惊惧不已，暗下决心——无论这个世界多么复杂，我都要坚守自由的生活。
　　我不会沉默，不会麻木，不会忘记信仰与真理。这个梦让我明白，自由不是理所当然的，它随时可能被夺走。如果一个民族失去勇气、良知与敬畏，那么“大洋国”就会悄然重现。我感到恐惧，但也感恩——因为梦让我看清现实的脆弱，也让我更清楚地知道，我属于哪个国度。那是一个与神同行的国度，一个在真理中得自由的国度。

“主的灵在那里，那里就有自由。”（哥林多后书 3:17，NKJV）

The Oceanian Dream

By HuSir

I now live in a free land. The streets here are wide and quiet, sunlight falls across the pavement through tall maple trees, children run across open lawns, and church bells ring on time every day. People respect each other and trust one another. I love such a life—taking morning walks with my family, drinking coffee together in the afternoon, attending worship on weekends. In this land, no one forces you to lie, and no one shames you for expressing your faith. Children are taught to think and to ask questions; the power of the government is constrained by law; everyone can live equally through their own efforts.
I once thought freedom was something taken for granted. Until one day, a dream came.

I. The Beginning of the Dream

It was a long dream, not frightening at first. In the dream I still went to work, came home, talked with people—everything felt familiar. Yet gradually, the air grew stagnant, laughter on the streets faded, and people’s expressions became cautious. I found myself in a strange country—people here called it “Oceania.”

In this place, schools no longer encouraged children to ask questions. Teachers said, “Thinking too much leads to mistakes.” Workplaces held meetings every day to study the “spirit of documents,” and everyone had to make statements and show loyalty. One day, because I voiced a different opinion at a meeting, the leader publicly criticized me: “You must stand firm in your political position.” My colleagues remained silent; no one dared speak a word for me.

I saw the young people of Oceania losing their dreams. Some sought government jobs, some sought stability, some exhausted themselves in endless competition; they said, “As long as it’s stable, it’s enough.” Those who refused to stay silent were labeled “dangerous,” and students who asked questions were taught that their thinking was “extreme.” In this country, personal pursuit was not allowed. Faith was redefined as “private emotion,” churches were monitored, and pastors were reprimanded. Occasionally, someone bold would say: that “Big Brother” believed this was victory, but in truth it was the beginning of collapse. Though the people appeared stable and silent, I felt countless souls bleeding.

At night I looked out at the city. The streets were crowded, yet without sound; the lights were bright, yet without warmth. A chill ran through my heart—I understood that this place prohibited all “difference” and all “truth.” If you tried to go online, you suddenly discovered that mainstream media sites once accessible in freedom could no longer be opened; to visit them you had to use so-called “circumventing tools,” with the risk of being discovered and punished.

II. The Extension of the Dream: A Life of Silence

In the dream, my life continued. I saw people gradually learning to “read the situation,” learning to “avoid trouble.” When they whispered, they always looked around first; before speaking, they tried to guess the preferences of their superiors.

News broadcasts always praised achievements, and school examinations always tested loyalty. A friend of mine was summoned by his workplace simply because he wrote “I long for justice” online. An elderly teacher was suspended for refusing to alter textbooks; a doctor was reassigned for refusing to exaggerate the effects of treatment. People began living in fear, yet they smiled as if accustomed to it.

I also began to change—from the habits of living freely to becoming silent—because I knew silence was the only way to survive. But one day, when I discovered that my daughter in the dream had begun repeating those slogans, saying “Freedom has no meaning,” my heart completely collapsed. I immediately helped her apply for study abroad and sent her back to the free land. It was the hardest decision I had ever made. I knew that if she stayed in Oceania, she would be shaped into an obedient child, one who would never dare ask “why.” I wanted her to breathe freely again, think freely, love freely. I told her, “There is sunlight over there, and justice, and thoughts that are not forbidden. Go, and do not look back.” She nodded with tears. As the plane took off, I looked up at the sky, my heart filled with comfort, yet I knew that was all I could do; the rest of her life would be up to her.

Later she contacted us often, saying that the schools there were tolerant, teachers advocated equality, and the streets were filled with free music and laughter. The family was happy for her, but also felt sorry for us—we had lost “family togetherness,” and as I grew older, I could not see her at my side when I needed her. But I knew: she had become accustomed to living in freedom again, and what lay between us was not only distance and environment, but different ways of life in different worlds. This was what we had hoped for in the first place. Perhaps this is the love of many Oceania-like parents—though they remain in darkness, they still want their children to live in the light. Many parents like me, restricted by their workplaces and unable to leave the country, still exhaust all means to send their children out.

I knelt and prayed: “Lord, please let me wake up.” But there was no answer. I wondered if the Lord was refining my patience and my faith in Him. In such an environment, I endured countless passing years—decades felt like a lifetime—and the extreme rule of Oceania grew more severe. I could hardly see the day when the dream would end.

III. Awakening

One day, I suddenly jolted awake from the dream, my forehead covered in cold sweat. Outside was the soft light of dawn, and birdsong echoed in the distance. I sat for a long time before realizing that I was still in the free land. Sunlight streamed through the window’s edge, its familiar warmth making my eyes nearly fill with tears. I got up, opened the window, and breathed deeply. Remembering everything I experienced in the dream, I felt a tremor of fear and made a silent resolve—no matter how complex the world becomes, I will hold firmly to a life of freedom.

I will not be silent. I will not grow numb. I will not forget faith and truth. The dream taught me that freedom is never taken for granted; it can be taken away at any time. When a people lose courage, conscience, and reverence, “Oceania” will quietly return. I felt fear, but also gratitude—because the dream revealed the fragility of reality and showed me more clearly the land I truly belong to. It is a land that walks with God, a land where one is set free in truth.

“Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.”
(2 Corinthians 3:17, NKJV)