If the dream is a translation of waking life, waking life is also a translation of the dream. ”
- Rene Magritte

Portrait of Edward James

When I was young I had very vivid dreams. I still do. Some of my dreams are of an anxious nature, bordering on the nightmarish. As I grew up, I adapted to this reality and eventually I would welcome dreaming, even though, I knew that in dreaming, I could risk entering into a nightmare. Other dreams were glorious, such as levitating and or flying, but many were dark, anxious and tormented. Some were recurring, mainly the nightmarish ones. When I was a child, I had three recurrent nightmares.

To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been. ”
- Rene Magritte

One of my recurring dreams, which ceased when I grew older, would all of a sudden place me as the viewer, looking at a flat white polished surface resembling the white keys of a piano, a faint horizontal line almost half way between my scope of view simulated an edge or horizon line. There were two or three objects resting on what appeared to be the ground surface. The objects were of different primary colors of geometrical and three-dimensional quality, usually a sphere, a triangle and a square. As if in slow motion, the objects began moving, sometimes one eclipsing the other. This dance continued for a while, then slowly the sphere would start coming towards me, obscuring my view of the others, eventually my entire field of vision, turning everything black. Feeling as if it was entering my brain via an area between my eyes. I considered this dream anxious, because it ended in darkness, something I do not to date welcome. Imagine my discomfort when suddenly I found myself viewing the beginning of this dream, knowing full well of its unchanging and inevitable outcome. For those “The Prisoner” fans, the fabulous series starting airing in September 1967, well beyond when I stopped having this dream.

My painting is visible images which conceal nothing… they evoke mystery and indeed when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question ‘What does that mean’? It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable.”
- Rene Magritte

The castle

Another recurring dream, which I still have, and since, I have had it all my life, is action packed. Thugs, soldiers, children, animals, etc. are the forces that hunt me down. The scenery is always different, from the exotic to the mundane, but the script is unchanged. I find myself in places unknown to me, usually walking and admiring my surroundings, trying to blend-in with the locals. After walking for a while and getting a sense of my surroundings, like when one spends a couple of days in a hotel, in a city not previously visited, and start feeling that I am being followed. I use my extensive expertise in trying to loose my followers by going into shops and exiting thru a back doors, thru alleys, traverse large buildings, climb staircases, use elevators, opening and closing of doors. Eventually, the areas available for me to run to begin to get smaller; impeding my escape, by now it is a full-fledged hunt, I am running, sweating and fearful. Ever increasing smaller spaces, and contrary to popular lore saying not to go up when being chased, inevitably I find myself in that direction, knowing full well, that what goes up must come down. This fact, along with fewer areas to run to, plus a feeling of getting cornered and a faint déjà vu, add a sense of dread to this otherwise exiting chase. Finally, I find a small floor or wall door or window just big enough for my small-framed body to attempt to cross, not knowing that an abyss is what awaits me on the other side. Checkmate, with half of my body considering the jump, the dream ends, never feeling the grasp of my captors.

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.”
- Rene Magritte

L'empire des lumiéres

Another one of these recurrent dreams that I do not enjoy any longer, was the one that terrorized most when very young. Between my earliest recollections and my 10th birthday, I lived with both my parents, my older sister and my younger brother. We lived in a large house that housed two separate homes; ours was on the second floor, while the landlady occupied the first floor. Access to our home was via a fairly wide door and a long and ample, but dimly lit staircase that made a ninety-degree right turn midway to the top. The usual rooms were well laid out. From the kitchen, there was an additional narrow and almost circular staircase to the roof of the house. The roof was flat, since it never rains, and had a storage and a laundry room. The perimeter of the roof had a low wall. When we were very small, unsupervised play on the roof was prohibited, since the edge wall was low, and it could even be easily climbed.

In my dream, I was walking up the main entrance staircase, the front door remaining opened behind my back, daylight from outside pouring in and glistening on the polished wooden staircase. I could see the landing where it changed direction; this was the darkest spot on the staircase. The staircase was the only way in or out of the house, so I was very much accustomed to it. The singular thing was that I knew I was in a dream, going up the stairs. I had again a sense of déjà vu and a premonition of what was in store for me. It was as if I was trapped inside an unresponsive body, which had a mind of its own. As I turned on the landing and proceeded up, a feeling of dread was engulfing me.

Atop the stairs, was the entrance to the living room; it was a rectangular room, which stretched to the right with two small rounded top windows at the right end and a large rectangular window between them. The room was appointed with what for me was, furniture from an early era, very typical for our economic status. To the left there was a swinging door that led to the kitchen, followed by a corridor that opened into our living quarters.

Pushing the swinging door I enter the kitchen. My rebellious body transporting me to that place I did not want to visit. Traversing the kitchen, I hoped that maybe someone would intercept my unresponsive body and put an end to this voyage. Indeed, my mother, sister and brother where there, but as if invisible, I passed unnoticed. Reaching the end of the kitchen and proceeding to climb the smaller stairs to the roof. During my ascent, it became pathetically evident that this was one of my recurrent dreams which end badly. When reaching the roof, my body turned right toward the closest edge wall, this wall faced the front of the house, exactly above the front door. Witnessing in horror how my right leg was lifted to climb this wall, knowing that what was to follow was the tug of the rest of my body joisting itself atop the wall.

Positioning myself on the edge, standing frozen in panic looking down for what seems an eternity, imploring to my body to desist from this agonizing torture, while remembering my fear of heights. Some time passes, and all of a sudden the final movement, my right foot extending as if testing if one could walk in the air, then the dreaded sensation of falling into a dark void, only to revive and if this was not macabre enough, to find myself again looking at the glistening wooden staircase, once again to undergo the same terrifying experience again.

The mind loves the unknown. It loves images whose meaning is unknown, since the meaning of the mind itself is unknown.”
- Rene Magritte

René Magritte was born in Lessines, Belgium, in 1898, the eldest son of Leopold Magritte, a tailor and textile merchant, and Regina Bertinchamps. Little is known about Magritte’s early life. He began lessons in drawing in 1910. On 12 March 1912, his mother committed suicide by drowning herself in the River Sambre. She was discovered a mile or so down the nearby river, dead. According to a legend, 13-year-old Magritte was present when her body was retrieved from the water, but recent research has discredited this story, which may have originated with the family nurse. Supposedly, when his mother was found, her dress was covering her face, an image that has been suggested as the source of several oil paintings Magritte painted in 1927-1928 of people with cloth obscuring their faces, including Les Amants.

Only thought can resemble. It resembles by being what it sees, hears, or knows; it becomes what the world offers it. ”
- Rene Magritte

References

http://www.moma.org/collection/artist.php?artist_id=3692

http://www.rene-magritte.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ren%C3%A9_Magritte

The gothic building.

I dream vividly and often, this was an anxious dream, some would call it a nightmare, not I, my nightmares tend to end badly. This is an attempt to remember that dream and turn it into a story.

During a solemn ceremony at a lavishly decorated gothic building, where the members of a group of individuals, were gathered, I was witnessing a very special moment.

It was an evening affair; all members were dressed in what seemed as off-white military uniforms, with varying symbols on them, again all in the same off-white color. They were assembled in four tightly arranged rows that stretched through the long hall and through the large doors into the next hall. I could not see the end.

Venetian palace from the 1600 hundreds

The grand building resembled a Venetian palace from the 1600 hundreds. The hall was a long rectangle, with large and intricate wooden doors inlaid with chiseled edged glass panels, and similar smaller doors on both long sides leading presumably on the left side to other halls, and on the right to balconies towards something I could not further recognize. The ceiling was a high vaulted like chamber, painted with scenes of clouds and birds, giving the impression of looking up a lovely sky on a beautiful spring day. The hall was illuminated by very ornate dark colored metal standing lamps, with four lights each that were as tall as I. The lamps were placed at enough distance to only dimly allow to view the ceiling and to reflect briefly the rest of the hall.

The rows...

The rows started to move through one of the doors lead by a small balding man, he was without a doubt much smaller than the others, at least as far as I could see, that help me notice that the members were very tall and maybe all of the same height. As I watched the entrance of the rows standing in the next hall, I noticed that I was watching the unfolding of some event I did not know anything about, and that made me feel as an outsider.

As some rows entered the next hall, that was larger than the previous one, I turned around to get a better sense of its grandeur. The hall had more of an English flavour, it was devoid of furniture, the ceiling was high with crossed wooden beams with wooden inlaid decorations that due to the low light, I could not make out. The walls were covered with dark wood paneling, with hanging tapestries depicting various regal activities such as the hunt, maidens weaving, and battle scenes. The hall was also a rectangle with two heavy double wooden doors at each short end, that were decorated with inlaid metals. A massive fireplace with smoldering cinders located in the middle of one of the long sides of the hall not only provided the only light into it, but the rich and acrid smell of burning wood. Across from it was one door as the others in the hall, and a large staircase towards a floor above.

As only about twelve rows had entered, lead by the small balding man, a noise could be heard coming from the other side of the room, as one of the massive doors opened letting in an immense amount of light. Then, the long shadow of a person was projected onto the floor reaching almost to the middle of the hall. After a brief instance, the person rushed towards the small balding man with such a speed, it seemed unreal. After a short exchange of words, that I was not privileged to hear, the small balding man, turned around and addressed in haste the members.

“They have pierced the barrier, we have been discovered, we need to take defensive positions, let providence accompany you”! This was the first time I had heard anything, and had not noticed that I had not heard anything before this very moment. I was surprised to hear such words of an impending threat, and did not know what was happening. “You may chose your positions according to your ability and will” At that moment, the members started grouping in small numbers and seemed to discuss something, then as they move about, some forward, some through doors, others towards the higher levels, I found myself attached to one group that revealed to me what was happening.

They where preparing for battle, one for their lives, and by the tone of their voices, were outnumbered, and most likely to be defeated. Men and women composed the group, there were no children. We were already on some upper floor and the surroundings were altogether unfamiliar, as well as incongruent with the lower level halls. The area reminded me of a large institutional building, with a long, wide and well illuminated hall, that had doors that opened to other rooms, like a school or even a hospital. It had that austere look of such buildings.

They where preparing for battle...

There were several groups moving at a hurriedly pace into the adjacent rooms. We entered what appeared to be a stairwell, and stopped, it wasn’t until this moment that I made myself present, I chose a tall dark haired woman, with a classical Greek face that reminded me of my third grade English teacher. I cautiously approach her in the confusion, and enquired into more details of our situation. At this time, I confirmed that I was an outsider, and not a member of this clan, it became apparent because I did not have the knowledge of the impending danger, or any recollection of any previous events that led to the present situation. I had a feeling that this might be a dream, or that I had been transported from wherever to this place and chaotic moment.

I approached her...

I waited until she was not engaged with anyone, then approached her, she was sitting on a raised surface on the landing between floors, I asked, “Could you please tell me what is happening?” she said, “We are some of the last remaining members, our kind is a threat to the others, they want to get rid of us” I had either been stunned by her revelation or had become bewitched by her beauty that did not even ask any further questions. Maybe I was resigning myself to fall prey in this unintendible war, or was more interested in being close to her in the moment of my doom. I asked her if I could stay close to her, and if she would mind if in the final moment we could be together. She gave me a smile that had a mixture of maternal and innocence that I understood as affirmative.

Our group moved from the landing to the upper level, this level was different than the others, as we entered I noticed that it was a large oval area resembling a covered bull ring without stands, with at least twelve entrances wide enough to accommodate four people abreast. From most entrances on our side of the ring appeared other members, and proceeded to deploy some contraptions that resembled the setup of fireworks on wire metal stands, the ends had triangular red, orange and yellow flags.

...searching for some company and comfort...

At that moment it came to me in a cold sweat, that my time had come, that I was going to die and that I was searching for some company and comfort from a feminine figure that had given me love in my early days. Now that my life had reached the end.

Yo, Salvador Dali, no.

Mi crudo intento de ilustrar esta opinión con este video

Durante una de las usuales reuniones con amigos, comida y bebida, a las cuales me siento muy afortunado de asistir gracias a mis esfuerzos para convivir en sociedad con el prójimo y próximo, sucedió un fenómeno que como epifanía o intervención divina, causó que usé una de mis neuronas restantes, y que sorprendentemente dejé de hablar y empecé a escuchar.

Afortunadamente

Esto de tener y mantener amistades es un arduo trabajo. No todos hemos aprendido cómo hacerlo bien. Yo creo que esto es enteramente aprendido, sin descontar la genética. El arte de la amistad algunos la aprendemos en la casa. Los afortunados, tienen buenos ejemplos, los menos afortunados tienen que sobreponerse al ejemplo familiar y mirar fuera de casa. Yo pertenezco al segundo grupo, esto me permitió expandir mi visión y poder imitar no solo a mis padres, sino a quien escogiera. Esto es una arma de doble filo porque uno siendo inexperto, puede no escoger bien y emular a un sociópata o peor aun a un asesino múltiple. Mi niñez no me prestó muchas herramientas para poder forjar buenas y longevas amistades. Después de largos años de práctica donde creía que podía tratar a mis amigos con el puntapié, propiamente con la punta de la lengua, porque mi lengua es más peligrosa que mi bota, he entendido que si quiero amigos debo ser o aparentar ser tolerante. La tolerancia no es una de mis virtudes, pero los años me han brindado el tiempo de practicar las apariencias. No será una virtud aparentar, pero creo que puede considerarse un arte, por lo menos esto lo quisiera creer. Tanto un arte como poder seguir ejercitando la lengua con mesura dependiendo del adversario enfrentado, hallando la exacta dosis de veneno a inyectar. Me imagino que si han leído hasta aquí, estarán pensando, ¿qué monstruo es este? ¿cómo puede decir esto? ¿va a creer que seguiré leyendo este manifesto?

Esfuerzos

Puro Veneno

Si han podido sobreponerse al presunto manifesto, estarán leyendo esto, si es así, aplaudo su madurez que les permite soportar el asalto frontal al cual mis pocos amigos están tan acostumbrados. Tenía que de alguna manera exponerlos a lo que mi lengua dispensa. Mis amigos le tienen un nombre, argumentos de choque, quien soy yo para calificar algo que ellos escarmientan en carne propia. Lo único que puedo hacer es tratar de explicarlo, lo hago de esta manera, me gusta conversar temas de mi agrado, ninguna sorpresa en esto, todos deseamos lo mismo. Los temas de conversación, tienen que ser de algo que pueda motivarme emocionalmente, esto causa que la neurona se prenda y busque usualmente algún argumento contrario, porque estar de acuerdo es tanto mas aburrido, por lo menos para montar una respetable ofensiva. Una batalla más. Aquí estoy gozando como un chancho. Ahora dirán qué esfuerzos, este tipo es un patán, se comporta como el cerdo que es. No es así, esta actitud me causó muchos pesares cuando era joven y un poco menos inmaduro, causaba dolor a diestra y siniestra. Después de haber sido condenado al destierro y segregado durante mis años formativos, llegué a comprender que no eran ellos, sino yo el problema, no saben cuánto me costó. Habiendo aceptado mi problema, pude empezar el largo y arduo proceso de recuperación con todos los pasos que esto requiere. Logré finalmente regresar a la tribu en calidad de prueba, con condiciones y todo tipo de limitaciones. Esto quisiera agradecerlo de todo corazón a aquellos miembros de la tribu que abogaron por mi regreso, y la misericordia que me mostraron fue lo que necesitaba. Esto creó un desafío que hasta hoy mantengo, sin embargo de vez en cuando me permito un pequeño desliz, sin llegar a herir, solo para recordar y no olvidar mis errores.

Argumento

Alguien presentó una aparentemente inocua opinión, era una expresión de una preferencia personal, tan inocente como decir que me gusta el pollo frito, no a la brasa. Creo yo que cuando uno ofrece una opinión, espera sea bien recibida, con respeto aun si no es en concordancia con la de los presentes, e idealmente que fuera aceptada, ratificada y santificada por todos con un amen. La realidad es usualmente otra. Unos segundos pasaron para que los otros participantes de la única conversación, ponderaran lo dicho. Para resumir, la opinión expuesta encontró mayormente opiniones variadas en su contra. Yo creía estar en el paraíso terrenal, pensando, mis amigos finalmente entendieron mi método y estaban finalmente instituyendo el arte de la contrariedad para examinar los argumentos. Fueron hasta brutales las opiniones expresadas, causando lo sabido en el incauto iniciante de tan caluroso debate, cortésmente callando por un largo momento mientras los participantes exponían sus opiniones, hasta recuperar el podio, donde clasificó a los opositores de arrogantes.

Encuentro

Epifanía

Como no era yo solo el agraviado, hubieron variadas reacciones a el calificativo. Hice algo que es inusual en mi, callé y escuché ya que otros optaron por responder. Este lapso fue como si me cayera un rayo y en vez de matarme, me hubiera apretado el botón para reiniciar mi mente. Vi el drama desarrollarse en vivo, reacciones a una y otra opinión, fragmentación del grupo en sub grupos discutiendo el tema, maravilloso.

Fenomeno ofensivo

Neuronas

Reflexioné que todas las opiniones son válidas, que tanto como el presentante como el recipiente deben por lo menos ejercer primero tolerancia, segundo control y tercero mesura en la respuesta. Tolerancia debería ser usada siempre, aun cuando uno considere que la intención fuera de herir, que rara vez lo es, para no caer en la posible trampa del que desea alterarnos, o quizá insultarnos. Control para no alterarnos y poder continuar la conversación usando mayormente el cerebro y no lo que llaman el corazón. Finalmente, la mesura para responder de una manera que no tengamos que arrepentirnos, o que de alguna manera le sirva a nuestro opositor poder culparnos de hacer lo mismo y bajar a su nivel.

Pensé también en la palabra arrogante (la palabra). ¿Podría ser un insulto? ¿Tiene carga emocional? Creo que depende como se use, con que intención es dicha y sobre todo a quien se le dice, la versatilidad de una palabra. Se bien que yo la he utilizado, y que cuando lo he hecho, ha sido desgraciadamente para defenderme de algún ataque real o intuido. Hay dos opciones al ser atacado, huir o pelear. Si la segunda es la escogida, opciones quedan, estrategias varias existen, obviamente con la meta de salir con el menor rasguño.

Si usé la palabra fue para defenderme de algún agravio, por consiguiente la tomé como insulto, de alguna manera le di validez y la convertí en un insulto. He podido optar por identificarla, como lo hice en esta oportunidad, que no era yo el agraviado y que la palabra reflejaba una molestia, como cuando yo la utilicé en la persona que la usaba ahora.

Tuve que volver al comienzo, examinar la naturaleza de la arrogancia. Condiciones para su existencia, grados de arrogancia, y si es la humildad su opuesto. Pensé que para presenciar este fenómeno, por lo menos dos personas son necesarias. Me pareció imposible que un individuo se considere arrogante considerando que generalmente la palabra se usa para denotar lo opuesto a la humildad, que creo es considerada una virtud.

Arrogancia?

Conclusion

Creo que para que una persona llame a otra arrogante, esta tiene que sentir un malestar que precipite una muestra de agresión hacia la otra persona. Esa ha sido mi experiencia. Cuando la he usado, me he sentido disminuido e inadecuado por los comentarios ajenos, causando una inseguridad emocional que me hizo recurrir a una agresión. Si en vez de ser dos personas hay tres, una percibe la arrogancia, pero la tercera no siente igual, ¿sucede el fenómeno de la arrogancia, o la persona que no siente la arrogancia también es arrogante?

Creo que cada individuo, dado su nivel de seguridad o inseguridad, decide insultarse por una opinión, expresión o declaración de otro u otros. En conclusión, presenciar este fenómeno, como tantos de la experiencia humana, nos permite optar por reaccionar y luchar y quizá figurativamente perecer, o huir y aprender para luchar otro día mejor armado. Además, creo que la arrogancia solo existe dada nuestra inseguridad y que escogemos insultarnos, así que escojamos no ofendernos y la arrogancia cesará. Del dicho al hecho….