Here’s two topics: the superimposition of all the states of the body and the picking of one out of the many possibilities available (when referred to a flow of events). I guess these are the two main differences that will start to arise, separating us from that we have been living until now. This can create confusion at first.
I had this dream about you, you were young and old at the same time , it wasn’t really quite at the same time, it was more like a sequence–from young to old–which manifested randomly in an instant. You displayed this way. I had various dreams in which the subjects of my love showed themselves like this or, maybe, I just acknowledged them in this manner.
Were they dreams? Or were they memories of the future? Things to come bring the promise of total freedom. Only freedom entails much more than what we think. We better learn how to administrate resources, for they will be plenty, infinite I dare to say. And infinite resources demand from us a certain training for their fair use.
Sometimes I feel that someone cares for me and follows my every move, that I’m not alone. That I am part of something much bigger than this world.
“This limit separates the world from the whole. You can get there with your imagination, that is to say: if your question is how to open the door, you may see yourself going down a mini-ladder that starts at the rear of your brain–as if it had a back door–, then, at touching down the floor, turning and seeing the light filtering through the interstice the frame creates with the door. Opening it afterwords. The luminosity will flood everything, making it disappear.”
One of the pieces I chose from my little experiment: Photographing drawings from different angles.
He wasn’t quite sure, the book could desintegrate in his hands if he opened it. Without touching it, he blew on the cover; the dust raised, and lighted while passing through the window. “Magic dust,” he thought, and laughed.
We used to amuse ourselves drawing, copying bugs from anywhere. That’s how we spent the summers when Itnas was so small that fit in my hand, and time was a pink gum.
I could stop for a while, I’m exhausted, at least despair attenuated. I sleep.
This morning I woke up asleep, coffee couldn’t wake me, neither did the fresh air outside at leaving. I worked sleeping and later got home. I rested, had dinner and went to bed dreaming I didn’t know I slept.
I look for pain in every trail. The pinch that wakes me. Something tells me it’s not true nothing happens. I sip my coffee and a bird sings.
(A murmur in my throat surprises me. Words run over themselves and die squashed.)
A few years ago, I found this picture in my son’s art folder that was given to me at the end of his first grade. I don’t know… I think at age six children don’t talk about underground cities… I didn’t speak to him about these things. Besides, I wonder what the hand that appears to the left means. Perhaps I exaggerate, but to me this drawing was a mystery.
Then, I left. I needed not to be trapped; I had to sleep and wake up. Go back to my lucid dream and fly. I could find him there, where he can understand me, where I don’t need to talk with words. Where he is also free.
Translation, from top to bottom:
Inside of all created
–planes of reality