On Souvenirs From An Old Cabinet, or Soul Diving
The biggest advantage in opening yourself to the need of self-knowledge is that you get so used to wanting to uncover your own secrets that even when you know it’s going to hurt a lot, you can’t keep all the expropriated feelings perfectly stored inside a drawer. It’s as if this drawer was made of something more powerful than the water that keeps everyone standing, and the illusions of life were all together within the compartment — except that instead of diluting such illusions and ridding us of our afflictions, this fluid just keeps everything alive, everything clean, waiting for us to face things because, after all, we are the ones who created them. As much as we wish to rid ourselves of these feelings (as if losing our focus on ourselves wasn’t something terribly dangerous), the very will to escape is something that is confused with the objectives of our personal questions: on the one hand, when we think of opening our mental drawers, we just want to run; on the other hand, this only means that we are who we are — curious, innocent, pathfinders and naive and that, with all the world’s cursing, we will still open our Pandora boxes.
I am interested in studying literary aesthetics and existentialist theories, modern psychoanalysis and academic nihilism; it interests me to gather all this knowledge, to confuse it all and to allow it to create its roots within me, so that my meeting with myself is more sincere, deeper, less pretentious and less directed, because the more I read, the more I learn to recognize that I need to learn much more. It is the same with our beings: the more we know of them, the more we are able to perceive that our interrelations have a complexity beyond our comprehension. The analogy remains the same when we perceive the voracity of a reader in formation and the enchantment of a person growing within him/herself. Sometimes I want to have some coffee while I drift into daydreams about life, and sometimes I just want to feel the psychic-carnal reciprocity of another person at my side, the warmth of his words and the wrapping of his mind with mine as I lose myself in these same daydreams. Sometimes I prefer to be alone with my inner worlds, and sometimes I try to share them with someone — I just try, because this is still a task that I didn’t accomplish successfully. Maybe one day.
When we find ourselves in these moments, when we are reluctant to accept the inevitable (yes, we have to open ourselves so we can close ourselves with the delicacy of the lull that is right for us), I’ve realized lately that the best thing to do is to fight ferociously with what binds us to our beds, to strike a fatal blow in our cowardice, and to unleash at once the forces that prevent us from discovering painful but necessary truths. Here’s a practical example: sometimes I find myself so stunned by my internal confusion that a suffocating sense of despair takes over me, unlike what we feel in an anxiety attack, and all I want to do is tear my heart out, surgically take this feeling from it, and put it back on my chest. But this pain is not physical, it does not reach my muscles, my flesh, it is merely mental discomfort. The only effect it has on my body is that it is such a dizzying sensation that it makes me unable to get up from the place where I find myself, so I can write these feelings or talk about them with someone or just walk while I think of them. That is why I decided to try a new approach to this situation: instead of allowing myself to sit or lie down trying to relax my emotional state from these feelings, I force myself to do something abruptly, force myself to get up and write (or talk, or walk) so that this stupor will leave from within me once and for all, leave the drawer immediately and be transposed anywhere else, in any other way. It’s not something that resembles these to-do lists of recommendations to improve a discouragement caused by neurotipicities that we find in the internet, it’s more like a crude human attitude in the face of an equally crude situation. I don’t get up to take a shower and watch Netflix with hot tea in hand. I stand up, forcing myself to open my drawer of secrets. If this is healthy? It depends a lot on what we aim to achieve as personal improvement.
But do you know how the water that, as I wrote above, is what keeps us all standing? What sustains us, what shapes us and what makes us alive? It is the sensation of drinking water when we have a deep thirst that resembles that of letting all that passion out of our spirits. That passion that burns us like we’re Socratic animals under the effect of a good wine in a dinner full of other animals eager for the litanies that leave our mouths, and we don’t bother to keep them because yesterday’s self is different from today’s self. It turns out that every detail of me is unique and exclusively mine, even though we are all fabrics made of pieces of so many other details of so many other people… We live in constant excitement, but enjoyment is eventual.
I wanted to keep some strawberries, chocolate chip cookies, an old copy of Lolita and some water in my inner drawer. Because without water you cannot live, right? But imagine if this water spills all over these things stored inside a closed drawer! The strawberries will be filled with fungi, the cookies will dissolve and the words of the book will break apart like a hieroglyph that is erased by a torrential rain. If that happened, I would have to return to primitiveness, without even knowing my future-present. Oh, how sad that would be…