¿What is life? A frenzy extreme,
¿A shadow of things that seem;
and the greatest good is but small,
I just hung up the phone and do not know if I'll hear again the voice that, weaker, sad and resigned than ever, said to be tired of a sick body and wished to go. This was my 9 decades of life aunt, the one I really love and whose liver is dying, along with her. I met her already old, but healthy and energetic. The voice on the phone and her lively image in my memory, didn’t match. It left me thinking, as a consummation of this eclectic week in which many atypical events have taken place, if we are living or are we are dreaming we live. I sound roughly philosopher, but I think this is nothing more than the ordinary and common thought that any individual should anguish at least a couple of times during his earthly existence.
In recent days, a friend that I love in an exceptional way and who I may consider consistent and sensible, shared with me in our wonderful moments of complicity that he had suffered a big disappointment ... I do not know whether to call it a love one or just similar to love. He is frankly surprised by his current state, feeling that he lives inside of someone unknown, for the emotions (more than feelings, I'm sure) that grip him without his "permission". I think that's when I believe we quietly ask our image in the mirror: "Who are you, why did you get me?". I guess the answer would be something like "I'm you in a facet of the complexity that makes part of yourself, but little or nothing you recognize me, because I live passively in you, I hide and rarely go out into the light." Anyway ... I want my friend back to look in his reflection as the one he recognizes as himself.
Well, while my beloved friend lives recurrently in my thoughts, another good man, the owner of unimaginable literary and intellectual faculties: poet, writer, polyglot, with unconventional talents and in whose veins runs true philosophy, trusts me and expresses that he feels lonely, very lonely. I know him little (it would be unfair to claim otherwise) but it is difficult to associate him with someone who experiences a bleak feeling, when, on the earthly plane, seems to have a long way to go, with his clever and young life, coupled with a promising future (as we conventionally call those that glimpse "successful"). Tired of receiving virtual hugs and promises of visits that were never fulfilled, this good friend whose poems I enjoy, has thought (vaguely, I hope) in the voluntary end of his existence in this world. That hurts and overwhelms me, and although I would to help to counteract such sordid considerations, I do not know how to do it, what I do know, is that I feel useless to just read - when we "chat" electronically - without being able to comfort him as I wish.
I perceive then, with just these three events, that I do not know much about me, as to circumstances such as these pointed out today, in which I am a spectator, not a participant or some remedial motive - because I can’t or shouldn’t - I feel as caged. There is a hidden self that wants to go to a call that none has made me and that in which I don’t have the right to attend, so it is very likely that one of my many facets cries out for rescue, rescuing someone else.
I'm then more temperate, answering a piece of my own questions, when turning to the words of Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca, who is a haven of peace to my confusion ...
… that all life is a dream to all,
and that dreams themselves are a dream.
My hug for you,