Very young, I took it upon myself to note down things that happened around me, as if in a book. I could spend pages and pages telling about waiting in a line, or I could spend days in lines and entire years in a single, brief paragraph.
What I noticed is that, just like a book, life also has a certain coherence and a good deal of foresight. Thus, for some years, I took care to write on December 31st my expectations for the coming year, and in the following years, I always made sure to include in the letters of those years the 'predictions' that were fulfilled, and which ones were frustrated.
Eureka, as the philosopher said. "Literature must have coherence, but life, no!" That's it. Life, in the end, is a book with little or no coherence, endowed with knowledge that transcends any formality. The secret of existence lies above all in observing life.
So, it was up to "me" to get to know people, characters in this fabulous adventure. But I didn't have a method, so I tried to ask: "Tell me about yourself?"
Ah, it was like in Don Quixote. I saw giants where there were windmills, I saw princesses in prostitutes, and I saw thieves where there were shepherds.
In the end, I saw that people had very confused opinions about themselves, and that the request for them to talk about themselves didn't seem to be the right thing, since people didn't know who they really were. Often they described what they wanted to be.
I went back to paper, wrote down what people said they were, and then cross-referenced it with what people 'demonstrated' to be. With this, I wrote a book, whose title I chose as '?'.
Over time, I passed on the information and relayed it, and like a poet searching for that poetry or a maestro in search of that perfect melody, I searched through the notes of what people said they were and what they demonstrated to be something consistent.
It was one night that I discovered. "Ah, it was like taking the world off my shoulders." A part of the great enigma of life was solved.
I wasn't interested in knowing "what a person said about themselves," but "how they spoke."
I was talking to a girl, I made such a point of it, "Tell me about yourself..." In a simple discourse, she told me she was a Capricorn, made no more than one or two observations about her mood, and then immediately started talking about her mother. In the story, for five minutes, while she talked about her family, I interjected with a smile.
It was clear to me... the fact that someone believed in Zodiacs, for a technician or a fundamentalist Christian, might mean nothing. However, the silence between the fracture of words showed more than that,
It meant that she believed in destiny, all her carelessness about certain circumstances would be demonstrated day by day, about aspects of a simple faith, in predestination. The relevance or "everything" that her mother did, and the importance of family, spoke volumes about her... but more than she could express, or what she knew about herself.
Everything, after it ends, seems understandable, and I always repeat, "when I don't understand everything about something or a moment, it's because: either I don't have all the information about this something, or the facts related to the event haven't concluded yet." I know there's a lack of humility in this theory, but as long as I don't share it with anyone, much less try to force it down someone else's throat, there won't be any problems, and I'll have excuses for my own failures.
This is my first secret... a recognized understanding to comprehend what happens around me. I'm not here to sell a product... or to advertise myself... but the secret to ensuring eternal friendship with me is not to lie or try to deceive me.
Indeed, I've never seen a person who said, "Be my friend by lying or deceiving me,"... so the observation is invalid,... but!... that's not what I'm talking about,... it's not about deceiving in the criminal, immoral, unlawful sense,
I am talking about deception, but about the deception of feelings... I mean lying when we deny a flame that ignites within us, and which often leads us to turn the lover into a friend, or the friend into a lover,
"If I ask you for a glass of water, and you spit in it, I will probably drink it. I can't make quick deductions about things and events that are still alive."
One dawn I will have tea, scribble some words, listen to good music, and I will understand why when I first saw you, my body ignited in such a way. Why I talked about you to several people, and why my psychologist said, "you are in love with her,"... one day!... today it's all too immediate, I can't think that fast. At the same time, I never allow myself to feel... not like this,
not at the risk of hurting anyone,
... she is my friend,...
Until the next item of me,
Very young, I took it upon myself to note down things that happened around me, as if in a book. I could spend pages and pages telling about waiting in a line, or I could spend days in lines and entire years in a single, brief paragraph.
What I noticed is that, just like a book, life also has a certain coherence and a good deal of foresight. Thus, for some years, I took care to write on December 31st my expectations for the coming year, and in the following years, I always made sure to include in the letters of those years the 'predictions' that were fulfilled, and which ones were frustrated.
Eureka, as the philosopher said. "Literature must have coherence, but life, no!" That's it. Life, in the end, is a book with little or no coherence, endowed with knowledge that transcends any formality. The secret of existence lies above all in observing life.
So, it was up to "me" to get to know people, characters in this fabulous adventure. But I didn't have a method, so I tried to ask: "Tell me about yourself?"
Ah, it was like in Don Quixote. I saw giants where there were windmills, I saw princesses in prostitutes, and I saw thieves where there were shepherds.
In the end, I saw that people had very confused opinions about themselves, and that the request for them to talk about themselves didn't seem to be the right thing, since people didn't know who they really were. Often they described what they wanted to be.
I went back to paper, wrote down what people said they were, and then cross-referenced it with what people 'demonstrated' to be. With this, I wrote a book, whose title I chose as '?'.
Over time, I passed on the information and relayed it, and like a poet searching for that poetry or a maestro in search of that perfect melody, I searched through the notes of what people said they were and what they demonstrated to be something consistent.
It was one night that I discovered. "Ah, it was like taking the world off my shoulders." A part of the great enigma of life was solved.
I wasn't interested in knowing "what a person said about themselves," but "how they spoke."
I was talking to a girl, I made such a point of it, "Tell me about yourself..." In a simple discourse, she told me she was a Capricorn, made no more than one or two observations about her mood, and then immediately started talking about her mother. In the story, for five minutes, while she talked about her family, I interjected with a smile.
It was clear to me... the fact that someone believed in Zodiacs, for a technician or a fundamentalist Christian, might mean nothing. However, the silence between the fracture of words showed more than that,
It meant that she believed in destiny, all her carelessness about certain circumstances would be demonstrated day by day, about aspects of a simple faith, in predestination. The relevance or "everything" that her mother did, and the importance of family, spoke volumes about her... but more than she could express, or what she knew about herself.
Everything, after it ends, seems understandable, and I always repeat, "when I don't understand everything about something or a moment, it's because: either I don't have all the information about this something, or the facts related to the event haven't concluded yet." I know there's a lack of humility in this theory, but as long as I don't share it with anyone, much less try to force it down someone else's throat, there won't be any problems, and I'll have excuses for my own failures.
This is my first secret... a recognized understanding to comprehend what happens around me. I'm not here to sell a product... or to advertise myself... but the secret to ensuring eternal friendship with me is not to lie or try to deceive me.
Indeed, I've never seen a person who said, "Be my friend by lying or deceiving me,"... so the observation is invalid,... but!... that's not what I'm talking about,... it's not about deceiving in the criminal, immoral, unlawful sense,
I am talking about deception, but about the deception of feelings... I mean lying when we deny a flame that ignites within us, and which often leads us to turn the lover into a friend, or the friend into a lover,
"If I ask you for a glass of water, and you spit in it, I will probably drink it. I can't make quick deductions about things and events that are still alive."
One dawn I will have tea, scribble some words, listen to good music, and I will understand why when I first saw you, my body ignited in such a way. Why I talked about you to several people, and why my psychologist said, "you are in love with her,"... one day!... today it's all too immediate, I can't think that fast. At the same time, I never allow myself to feel... not like this,
not at the risk of hurting anyone,
... she is my friend,...
Until the next item of me,
