AM I?
PRIVATE SPEECH
Once I was in my room trying to objectify a reality with my perverse imagery. The room I was in was fresh, the walls were painted with appropriate bright colours to help develop some sensorial skills, some pictures were hanging on the walls as witnesses of their own impregnable value, and however that room was missing its pristine state.
There was a rectangular and wooden table in the middle not as a decoration, but as a fundamental tool of the room’s atmosphere, there were chairs around the table and as it always happens I chose the best one to sit on leaving the other two for those pessimistic companions; fortunately they never arrive because they are afraid of themselves, they have many pretexts in order not to participate in my banquet. Naturally and logically there was a chair next to me, on the right side, it was loosing its functional connotation by keeping only the representation of an ontological reality only named by conventionality.
I was trying to talk to myself as a child does with that language called “private speech”; so I decided to “transport” myself for a while to that object next to me called innocently chair, to talk to Roli; to look at him, to describe him especially those aspects the others can not see because they are under the penumbra of his fragile shadow. I turned 60 degrees to contemplate the representation of a real Roli; more real than the reality. I saw him sitting; staring at the space obstinately through the window and quite sceptical. The most formidable thing at the moment was to have a conversation with him, so I asked him if he wants to talk with me because I should not violate his capacity to decide deliberately, he accepted it gracefully. I looked at his eyes to ask him: are you ready? He said: always! I asked him the first question: how do you feel? He replied benevolently: I feel as you do. Wow! I can imagine, you feel stupendous, I told him. Do you know who you are? I asked again. He replied wisely: the question is not: who am I? But rather: Am I? What do you dream about? That was my third question. He replied categorically: the dreams are dreaming me. Well, you know many things about yourself, I told him generously. Not at all; the only thing I know is I am too great for myself, he said sarcastically. Have you ever felt lonely? That was my next question. He replied vividly: I feel lonely when I am among many people; but I do not feel lonely when I am alone. Do you believe in God? Yes, I do. Why? I asked him again; because I do not understand him, he said with a shining face. Why do you write? I asked him. I write because it is written in the scrolls of my destiny, he said convincingly.
I am mentioning here only the most transcendental questions I asked him. He was still relaxed, excited, with a fervent spirit and with his soul embedded in the big lake of facing a concrete reality, after three hours of conversation. So I took the opportunity to ask him the last question: did you like our talk? Obviously, he replied optimistically; it is always fertile to talk with you. I felt so pleased by that answer; I felt my spirit and my body levitate because I have never interviewed him in such a way. I stood up and embraced him passionately, repeating the following words: I am with me; thank you for being here. He took his agenda and went away; the night came but the lights of the room were turned on to remind him he has to come back for the next interview.
Roli Marin (Phoenix)
Once I was in my room trying to objectify a reality with my perverse imagery. The room I was in was fresh, the walls were painted with appropriate bright colours to help develop some sensorial skills, some pictures were hanging on the walls as witnesses of their own impregnable value, and however that room was missing its pristine state.
There was a rectangular and wooden table in the middle not as a decoration, but as a fundamental tool of the room’s atmosphere, there were chairs around the table and as it always happens I chose the best one to sit on leaving the other two for those pessimistic companions; fortunately they never arrive because they are afraid of themselves, they have many pretexts in order not to participate in my banquet. Naturally and logically there was a chair next to me, on the right side, it was loosing its functional connotation by keeping only the representation of an ontological reality only named by conventionality.
I was trying to talk to myself as a child does with that language called “private speech”; so I decided to “transport” myself for a while to that object next to me called innocently chair, to talk to Roli; to look at him, to describe him especially those aspects the others can not see because they are under the penumbra of his fragile shadow. I turned 60 degrees to contemplate the representation of a real Roli; more real than the reality. I saw him sitting; staring at the space obstinately through the window and quite sceptical. The most formidable thing at the moment was to have a conversation with him, so I asked him if he wants to talk with me because I should not violate his capacity to decide deliberately, he accepted it gracefully. I looked at his eyes to ask him: are you ready? He said: always! I asked him the first question: how do you feel? He replied benevolently: I feel as you do. Wow! I can imagine, you feel stupendous, I told him. Do you know who you are? I asked again. He replied wisely: the question is not: who am I? But rather: Am I? What do you dream about? That was my third question. He replied categorically: the dreams are dreaming me. Well, you know many things about yourself, I told him generously. Not at all; the only thing I know is I am too great for myself, he said sarcastically. Have you ever felt lonely? That was my next question. He replied vividly: I feel lonely when I am among many people; but I do not feel lonely when I am alone. Do you believe in God? Yes, I do. Why? I asked him again; because I do not understand him, he said with a shining face. Why do you write? I asked him. I write because it is written in the scrolls of my destiny, he said convincingly.
I am mentioning here only the most transcendental questions I asked him. He was still relaxed, excited, with a fervent spirit and with his soul embedded in the big lake of facing a concrete reality, after three hours of conversation. So I took the opportunity to ask him the last question: did you like our talk? Obviously, he replied optimistically; it is always fertile to talk with you. I felt so pleased by that answer; I felt my spirit and my body levitate because I have never interviewed him in such a way. I stood up and embraced him passionately, repeating the following words: I am with me; thank you for being here. He took his agenda and went away; the night came but the lights of the room were turned on to remind him he has to come back for the next interview.
Roli Marin (Phoenix)
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