Archive for December, 2008

Besando el Devenir

Posted in Poesía with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

Si fuera posible besar por una era

una década, el cuarto de hora

perderse en la locura del olvido,

en la reencarnación del presente,

si nuestra mano alcanzara el centro

donde todo esta quieto, y el resto

gira sobre su eje, ahí hundidos

lejos de la aniquilación del tiempo.
                               Si un beso

                                     como sol total

                                     nos rescatara de esta confusión

                                     los labios tibios de la convicción

                                    el amor húmedo de la trascendencia

                                    el gemido eufórico de una revolución

 

El beso que lo cambió todo.

 

Los ojos vendados con párpados

un oscuro silencio apasionado

y secos, labios malentendidos

se parten para el contacto físico

                       con la nada

                            con lo que no vive ni muere

                                 con el vacío que nos sostiene.

La muerte de los siglos

Posted in Poesía with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

Los siglos han muerto
Hemos cosechado, con feliz vanidad
la putridez de una ilusión
una desesperada hazaña
en busca del sol perdido
la fiebre, fría y fatal
la enfermedad de una angustia
el callejón del loco capaz!
Es la historia del ciego muerto
el ascensor de corazones torturados
la melancolía de la monotonía
la tiranía del tiempo
La torcedura del árbol bajo océanos
¿Qué ha quedado?
Ya nada existe, el tiempo se ha detenido
Se respira el otoño del tiempo perdido
Periodos y ciclos
Ciclos y obeliscos quebradizos
Los siglos han muerto, el desierto humano
Agorafobia y rocío del alba
Gotas de un miedo intocable
La interminable manifestación
Los siglos en decadencia, canta el anochecer
Es el momento para olvidar,
nacidos mortales
la esquina de la niñez, el suelo sucio
las manos gordas y arrugadas
El ocaso de todos los caminos
el fin de la historia

Tres poemas sobre la Muerte, la Vida y la Profundidad

Posted in Poesía with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2008 by Pablo Saborio
 
¿Será hoy?
A la hora de la pesca
cuando almuerzo
o en media siesta;
Porque vivo en el ambiguo
sentido de la palabra:
         sueño
Y morir representa
acostarme sobre una cama
de piedras redondas y claras
Soltar la existencia
cuando el péndulo
de mi corazón,
sin razón,
se detenga sin consultarme.
 
 *****
 
¿Por qué vivir?
 
Cuando el mar
quieto y atento
vive consciente
en su profundidad
la grandeza visible
es el silencio transparente
 
Vacío el pensar
Sentir el movimiento
Visión que se atreve
captar mortales horizontes
Respirar la incertidumbre
del nunca saber
 
Y la tierra
húmeda y fría
sosteniendo sabiduría
habla el viento:
 
Deja todo atrás
y Todo encontrarás
 
  *****
 
Mírate hombre
ese superficial gozo
que se entierra
entre los escombros,
          esa soledad
de la incertidumbre
 
Mira, hombre de negocios
él, de ideas filosóficas
aquél, que ama obsesivamente
todos los soldados perdidos
nosotros, fuentes de pereza
¿Cuál de nosotros
               frente al espejo
conoce la claridad
              el corazón espiritual
donde yace lo profundo?
 

A Modern Hero

Posted in life, Poetry, short story with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

A modern hero

We can watch him quietly chewing his dinner. His gaze is imperturbable and his thoughts invariably these:
 
The nothingness that exists in all forms, and the nothingness that is yet to be born.
 
The modern hero awaits (and this waiting period is interminable) for a fatal threat. This threat is anticipated throughout the cycles of the clock. It is always approaching, never disappearing.
 
What can he do?
 
Nothing. Resisting the menace of existence is a futile and wearisome illusion. He will initially find himself in hypertension, guarded against an invisible enemy. Since there is no defence against his opponent, rebellion would represent a defeating madness. Acceptance must be learned and practiced. However, salvation is not achieved solely by the acceptance of one’s own precarious situation. He has no escape, he must sacrifice a distracted and unexamined life in order to become bearer of a strange suffering.  He will be the hated antagonist of any unfounded human optimism.
 
For what?
 
To cure himself of a malady that is not only his own but also a dormant illness that all conscious beings carry within.
 
What relieves him? 
 
From the perspective of the world he has secluded himself in an abstract and spurious discourse; from the perspective of his own condition he has renounced his faith in a world of form and substance, he has lost trust in the socially approved states of consciousness. He lives in a mythological world, albeit, his myth has not yet been written nor can it be.  He is dispersed in a flux of perception that not necessarily implies an objective external world. His experience cannot be communicated, it does not have the logical structure of a normal human situation.
 
 Is there a light at the end of his tunnel? 
 
From the standpoint of the all-too-human, suicide may appear as the last desperate, but effective, act of liberation, but this won’t be his course. He has selected an ambitious journey: The transmutation of consciousness. An intuition convinces him that the reality we live in is only one of many possible creations; and in the sober creation of less restricted states of consciousness he will achieve his ultimate objective: inner peace.

The Problem of Free Will

Posted in Essays, philosophy, Science with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 21, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

 Are we as free as we think we are?

 

 

The problem of Free Will is inextricably linked with a scientific belief. This belief is in itself perhaps older than formal science but nonetheless it acquired great force with the birth and development of the scientific enterprise. It can be stated thus:

 Everything in the present is the direct result of the configuration of the past.

Nothing is without a cause. Thus, whatever we encounter in a present state can be explained or understood by its former state and the natural laws involved. If this belief is to be adopted thoroughly, if nothing can escape causality, then anything we experience has a direct cause in the past.

When we bring this kind of reasoning to the debate of Free Will, we can conclude in the following manner:

Psychic phenomena all have a cause regulated and governed by natural biological laws that at present we cannot name them all. Whatever we experience in the present is inextricably linked to a past state of affairs.

We understand Free Will as the ability to make an act or decision independently of any necessity compelling us to choose one thing over another. Stated this way it seems that the act of choosing has escaped the law of causality. But if this is to be rejected by our common scientific understanding of the world, we arrive at a different conclusion. Any decision-making process is only possible when the individual is in a particular situation where (s)he reacts to the evidence or stimuli presented for making a decision or act. This stimulus is the psychic content, patent or latent, that takes part of the decision-making moment. To pick an apple over a banana is the result of the apparition in the individual’s consciousness of past experience with these fruits, past reactions to these that make one fruit preferable over the other. A decision cannot be achieved without the pre-existent conditions for making a decision; that is to say: desire in the individual for eating (something that is quite involuntary), the past experience with the objects and objectives of the decision or act. Bound to memory, expectation, desire, and many other, the decision-making process is dependent on psychic phenomena that arises in the mind without a conscious or voluntary action. When an act of “Free Will” has taken place we remember the act, and the possibility of choosing otherwise, but we forget the requirements for us to arrive at the chosen action. The action was conditioned by involuntary psychic phenomena, something which we do not control and therefore acted out of a necessity towards this stimuli that was presented to us: Desire, Aversion, Memory, Imagination, Etc.

In such a way the problem of Free Will can be reconciled with the idea of causality. And with this knowledge now in mind the upcoming decisions will be influenced by this new awareness. We may doubt at the moment of decision-making in order to prove our putative freedom, but we are still only reactions to involuntary psychic phenomena that permit the processes we call free and voluntary.

 

However, to understand the laws of the human psyche at the present seems unlikely because of the complexity involved; the apparent arbitrariness or spontaneity of the stimuli that allow our decisions to take place is sufficient to permit our current morality – based on the supposition that we are free agents making responsible decisions – to remain established.

 

::::::::::::: APPENDIX ::::::::::::::::

 

The main idea behind this short inquiry is to reconcile two basic assumptions we have about the world.

1. Everything is the effect of a cause. Therefore all effects can potentially be explained or understood by their causes. (A general accepted supposition in our contemporary scientific culture)

2. We are free agents, making decisions independently of any external necessity obligating us to make a certain choice.

These two assumptions we all have in the back of our minds are in stark contradiction. How can we be free if everything in the world is determined by natural laws and follow an unchangeable course? We then would be part of the immutable course of things and all our actions are predetermined since the beginning of time.
If we follow the suggestions of logic, we will conclude that we are nothing but puppets manipulated by the general course of nature’s laws. However, we don’t feel this to be the case. We feel we ARE free and independent.

The above paragraphs attempt to show that we may be deceived by our belief in Free Will. Simply stated, our decisions are not made by an omnipotent-omniscient ego that at each moment can decide what it wills. Our decisions are based and chained to mental phenomena that arise involuntarily into our consciousness (that is to say it appears quite without our consent, as a cloud would appear suddenly in an open sky). This involuntary phenomena (desire, aversion, fear, tribulation, excitement, anxiety, and countless others) determine the choices we make. Our choices have natural causes that do not depend on us. With this explanation we can find causes for our decision-making lives and discover that we are not as commonly believed: free creators of our destinies.

However, if we can find reason to doubt the first assumption: everything has a cause by which we can know the effect, then Free Will may be conceived without logical contradiction. And it is wise to reassess our dogmatic belief in science and the principles of casuality, which may be in the end altogether mistaken.

 

 

 

Isolation

Posted in Essays, philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 21, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

 

 

Isolation.

Breathtaking isolating metaphysical estrangement. I am the voice of a prison, an oasis of consciousness locked up in a bottle that is floating on an ocean of beautiful nothingness. There is nothing but myself. But “myself” isn’t human. Consciousness is the moment of absolute silence before sneezing. We are the void that is never heard, we are the undercurrent of a stream that can never rise to the surface; we are motion without name. The unreality of it is not a punishment – it is a promise that nothing – nothing can condemn us to eternal misery. Every pain is a thorn, every joy is a petal: but there is no rose to eternalize them. Life is a dream that will never surrender the mist of its illusion.

We are a particle in that dancing mist,

                         flashing in the light of time,

                                   vanishing in the darkness of boundless sleep.

Liberation

Posted in Essays, life, Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

Free wanderers of the spirit, you astronauts in the lost space of indecision, all of us that have noticed and condemned the irrationality of our age, yes, you passionate survivor that in the mist of these nonsensical years battle through the current of conformity in search of a justification, a raison d’etre, a simple satisfaction that will overshadow the ever-lasting presence of frustration.
 
We are the inheritors of a struggle that has pervaded all of history. Our efforts so essential in the field of human potential must never come to an end. In these complex societies that require even more complex solutions to cure the collective madness, our perseverance must not wane. Even if most attempts to heal the wound of civilization have failed throughout history, the spirit of the rebel will live on as a child of that irrepressible force that commands human existence: an energy that will ask of us to emancipate man from his self-imposed shackles.
 
Our mistrust in human conventions, ideologies, and reforms should not stop our search for an immediate liberation, a source of enlightenment, a spring of contentment. In peeling off all boundaries we still have a chance of finding a secret treasure in nature, beauty, art, brotherhood, work, love, poetry, even in the darkness of suffering or the maniacal passion of a philosopher, somewhere within these and all inspiring things we may stumble across a beautiful sensation of peace, a harmonious agreement with what is most essential in life.
 
But what is the most essential?
 
This each wondering mind must seek but I am sure that with sufficient honesty and perseverance we can find that basic need and satisfy it sanely. Then we may watch our torments wither away and vanish as our reality elevates itself into a more exciting and promising realm.
 
Allow this vision to settle in:
 
Long, unanimous cries and shouts into the open sky, not from another fascist’s Holocaust but from an inexplicable mad ecstasy, the long-awaited contact with pure joy.

Nocturnal Studies

Posted in Journal entries, philosophy with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 17, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

Existence was always for me a dark place. It was not necessarily depressing or ominous; it was dark because it lacked explanation and purpose. But somehow, after years of purposelessness, I have begun to love life’s obscurity.

There’s something enchanting about the enigmatic — anything that conceals something deeper or unknown is generally very intriguing, like a mask or a symbol. Analysis is the ability to dive below the surface of a thing in order to grasp its inner structure. The purpose of writing is vague and uncertain. Entertainment? Transmission of knowledge? Spontaneous activity? All three are plausible but foremost, for me, writing has a symbolic function. It is the disguised voice of the raving lunatic we all carry inside. Most struggles in life are born from the dissension between our waking consciousness and the nocturnal beast that dwells in the swampy pit of our unconscious. If that treacherous monster had a voice, what would it say? It would probably roar…

 
If only we had the strength and perseverance to record every fleeting detail. All those frustrated desires, every old man that crossed our path, every wind that lifted a billow of dust before our eyes. What would we discover then? Do we grasp ourselves better in representations; is the mirror’s image our final wisdom?
 
Will the beast be tamed when he sees his own deformity?

Underground Paralysis

Posted in Essays, Journal entries, philosophy, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 16, 2008 by Pablo Saborio

I might be mistaken, but I believe there is much to fear in the course of our lives. It is a fear that wine, parties and television might distract from our attention but they will never annihilate it. Most philosophies of despair tend to denounce the ABSURD as an inexorable quality of our advancing lives. It is, in fact, this irrepressible motion forward though cycles of interminable triviality that the despairing existentialist complains about, and makes a living by declaring the banality of earthly life.  It is fascinating to think that in recent times the attitude of wailing has been adopted by many clever writers, and we, as audience, enjoy reading about our impotence and frailty.
Anyway, the fear I mentioned does not arise from the intellectual awareness that the things we do in life have no permanent meaning or from the existenliast´s lack of trust in the frenetic impetus of time. It is a feeling only describable in metaphor, it is only visualized in representations of the deepest horror:
 
You are not moving
not advancing
but the color changes
grey to black
the purest black
the deepest deep
each tick of the heart
marks a step further
into a maze of incomprehensibility
like an universe empty
no stars or galaxies
only a demonic silence
a cognitive paralysis
an underground turbulence
 
You reach out for help
piercing the dark horror
trying to hold on to something
your hand blindly advances
at the end of your fingers
 a river of pain…
having crossed your multi-layered mind
and light-years of voidness:
 
two options,
if you scream you drown
asphyxiated by the thick weariness,
or
you marry silence
isolated indefinitely
in the cruel awareness
of your inexplicable
existence.

The day the universe was reborn

Posted in Essays, Journal entries, philosophy with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2008 by Pablo Saborio
     
Why keep writing in linear and logical fashion?
Writing is the outgrowth of thinking.
It should reflect the features of the human mind, with its desultory and fluctuating discourse.

 

When the scope of the possible has been exhausted you may turn left where a gigantic mountain separates the desert from the snow. Haven’t you felt all along that lurking behind every monotonous experience an explosive energy awaits to come forth? It is as if a powerful surge of lightning remains dormant in a recondite quarter of our consciousness; behind every yawn of boredom a rapacious thunder of delight seeks an entrance into our deaf lives.
    
Follow the rain into the heart of the storm. Then you will be ready for the revival of the new, the rediscovery of surprise.  As long as there is room for the unknown, as long as red-headed ants surprise you with wonder and interrupt the tyrannical flow of thoughts — there is hope.
    
I had begun walking in search of meaning and not far down the road I stumbled across an insurmountable obstacle: mortality. All labors are in vain if they seek permanence. This did not stop me, if I should live in a world where impermanence governs every particle of matter then my actions had to resign any sort of structure, my words had to abandon order. I had to accept the chaos of uncertainty and resume the search. No longer looking for a perennial philosophy but merely for temporary wisdom. For the most profound questions I never looked in books; I was lucky to experience them in other more fundamental objects: in direct contact with the phantasmagorical landscapes of nature or the silent dark of outer space.
 
Sinking in rocky jaws
Patagonian mountains
Lakes as seas
near heaven’s azure
the universe reborn
million lights at night
transform every thing
 
     Living in constant disbelief I could but interpret life as total dream, the whole of existence appeared equally inconstant as the contents of any bizarre dream. Yet I am sure that defining the cosmos by the anthropocentric analogy of dream doesn’t come close to what is really happening — reality is much wilder and exuberant than our speculations. Here and there I found evidence to believe that the hardest task is change: inner transformation. We are never the Archimedean unmovable point around which all things change and evolve — we are similarly watery being flowing from one state to another. Allowing things to chance within you, permitting things to grow and decay inside was surely difficult. Getting used to this internal impermanence requires great courage. The reward is priceless: the art of transformation had become the real art of living.
     At night things settle down. The pure transparency of water is swallowed by the black of night and slowly above a blurry streak of light convinces us of the utter strangeness of our condition. The Milky Way, our home galaxy, becomes the symbol of our astonishment.  In those prolonged moments of silence things are perceived differently, we are free to just be as rocks are silently existing at the bottom of a blue lake.
Is it so necessary to formulate our wonder and our wishes?
 
Immobile (time)
Serene (space)
a rock for ages
deep below
in abysmal Zen
 
Sometimes I refuse to endure the recurrent agony of dreaming my death. In times like those:
 
Deserts become too desolate
Mountains intimidating monsters
Cities caging of beasts
Oceans too restless
Home insipid
My grave a terrifying
       inferno
I can only live and die
within my despair
 
My daemon: despair. My savior: wonder. My meditation: inking a few random words. My sleep: sweet forgetfulness as the rock that rests unperturbed.
 
I have to ask, is The Search a consequence of despair, or despair a consequence of The Search?

 

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