Nothing existed before his blindness. The past too was sightless. For uncounted time he lay enclosed in darkness alone with disjointed thoughts in his dark world. A voice said wake and he stood, a boy in a lighted room next to his father in bed who slow exhaled a tubercular life. A voice said sleep and again his eyes filled with unyielding black. He breathed quiet and slow another long time in the dark. A voice said wake and the final fire in the world entered. Illuminated his cell. He sat alone, naked, adult. Skin translucent and spotted. Clothes lay nearby, he dressed. A stairwell, descent. A sign read Hospital St. Thomas. He pushed open the door to a city street filled with nimble light and life.
This may sound narcissistic...ok ...it is. I attempt to find myself among your words. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse and a muffled "hmmmm" escapes my throat. You can barely hear "mmm" the silent 'h' got left behind. Then I look for you, Victor. Are you all the characters or just one of them. If your story was a dream shared in a dream analysis, group, I'd say, they are all you. But what do I know. I may be blind, too. ps.. thank you for surprising me (re-posting)
Thank you so much Elva. As I think I've mentioned before, I'm always happy that people see themselves or find their own interpretation. That's more or less my intention I suppose, but I don't think about that too much. It just sort of happens. Many thanks for reading and your lovely comment!
I imagine, writing like most creative artful works are expressions of internal images (Sorry to all the would be Muses!). Words are the mediators. And, then these words pass through others own 'filters' which I also believe are created from our internal world of images. And, thus you get one reader wanting to hang his Stetson and another looking for the universal human connection, or both at the same time. I have a artist grown kid who teaches me to just be with my experience. As with your writing, I feel compelled to 'make meaning' of their amazing works Whose meaning, anyway? Great stuff to ponder. "Love the questions" as Rainer Maria Rilke writes.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books (or Dynamic Creed posts) that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
I love it. Rainer Maria Rilke. Live the questions now, questions of a foreign tongue. We seek so many answers for questions in a foreign tongue. As if we don’t really know what we’re looking for, and I among them. Most among them. I, the principal doubter and questioner of everything, it seems. Thank you for the lovely reminder, Elva.
What I love about your writing, Victor, is that there is so much metaphor, so much allusion - quite a lot for the reader to hang her/his/their own personal interpretive hats on. Does my interpretation match yours? Perhaps not. No matter - you have given us agency in your invented worlds.
"There must be reason here, said Arthur and a young man tugged his sleeve and said I heard what you said. You have branded our city senseless. What has happened here? asked Arthur. Freedom, said the young man. From what? Reality. Why? Each his own. Why? asked Arthur but the young man placed his hands over his eyes and ran away."
☝️I am hanging my interpretive hats (one San Diego Padres baseball cap, and one tattered Stetson) on that.
I'd agree that's part of the core. And I'd say that my hope is that readers can interpret in their own way. I try to speak to things below the action, such as it is. Many thanks for reading and commenting, Mike. And now I'm thinking of the hat (was it a Stetson?) that Steve McQueen wore in The Magnificent Seven.
Substack sends an email when a comment is posted. And yours was a beautiful one, thank you very much Elva. Sorry it disappeared. Tech glitches...
I don't think of: I am all the characters. It's more like: we are all the characters. I'm a conduit for myself and the many people I've known. And for other stuff I don't know how to explain very well.
Apr 18, 2023·edited Apr 18, 2023Liked by Victor D. Sandiego
Ahhhhhh.... Yes, of course: "we are all the characters". My insight reveals my powers of denial! So glad you got to read it. If you would be kind and send it to me I will re-post it.
This may sound narcissistic...ok ...it is. I attempt to find myself among your words. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse and a muffled "hmmmm" escapes my throat. You can barely hear "mmm" the silent 'h' got left behind. Then I look for you, Victor. Are you all the characters or just one of them. If your story was a dream shared in a dream analysis, group, I'd say, they are all you. But what do I know. I may be blind, too. ps.. thank you for surprising me (re-posting)
Thank you so much Elva. As I think I've mentioned before, I'm always happy that people see themselves or find their own interpretation. That's more or less my intention I suppose, but I don't think about that too much. It just sort of happens. Many thanks for reading and your lovely comment!
I imagine, writing like most creative artful works are expressions of internal images (Sorry to all the would be Muses!). Words are the mediators. And, then these words pass through others own 'filters' which I also believe are created from our internal world of images. And, thus you get one reader wanting to hang his Stetson and another looking for the universal human connection, or both at the same time. I have a artist grown kid who teaches me to just be with my experience. As with your writing, I feel compelled to 'make meaning' of their amazing works Whose meaning, anyway? Great stuff to ponder. "Love the questions" as Rainer Maria Rilke writes.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books (or Dynamic Creed posts) that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
I love it. Rainer Maria Rilke. Live the questions now, questions of a foreign tongue. We seek so many answers for questions in a foreign tongue. As if we don’t really know what we’re looking for, and I among them. Most among them. I, the principal doubter and questioner of everything, it seems. Thank you for the lovely reminder, Elva.
What I love about your writing, Victor, is that there is so much metaphor, so much allusion - quite a lot for the reader to hang her/his/their own personal interpretive hats on. Does my interpretation match yours? Perhaps not. No matter - you have given us agency in your invented worlds.
"There must be reason here, said Arthur and a young man tugged his sleeve and said I heard what you said. You have branded our city senseless. What has happened here? asked Arthur. Freedom, said the young man. From what? Reality. Why? Each his own. Why? asked Arthur but the young man placed his hands over his eyes and ran away."
☝️I am hanging my interpretive hats (one San Diego Padres baseball cap, and one tattered Stetson) on that.
I'd agree that's part of the core. And I'd say that my hope is that readers can interpret in their own way. I try to speak to things below the action, such as it is. Many thanks for reading and commenting, Mike. And now I'm thinking of the hat (was it a Stetson?) that Steve McQueen wore in The Magnificent Seven.
Yes, Mike, Please describe that tattered Stetson in full detail - metaphors and allegories welcomed, too!
I echo your sentiments, Mike: ".. you have given us agency in your invented worlds".
My hat is a large, black, wool felt, 100% water repellent, wide-brimmed 'fedora'. Bigalli Expedition
I wrote a response. It was published twice and when I intended to delete ONE of them...both went away. Recess is over for me. I will circle back.
Substack sends an email when a comment is posted. And yours was a beautiful one, thank you very much Elva. Sorry it disappeared. Tech glitches...
I don't think of: I am all the characters. It's more like: we are all the characters. I'm a conduit for myself and the many people I've known. And for other stuff I don't know how to explain very well.
Ahhhhhh.... Yes, of course: "we are all the characters". My insight reveals my powers of denial! So glad you got to read it. If you would be kind and send it to me I will re-post it.
Gracias por esta maravillosa metáfora...ahora ya los martes son mi momento para la introspección.
Gracias a ti Mónica para leerlo y me da gusto que lo disfrutaste! Ojala que la introspección va bien con un café! (Cubano)