The Breaths of a Soul E-Book

Simone Malacrida

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The central theme of Choice pervades a series of discourses that are timeless and not connected to precise spatial boundaries, constituting a journey through the human soul that oscillates, from its beginning to its end, in similar comparisons and dialogic antitheses. A single breath in which the existences of each of us are contained and which determines the very essence of life, an allegorical inner journey to discover what we have always been.

Leseprobe

Simone Malacrida

The Breaths of a Soul

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Table of Contents

Table of Contents

The Breaths of a Soul

“ The Breaths of a Soul”

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

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The Breaths of a Soul

SIMONE MALACRIDA

“ The Breaths of a Soul”

“ The Breaths of a Soul”

Simone Malacrida (1977)

Engineer and writer, has worked on research, finance, energy policy and industrial plants.

ANALYTICAL INDEX

––––––––

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The protagonists of the book are the result of the author's pure imagination and do not correspond to real individuals, just as their actions did not actually happen. Consequently, any reference to people or things is purely coincidental.

The central theme of Choice pervades a series of discourses that are timeless and not connected to precise spatial boundaries, constituting a journey through the human soul that oscillates, from its beginning to its end, in similar comparisons and dialogic antitheses.

A single breath in which the existences of each of us are contained and which determines the very essence of life, an allegorical inner journey to discover what we have always been.

“You have to love God so much to understand how necessary evil is to have good.

God knows this, and I know it too.”

(from the film "Il Divo" by Paul Sorrentino)

I

I

Room A

––––––––

“ Most men are like a withered leaf, which hovers in the air and sways down to the ground. But a few others are, like fixed stars, which go their own precise course, and there is no wind to touch them, they have their law and their path in themselves .

Hermann Hesse

––––––––

On the day in which, after a long and intense life, Mr. O would have passed away, without the slightest inkling and without a warning, his essence was enraptured by an ecstasy of light and waves.

"Where I am?"

“When am I?”

He was confused.

He did not recognize any references known to him.

There was no above or below, right or left, being able to freely float and rotate in the cosmic hyperspace that had opened according to a metric that, to the eyes of humans, appeared spherical, but only because of the difficulty of the senses in transposing the other dimensions .

An indefinite oscillating cosmos stood out at distances that were not easily understood.

Were they close or far away?

Upcoming or remote?

Past or future?

Unresolved and incomprehensible questions.

He felt his spirit detach, but his body was still firmly fixed to the ground.

He wasn't dead.

And that was neither the afterlife nor Heaven.

It was a non-place located in a non-time.

Total denial of every physical law and every principle that we have artificially created for ourselves in the course of evolution.

After settling in, not without effort and not without feeling a sense of strangeness, regulated as an other object and treated according to the canons of galactic hospitality, it revealed itself before his eyes (but everything could have only been a dream or a projection of his mental) a known form, as if someone or something wanted to reassure him.

From the primordial chaos emerged the white and ivory image of a door.

One of those without a handle and without an opening mechanism.

More than a door it looked like an indefinite wall, but the play of perspectives gave the sense of a recess and, therefore, of an entrance.

He hadn't moved yet, if he could actually conceive of movement.

He was unable to order the legs to face each other and then to walk.

He was almost transported by a superior entity right in front of the door, on which a darker cloud appeared, with a dissolving effect, which gradually formed an inscription.

"Room A".

Why was an alphabetical order decided?

Why not numerical which could be much more expandable and much more universal?

The alphabet, moreover in Roman characters, was certainly not as transversal as the mathematical symbols given by the numbers.

Doesn't Nature follow mathematical criteria? Of course.

And it is not in the least related to language.

Or at least, language is the method we use to ontologize, but it is characteristic of the human species.

Who or what created such an aspatial and timeless context must have had different forms of communication.

Now that he had learned of the enforced order, he would have expected a "Room B" at least, but he saw none.

All his senses now perceived only this wall.

Without moving, having not yet figured out how to do it, he glanced left and right and saw the white expanse curving in on itself.

Now the "door" enveloped him.

He understood how it was a space-time distortion.

Someone was playing with gravity.

In the same way, however, he didn't know how to access the interior, assuming that there was a concept of "inside" as opposed to one of "outside".

Since there were no openings or closures, he rolled his eyes in search of some photocell or the slightest different signal.

He didn't finish the thought and the door disappeared, dissolving, opening and tearing at the same time.

A new environment was recreated.

Maybe to make him feel at ease.

All white, as before.

There were two armchairs, white.

A white table between them.

A clock without hands and without numbers and above them a series of identical spheres.

He counted them mentally. They were twenty-one.

A strange number. Not prime, not integer based on two or ten, not even, not that it referred to the scansion of time in the sexagesimal system or in the division of the day into hours or the year into days.

It was probably his projection.

The sentient beings, as he called them to himself, had read in his thoughts the predilection for the three and for the seven.

From two silver clouds appeared two figures with human features, one male and one female, both dressed in white.

The middle-aged man had a white complexion, black hair, a short, trimmed black beard, blue eyes, and was heavily built without being tall.

The woman appeared younger, but not by much, with black hair straightened to her neck, eyes the same color as the man's, the same height and with a slimmer physique.

The man was in a suit and tie with two dress shoes.

The woman in a business suit and blouse.

All the clothes were white.

Despite the uniformity of color, objects and contours were clearly distinguishable and there was not too much gloss.

No blunder struck Mr. O's eyes and mind.

No one had yet spoken or moved.

Mr. O understood how he would be unable to make sound, as he could not articulate his vocal cords and mouth movement.

The two beings in human form sat down and began to talk, after introducing themselves to Mr. O.

“Ascanio”

"Arianna".

Their voices had a neutral timbre, without any accent or dialect inflection.

He did not remember anything that Mr. O had experienced and experienced.

Standing he could only listen.

––––––––

ASCANIO

Everything that can be declined into first principles and logical foundations can only start from being.

It is tangible and real, the very symbol of life.

It is the first experience to which we are all subjected and it is, at the same time, the beginning and the end of every action and every thought.

It is being that manifests itself in reality and in the Universe.

That being exists is an incontrovertible fact, there is no doubt about it and no human consideration can deny the essence.

Non-being is its opposite and, in complete antithesis, describes the absence of any principle and the triumph of emptiness.

Being and not being have no points in common, they do not speak to each other or communicate or interact.

There is a deep division in their concepts and manifestations.

Everything and nothing, completeness and emptiness.

Eternal antitheses that chase each other without a point of mediation.

To what do we owe being?

Why is it the way it is?

To a manifestation of a superior will and to a design that transcends understanding.

Being can be perceived and believed, but not understood.

One can never come to full awareness of its spatial or temporal extent, nor can one ever experience its totality.

Because of the limitation and the existence of boundaries, everyone can intuit a small part of being, but one can be witnesses of its own truthfulness.

It is up to everyone to become disciples and witnesses of such a miracle.

Who realizes it, must continue in the education of others, leading them to discover meticulous and intricate ways, leading them with logic and faith to the contemplation of being.

Similarly, one can have awareness of emptiness and nullity.

Zero is well known to our senses and therefore we need only expand on this concept.

When it comes to the awareness of being and non-being, it must be placed at the basis of our life and the foundation of our righteousness.

The path indicated allows us to discern good from evil, right from wrong, deserving from unbecoming.

It is the straight path of the wise.

The enlightenment of knowledge is followed by preaching, which in turn returns to contemplation.

After having disclosed the doctrine of being, one must always return to it, as the ultimate principle to strive towards.

Centuries of dedication and great sacrifices transpire.

Stoics and idealists, immanent and eternal, solid and secure.

A landing place for the righteous.

A great life lesson for everyone.

The example is what matters.

Being is in us and reveals itself in actions.

––––––––

Ascanio suddenly fell silent and his voice didn't reverberate further, as if they weren't waves reflected inside Room A.

Mister O hadn't fully understood the meaning of everything and would have even wanted to ask a few questions, but he was prevented from moving and speaking.

He saw Ariadne roll her gaze, meeting Ascanio's.

She was ready to have her say.

––––––––

ARIANNA

The entire existence of everyone, the experience of every human being and every living thing, since ancient times, is linked to mutation and becoming.

Everything changes, everything transforms.

In every moment, since nothing stays still.

You cannot stop time, freeze in a single instant what we think to be form and substance, and derive a universal principle from it.

Cells regenerate continuously, non-stop.

It is life itself, indeed more so, given that even where there is no consciousness or cellular form, single atoms and single particles recombine in ever-changing and ever-changing forms.

The mirror confirms these sensations to us.

We always see ourselves different because we are always different.

Every single moment is changing our appearance and our character.

In every single instant, the story changes.

The world goes on.

The Universe evolves.

Change is a universal constant, immovable and undelayable.

We ourselves are the symbol of becoming.

The purpose of each of us is not the ethereal conservation of the ego, but the constant transformation into what we are not yet.

If there is an initial and final principle, it is precisely becoming.

It all began with a becoming towards another form and another substance and everything will end in a continuous change of each parameter.

Becoming is the dimension of time, the arrow with which we mark our views and our experiences.

It's up to us to grasp the infinitesimal steps of an eternal mutation that transcends our own reality since it will never end.

Becoming is independent of our presence.

It does not ask us for consent and permission.

It fires itself, without any need for a fuse or stimulus.

Does it do it by instinct?

Is it by programming?

Does it do it for a higher will?

What is certain is that it does.

And it is so safe that it can be tested and reproduced.

The eternal motion of continuous becoming permeates entire living and cosmic structures and we are witnesses of this.

Each of us can say with certainty that we have seen things change.

A color of the sky, a person's age, the ripples of the sea.

Becoming is the most common experience to all.

The one that, despite the past millennia, will never end.

What will survive us and everyone.

Becoming is the very essence of the Cosmos.

––––––––

Arianna finished her speech, without ever taking a breath and without ever stopping.

She hadn't flinched one iota, without moving.

Hands fixed along the body, head still.

Only the lips had moved and the throat had slightly enlarged to make room for the air which, by vibrating the vocal cords, had given rise to the sound emitted.

On the other hand, Ascanio hadn't moved or interacted.

Only now, after Arianna had finished, he spoke again.

––––––––

ASCANIO

Don't be fooled, Mr O.

Becoming can never explain the ego.

So what is substance and essence if it keeps changing?

Wouldn't it exist, contradicting all logic and experience?

Of course, external things change, as is normal.

But it is a change of clothes that does not change the essence itself.

You may look young or old, fat or thin, tall or short, but it's still you.

Just as everything is as it is.

Is a cherry less of a cherry if it's not red?

Is its essence in color?

Or if it's buggy, don't we still call it cherry?

Or if it's on the ground, isn't it always the same fruit?

Yet, in each of the previous conditions, a movement of becoming is evident, an evolution of its state which however does not affect its true essence.

Being cherry is in no way questioned.

Or is water not water?

Are you telling me that, since water molecules wander around carried by currents and rivers, it is impossible for a sea to be identical to itself?

What does experience tell us about this?

It tells us that there is an essence that transcends appearance.

That being is there and that no becoming can ever transform everything into nothing and vice versa.

Certainly appearances, surfaces and contexts change, but we must not be deceived by what is not important.

Being is indisputable and also contemplates the possibility of becoming.

––––––––

In a satisfied tone, Ascanio returned to his composure, after his neck and carotid artery had swelled in the grip of increased blood flow.

Ariadne, not at all intimidated, prepared to counter, not before joining her hands in front of her, placing them on her own legs.

––––––––

ARIANNA

And so being is indisputable?

And is a cherry a cherry even if it changes colour?

What if it changes flavor?

And smell?

Would we still recognize her as a cherry?

I would say absolutely not.

And if the water molecules were contaminated by pollutants or foreign materials, would the sea really be the same?

I would say no.

And at that point, where does the concept of "being sea" or "being cherry" end if experience is not able to discern and catalogue?

Furthermore, if there really is being and not being, in constant opposition and without any form of communication, it would mean living in a dual reality.

A double reality of essence and non-essence, in which we do not know how to extricate ourselves.

How to distinguish what is real from what is not?

How to contemplate two separate worlds?

Is there a similar conception in us?

The existence of two distinct and unknowable realities?

In that case, it would mean admitting the total non-existence of universality and uniqueness.

Conversely, if only being existed, everything would be immutable and eternal.

All this contrasts with every possible human and living experience.

It is not the description of what we really experience or what the reality around us is like.

However you look at it, you would have logical paradoxes.

Duality or static.

Both concepts are denied by everything.

No tangible proof of anything, just a request for a belief in something that cannot be experienced and cannot be documented.

Instead, becoming is the solution.

It is becoming that makes everything possible and real.

It is becoming that explains how the world around us is.

Don't be fooled, Mr O.

Be anchored to what you have experienced in your long existence and free yourself from the chains that want you to be tied to something transcendent and metaphysical.

Be master of himself by accepting the logic of continuous becoming and the non-existence of paradoxes of being.

––––––––

The two fell silent and stared at Mr. O, who was unable to reply.

He had listened to them, even pleasantly, although he had felt like intervening a couple of times.

He didn't totally agree with either of them.

He vacillated between the two thoughts.

It was true that being is evident, but so is becoming.

And who can say he is himself if he always changes?

But who can say that change changes the essence?

If he really had to choose, he would have chosen Ariadne and becoming.

So he had decreed his experience and his life.

So it was for himself and for those close to him.

He wanted to ask questions.

Asking what that place was, where it was.

Who they were and who the sentient beings.

What was the point of all this.

But he couldn't, blocked completely by invisible bonds.

He wasn't even aware of himself.

He didn't feel his body nor could he understand how it looked.

Was he smartly dressed?

What was he wearing?

Was he young or old?

And how did sentient beings judge him?

But then was it a judgment or rather a way of putting him in front of primordial concepts?

He didn't have many answers, in fact to tell the truth he just felt full of doubts.

What would happen now?

Would they disappear?

Would the journey continue?

He saw objects dematerialize.

First the clock, then the spheres, then the table.

Only the armchairs remained on which Ascanio and Ariadne were seated, totally still and silent.

That these were their names, he wouldn't have sworn.

They were probably simply two appellations put there to better impress his memory.

Room A: two names with the same initials.

Opposite concepts: a masculine and a feminine semblance.

It seemed like a game of allegories to play.

Perhaps that was the real key to everything.

What could the clock without hands and numbers mean?

Life maybe?

Which we do not decide at will neither the beginning nor the end nor its duration?

Or, abstracting even more, time?

And the spheres?

What if not the flow of events?

Or maybe the people who have been next to us?

The table?

The certainty of life or of realities?

The armchairs?

Perhaps the fact that great thoughts come about by slowing down the pace of human actions, taking the necessary time for meditation.

And why the middle-aged human features?

Why not elders to denote wisdom?

Or young people outlining power and beauty?

They were unsolved questions, to which he hoped to give an answer sooner or later.

Eager for this, he would not have wanted to see the objects fade.

The armchairs disappeared from his sight, as did Ascanio and Arianna, unperturbed as if Mr. O had never been present among them.

They hadn't considered it.

Maybe it didn't really exist.

Maybe it was just a ghost who was allowed to attend an argument.

The entire "Room A" disappeared swallowed up by the non-timeless place from which it had come.

Mr. O had no idea how much time had elapsed, there was no certainty of an ebb and flow, completely missing both a measurement and an indication.

He found himself in the same initial state, catapulted into the dimensionless swinging cosmos, waiting and at the mercy of an event that perhaps would never come.

What had he learned?

He didn't know yet.

He felt helpless, subjected to what he could not control.

Why was everything moving like that?

Why him?

What time?

And why that speech without the possibility of reply?

Perhaps he was being asked for a choice, albeit a mental and not explicit one.

A way of being.

A how he would do or what he would think.

He had chosen, without being aware of it yet.

So thought Mr. O.

––––––––

Absurd.

Allegory.

Absinthe.

Ash.

Average.

Amount.

All.

An endless fairy tale.

And in the notes of all time.

Ancient singers’ tragedy.

We panic in a pew.

And when the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was a deep silence in heaven for half an hour. And I saw the seven angels standing before God, and they were given seven trumpets. And then the first angel blew the trumpet, and there came hail and fire mixed with blood.

II

II

Room B

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“ The real voyage of discovery consists not in finding new territories, but in possessing other eyes, seeing the universe through the eyes of another, of hundreds of others: of observing the hundred universes that each of them observes, that each of them is .”

Marcel Proust

––––––––

Still dozing from the memories and reflections that remained in him as reminiscences of a remote past and not as something that had happened a few moments before, Mr. O found that he was floating in absolute emptiness.

There was no longer any shape or structure.

Everything seemed to have disappeared into an eternal and indefinite darkness.

His eyes could distinguish nothing, nor could his ears hear any sound.

He tried to inhale through his nostrils, but there didn't even seem to be any air.

He felt faint, but soon realized that he wasn't suffocating.

He wasn't aware of breathing, he felt emptiness in his lungs and his diaphragm motionless.

Despite this, his whole body behaved normally.

The heart beat calmly and regularly.

The brain processed thoughts.

The stomach was full.

He tried to speak, but it was not possible.

He thought to himself that he was stupid.

It was obvious that without air it was impossible to speak, it was a basic physical principle.

He moved his hands and felt his face.

Everything was in its place.

He had a nose, ears, mouth, eyes. All normal.

Still, he couldn't help but feel strange and not at ease.

And not only physically, but mentally as well.

He didn't know where he was, who he was with and when he was.

Essential questions to define the context.

We take the existence of a context too much for granted, given that we are always used to having a background panorama and to perceive every object through our senses.

However, if immersed in a place that returns nothing, what are we left with?

Ourselves with our thoughts.

And that terrifies and frightens.

And can an experience based only on thoughts be defined as such?

Mr. O began to reflect, unable to act on his condition.

What did what he witnessed mean?

What was the point of the speech?

Why hadn't anyone asked her opinion?

He made various hypotheses, but did not take any of them into consideration, since there was little data to support it.

He decided to wait for developments.

First, he understood how he had regained the use of his hands.

They were the only external parts of her body that she felt she possessed and that was definitely a step forward.

Suddenly, a white light blinded him, but without causing any discomfort in his eyes.

His pupils did not contract at all.

Perhaps both dark and light were fictitious, or perhaps the laws of physics were different.

The light, first diffused, concentrated until an inscription appeared in the dark.

"Room B".

It wasn't a coincidence then.

There was a precise, alphabetical order.

Would it have been twenty-one letters as assumed?

And now what was he supposed to do?

He raised his right hand and tried to touch the writing.

As soon as his hand came close, it all disappeared and a new scene was projected in an instant.

There were the same objects as in the previous room but placed differently.

The clock without hands or numbers was on one side, the hands on the opposite side.

Under the clock the two armchairs and under the spheres the table.

It was all white, like before.

Out of nowhere, the two figures appeared.

The same as before, dressed in the same way and with the same features.

If he could have spoken, Mr. O would have greeted them.

Now he understood what was going to happen.

Soon they would be talking to each other.

Could he step in and speak this time?

Ask questions?

Or should he have just listened?

And why was there a different arrangement?

Why not replicate everything identically?

Perhaps, to characterize the rooms. So now it was clear in Mr. O's mind that room A was the one with the middle table and room B was the one with the side table.

He noticed that the two figures did not sit down on the armchairs, but remained standing next to them.

Always motionless and always in the same posture as before, with hands stretched out on the hips or clasped.

After an exchange of glances, two different voices animated their words.

It was strange to associate different stamps with the same figures.

It was something that deceived the mind.

It was even more strange for Mr. O to hear different names corresponding to Brutus and Berenice.

Thus one had dissimilar names and voices in identical bodies.

Maybe it was all a game to trick the senses.

It was a way to show how they can mislead us and that thought was superior to experience.

Also, this time it wasn't the man who started talking.

––––––––

BERENICE

Here I represent reality.

I represent one side, the advocate of reality.

Of what actually happens and what we are led to experience.

The importance of reality is beyond doubt given that our entire life, starting from experience up to the abstraction of thought, is anchored in reality.

It is the real world that is knowable and thinkable.

We have experience of him, since birth.

In every moment we feed on it and live in it.

As a logical consequence of all this, there is that man is determined only by becoming aware of reality and how he can go about modifying it.

Every action of humanity has taken the form of changing reality or transposing it, handing down traditions over the centuries.

Had there been a different reality, everyone would have taken different paths.

Reality is, therefore, both cause and effect of every possible deduction and every action whatsoever.

Real is the world.

Real is the thought.

Life is real.

Real is the man who feeds on realism himself.

There is no art form that ignores reality.

The figurative arts, such as painting, sculpture and architecture represent reality and relate to it, as well as transfigure and shape it.

The same goes for literature, theater and cinema or music.

Every written, oral, sung or spoken form, mixture of images and sounds, thoughts and dialogues is itself reality, it becomes another reality, parallelly tangible and experimentable.

Science is then the faithful mirror of reality.

Each experiment is based on reality, questions and records it, precisely to abstract every minimum concept and to build the foundations of the natural laws that govern the Cosmos.

Finally, reality is also reality for every moment of life.

Food and drink, life and death, landscapes and colours, sounds and scents are real.

Every single gesture yearns for reality and draws inspiration from it.

There is no other way to live if not anchored in reality and possessed by it.

I will be asked, therefore, what is this reality?

How do we know it is true?

How can you not be sure of an ill-concealed deception?

The answer is very simple.

Reality surrounds us, bewitches us and envelops us.

It is true because we experience it, every moment.

And it's not a deception, otherwise life would be and, hence, the entire Cosmos.

––––––––

Berenice stopped talking.

She had moved her hands to give greater emphasis to her theses, while remaining with absolute composure, without raising her voice and without moving her head.

Motionless on her feet, she had remained stationary pivoting on the toes of her shoes and on her heels.

Four fixed points where he had released the entire pressure of his body, if there was such a concept as gravity in room B.

Undaunted, Brutus stared at her for the duration, ready to intervene in due course.

Identically as before, Mr. O, full of questions and doubts, had had to remain silent, unable to speak or confront each other.

He was still a listener.

––––––––

BRUTUS

The world and the Cosmos are determined by the imagination.

Every single action, even before being performed, is imagined.

On the contrary, the imagination contemplates a greater number of infinities given that every gesture made is imagined in at least tens of different ways and, at every moment, billions of billions of possibilities intersect giving life to many parallel universes, all true and all considered as such when there is an observer who is able to detect them.

This is based on both experience and scientific foundations.

Every human being knows the power of the imagination that goes beyond reality and expands it to infinity and beyond.

There are many more actions, thoughts, notes, writings, images, works of art and any manifestation of the soul that have been imagined than it is possible to list.

The library of imagination is full and infinite.

From a scientific point of view, the existence of interpenetrating multiverses that are found in different dimensions, with various elsewhere undefined and with completely different laws, is ascertained.

In fact, who can say that there is no place where stars are born and one where they die?

The same goes for thoughts.

A single human mind contains many more thoughts than reality.

The imagination is therefore supremely more powerful and is also more tangible.

No one rationally follows what is, but is mainly driven by what he imagines.

This mainly translates into dreams, where the mental barriers of constraint and archetypes grafted into education and society fall.

Dreams give free rein to the imagination.

It's the dreams that inspire, that give ideas to continue and the deductions that are then put into practice.

Without imagination, nothing could happen or exist.

No metal becomes a sword by itself, no stone turns into gold spontaneously, no earth becomes color and no page is filled with words out of nowhere.

Everything passes from translating the imagination into the world and into the Universe, mediating it through our skills and talents, acquired and refined by millennia of evolution and collective and personal experiences.

All arts, science and thought are expressions of the imagination.

Philosophy and literature are imagination, since they build parallel worlds where everyone can go to reside or find comfort.

It is imagination the same life in which we think about what future generations will be like, shaping them as transliterated by dreams.

Everything is imagination.

Imagination is power.

At the same time it is wanting.

––––––––

Brutus had left no space for either replies or pauses in his exposition.

Confident, he'd only swapped hand positions a couple of times.

The satisfied look, the bright eye of the challenge.

With this he tried to pierce Berenice, who did not respond to the provocation.

The woman was intent on observing Mr. O, to test his reactions and try to enter his mind.

It seemed that it was a battle to contest the consent of Mr. O, who had the impression of being a judge.

Were they asking him for a judgement? Or an opinion? Or none of that?

He could not linger any longer, overwhelmed by Berenice's words.

––––––––

BERENICE

So would I be led to believe that the imagination can surpass reality even in concreteness?

And what matters more than what is real?

Can imagination change the human condition, improve it regardless of reality?

Certainly not.

The imagination is an illusory mirror, an artfully constructed lie, a falsifying counter-deduction of the pure essence of what is uniquely knowable.

There are no imaginations that can go further and elevate humanity as reality can.

And whoever lives wallowing in imaginations is one who never gets anything done, left behind by the wheel of evolution, destined for eternal oblivion.

Because it matters who is real.

It decides who knows how to affirm the prevalence of reality.

He who does is remembered and famous.

He is assimilated to the Gods who does not allow himself to be deviated from the path of reality.

Conversely, the imaginary is idealized but not concrete, not tangible.

And it doesn't bring happiness, only disappointment, once the illusory spell is over.

Ephemeral existence is the imagination.

Like a siren song, it bewitches and seduces but then leads to death and oblivion.

Never rely on the imagination, run away from it, fight it and ostracize it like a pestilence that grips the senses and intellectual faculties.

Know how to be brutal and eliminate from your life imaginary thoughts and imaginary lives, simulacra of what you will never be.

Live in reality and it is good never to forget it.

Just as a sapling is reborn again under the aegis of the real, in the same way you will be condemned to misery if you give in to the imagination.

Be powerful and categorical.

Ban the imagination.

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The female figure had totally identified herself with her speech.

The tone of the voice had become imposing and energetic, as if to cleave the air with vibrating blows of a saber.

It was no longer a friendly skirmish, as Berenice had sunk the blow, hoping for a surrender by Brutus, who, however, had not become angry or made any sign.

Stood still, waiting for his turn.

And Mr. O?

He had been overwhelmed by the tsunami of words and his thoughts had been overwhelmed. How to counter such vehemence?

He knew what would unfold.

The final counter-answer fell to Brutus, and Mr. O began to wait anxiously.

Would he too have used harsh and cutting words?

Or would he have debated between the meanders of logic and composure to bring out his own thesis?

It was a dilemma that would soon be resolved as soon as the male-like thing opened its mouth.

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BRUTUS

So is it only reality that characterizes life?

Can only what is real influence our choices and our lives?

Come on, let's not be that superficial.

We all know that this is not the case and that reality is very limited and above all influenceable.

There is no reality that is not constructed instant after instant and therefore there is no reality that exists by itself.

It can be said, paradoxically, that reality is not real until some thought imagines it.

And it is therefore the same imagination that makes it so.

Ultimately, reality is a small subset of the imagination, the only one that survives the continuous choices that are released in every moment.

It is the choices that mediate the imagination and translate it into reality.

In the Universe there is therefore a fundamental part given by the imagination and the minority and visible part is given by reality.

Instead, anyone wishing to try to abstract from reality would find himself totally helpless if he did not resort to the imagination.

Reality, therefore, blocks both cognitive flows.

From the universal to the particular because it does not conceive of multiverses and from the particular to the universal because it does not know how to abstract.

Being anchored to reality, one has no perception of the world, of ideas and of man, one has no knowledge and evolution.

In a word, there is no life.

And as life goes on, it shows that reality is outdated in fact.

Its power is limited, not universal and certainly not pre-eminent.

It is demonstrated, from every point of view, that one lives on the imagination, for it, with it, in it.

What is called reality is, therefore, only the most concrete simulacrum of the imagination, a single face of an infinite-dimensional spatial hypercube .

Anyone who anchors himself to reality and entrusts everything to it flattens out and dehumanises himself.

He takes away his life and thought.

He is therefore the enemy of man and of the universe.

A sneaky liar who, knowing he is deceiving others, wants to distract them from the contemplation of one of the divine qualities par excellence.

Imagining is the ultimate act of creation.

Reality is nothing in comparison.

––––––––

Brutus hadn't gone too far and hadn't backed down.

Responding point by point, he had parried Berenice's thrusts, then trying to sink the blow.

As before, he hadn't broken down in the slightest, except by moving his hands and changing his tone of voice, from calm to emphatic.

As soon as he fell silent, he had turned a pleased look towards Berenice, as if to silence her forever.

He scrutinized her relentlessly, before staring at Mr O.

Berenice did the same.

What did they want from him?

What was the point of all this?

Were they asking for your opinion or judgment?

But how could he express something if he was still prevented from speaking and moving, having only the use of his hands at his disposal?

Perhaps Mr. O was only asked to elaborate an inner thought and, as such, he adapted and tried to internalize what he had heard.

A first thought was directed to the environment of the room.

Why the same objects but in different positions?

And the characters? Same, but with different names and voices.

He rejected the hypothesis of a hallucination, there was too much logic in the correspondence between the two rooms.

Even a dream didn't seem right to him.

Perhaps it was all an allegory, a key to understanding one's life or one's thoughts or something even further.

Unfortunately, he suffered from not being able to speak and interact.

He felt like a prisoner, with only the use of his hands truly regained.

Myriads of questions followed one another in his head, without any logical form.

He calmly set about sorting out his thoughts.

It was useless to worry too much about general issues.

If he had understood the order correctly, there would have been another nineteen stanzas, or perhaps twenty-four, depending on whether or not the entire Latin alphabet or the simplest version of the basic Italian alphabet was included.

Instead, it was necessary to focus on the specifics of room B, as he had already done with the first.

What was specific was the dialogue, actually four fragments of monologues, given that neither Brutus nor Berenice had interacted with each other, except to the extent of arguing opposite antitheses.

The common trait was given precisely by this.

Two dual and opposite concepts were presented and they were explained first in the positive and then by denying the opposite, with a classic rule of scholastic rhetoric based on the refutation of the contranominal.

There was no mediation whatsoever between the two opinions.

Both were clean and precise.

Perhaps Mr. O was asked for a summary?

But to work out a synthesis he would have had to interact with sentient beings.

In any case, he rethought the specific concepts of reality and imagination.

As in the first stanza, there were reasons both to accept and to refute each of the two positions.

How not to deny the importance and existence of reality?

But on the other hand, how can we not do the same with the imagination?

And how to disagree with the proposed objections?

He debated between the two opposites, examining every possible facet, under the watchful eye of the two sentient beings who stood there, motionless, watching him.

Did only reality count and imagination had no power?

Or was it the imagination that was infinite and reality a semblance in one dimension of the same?

It was based on what he had experienced in a lifetime and on what he had learned from the comparison with thousands of other lives, contemporary or past.