We are the Authors

In this place, life is not a dream. Beware, Beware and Beware.

And so many people think because "Then" happened, "Now" isn´t. We are all co-Authors of this exhuberance where even our inabilities are having a roast. We are the authors of ourselves, co-Authors of a big Dostoevsky Novel , starring Clowns.This thing we´re involved with called the World, is an opportunity to exhibit how exciting alienation can be. Life is a matter of a miracle that is collected over time by moments flabbergasted to be in each other´s presence.

The world is an exam to see if we can rise into direct experience. Our eyesight is here as a test to see if we can see beyond it.Matter is here as a test for our curiousity. Doubt is here as a test for our vitality. Thomas Mann once wrote, that he would rather participate in life then write 100 stories. Giacometti was once run by a car, and he recalled falling into a lucid faint, a sudden exhilaration, as he realised that finally something was happening to him.

An assumption develops that you cannot understand life and live life simultaneously. I do not agree entirely. Which is to say I do not exactly disagree. I would say that life understood is life lived. But the paradoxes bug me, and I can learn to love and make love to the paradoxes that bug me. And on really romantic evenings of self, I go salsa dancing with my confusion. Lorca said that the Iguana will bite those who do not dream. And as one realises that one is a dream figure in somebody else´s dream, that is self awareness.

A Waking Life.