Troebia's Diary

[manuel_moe_g]

i used to get mad when people described their dreams, because they were unlike my own dreams, so i just assumed that they were purposefully lying (!!??!!???)

what strangeness i allowed to go on inside my head

[troebia]

Dreams are a sort of lies I suppose, the worst ones being those that soothe us and enable us to endure the insufferable...

[snoringdog]

Hello Troebia,

Sad and evocative. You have a poetic soul and a wonderful expressiveness.

Your dream sounds like the conclusion of a revelatory LSD-induced session.
I can imagine Van Gogh's rendition of it...

[snoringdog]

i used to get mad when people described their dreams,

Dreams are a sort of lies I suppose, the worst ones being those that soothe us and enable us to endure the insufferable...

MM - Nightly dreams...? How were yours different?

Dreams

Nightly - Our brains at work, presumably to help. Anticipating the future? Trying to resolve our past experiences

Dreams for the future - Sadly, I've never really had any. (Maybe that's why I was ripe for running off to a commune )

Sometimes I'm jealous of those with dreams. It is a sort of an elixir, and being a romantic, I suppose, I'm heartsick when I think of dreams being dashed.

[manuel_moe_g]

Howdy SnoringDog

My dreams are just random things working under dream logic, usually with a stressful anxious overtone

So I just assumed that was the case for everyone, and if you described it different, you were lying

The only explanation I can think of for my strange attitude is that my mother saw everything through the lens of harsh judgement, so I took upon that lens

???? Your guess is as good as mine

All the very best, SnoringDog

[troebia]

my mother saw everything through the lens of harsh judgement, so I took upon that lens

Interesting, my mother also feels superior to most people in a stupid way. Racist, bigoted and intolerant. Here while visiting she was also extremely judgemental about the hygiene of the food, while at the same time leaving biscuits on her bed that the ants found instantly in the tropical heat. A small nightmare. You could see the tension in her eyes and in her whole posture. I suppose my own manners were affected by hers during childhood, and it grieves me to recall certain situations.

Our eyes are windows to our souls, in the sense that one should learn the importance of attitude and composure in social situations or in crowds. On the bus or tram for example, hopefully I'm that old unthreatening grandpa figure instead of a tense, menacing creep. I've mentioned here sometime how I experience an instant connection to certain people when we look each other in the eyes.

[troebia]

Sometimes I'm jealous of those with dreams. It is a sort of an elixir, and being a romantic, I suppose, I'm heartsick when I think of dreams being dashed.

SD, in the 17th century a Spanish poet had already figured it all out for us:

What is life? a tale that is told;
What is life? a frenzy extreme,
A shadow of things that seem;
And the greatest good is but small,
That all life is a dream to all,
And that dreams themselves are a dream.

The whole passage is a delight, and it always brings me to tears.
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/la-vida-es-sueño-life-dream.html

[troebia]

Heard today said by Paul Chek
(https://podcastaddict.com/know-thyself/episode/180829576) :

"Knowledge in itself is not power. Applied knowledge is power."

[snoringdog]

Hello Troebia,

Thank you for the poem. I'd like to hear it in Spanish. (Do you speak it?)

Such a tenuous hold we have on consciousness and life itself...

SD

[troebia]

Here is a very old version in Spanish: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SaDZqcRAG4I

The whole play is long and complicated. Basically Segismundo, who pronounces the famous soliloquy, is a prince incarcerated by his father (the king) who wants to know if his violent son can be trusted with power because the stars (a prophecy) have told him he would become a tyrant. The king drugs his son and while sleeping they put him on the throne so he will think he is in charge now. The plan is that if he messes up, they'll drug him again and when he wakes up Segismundo will think everything had been a dream. The son indeed proves to be a cruel motherfucker and they throw him in jail again, and that's the famous scene. In the end though, after a violent conflict between two factions with the liberated Segismundo on one side and the king on the other, the son is victorious and his father is about to give up his throne. But Segismundo throws himself at his father's feet, unarmed. Seeing this offering, the king concedes the throne anyway because he now considers his son fit to rule.