Ghost (in two acts)

“I come to propose a dream…”
Nestor Kirchner

Cristina has already spoken several times about “officials who don’t work”, and has also suggested the logical fear that would overwhelm those inhibited in their actions by alleged political, judicial or media persecution. Beyond technical capabilities or political allegiances, always questionable, I ask myself: what makes it possible for us to sustain a place, a function, a formula ethically?

Spinoza concludes his Ethics affirming that virtue is rare and the path to achieve it is arduous, but not impossible. Anyone can possess true contentment of mind and exercise freedom wisely. Perhaps the biggest problem, however, is not the difference between the ignorant who finds himself shaken by affections that he does not know and then invokes free will, on the one hand, and the wise man who adequately knows the necessary cause of what affects him and acts accordingly. consequently, on the other; but the existence of a third figure: the manipulator who, knowing what affects him, does nothing to remedy it; because the latter does even more harm than the ignorant.

Like the banal official of evil that Arendt invoked, the “more papist than the Pope” overacts his role because he identifies with the assigned place without questioning what he can or cannot do and how that limits the power to act. Carrying out a position without believing it at all, without invoking relations of force that exceed us or insane repetitions that are imposed on us, requires following the desire based on its cause: the power to exist in act and not mere fantasized survival. Finding the desire, clearing its cause, can happen in any place, time or circumstance; it involves various dreams, repeated exercises and various practices. The important thing is not to be distracted just when the crucial encounter occurs, in order to follow the inexorable consequences that follow from it. I would like to tell two acts of my personal story that happened in different times and places but that communicate this idea well. And at the end of a recent dream that is, of course, an expression of desire.

1. I got up very early and went to the dojo, despite the fact that the cold made me hesitate to do it, because I had already arranged with Sensei and I couldn’t let him down. Along the way I was thinking about how many times I had walked that same path, in different moods, and I noticed above all something significant: I was not afraid. Before, on the other hand – but I was noticing it only now in a clear and distinct way! – I was always inhabited by a diffuse sensation of fear that had dissipated. And it wasn’t because I was better or stronger than before, or more trained, but because of something else that I immediately understood as I walked. He no longer felt the tension towards an end, nor the self-defensive caution, he simply acted. He was in a position to ask a key question: What things usually separate us from our true power to act, to think, to say, to love? ghosts. Now I understand: the thing was the other way around. The end justified the fears. If one sticks instead to the middle, when walking, there is nothing to fear. And I understand the difficulty of transmitting the simplest thing, the inherent power, when there are those who fear for no apparent reason: fear of thought, fear of action, fear of good governance, fear of decision, fear of confrontation, etc. And correlatively: envy, hate, comparison, resentment, reactivity, etc. I understood many things suddenly that morning, as I walked coldly towards the dojo and recapitulated earlier teachings, which faded a bit as the day went by. Now I retrieve them by writing them and try to pass them. We’ll see what sleep holds for us…

After some time…

2. After the happy news of the victory of the left in Colombia, the signifier Petro enters the dream and sends me back to my father’s house. There where the first ghosts materialized: Pedro was called my old man, he was also a stubborn leftist militant who had wanted to be mayor of the town he chose as his place in the world. Although he could not become one, he remained in the memory of his conservative inhabitants as someone very loved, respected by some and hated by others. He always wanted to run away from that place where I felt strange, “toad from another well”, as they say. The epic dream was also in Córdoba, according to the paternal story, and I headed there with haste. I did not find anything of the mentioned epic; Still, I put down roots, built my livelihood, mourned, found love, my daughter was born. But I return to the recurring dream of the father’s house, where the ghost was the intrusion: you had to run quickly to close the doors and windows because a strange presence lurked. It was an archetypal dream that also had its real reasons: from time to time they would break into that house with little protection. The robberies had also been recurrent in previous homes. Nothing new. The recent theft where I live only updates the entire series, including the known event in which I was shot and was hospitalized with a reserved prognosis, a month after Camila was born. The ghost of the house, however, had already faced him before: in a dream in which the doors and windows were unlocked, he accepted that the ghost would inevitably appear and faced it with immense fear; Nothing happened, it was just a ghost. The reality is that there is a savage class struggle that destroys lives everywhere, but we are not all the same: some of us fight while others plunder without any consideration in different places and levels. I will always be on the side of the most fragile, not out of pity, but because that is where the true power to act is found: the path that leads us to the common house, open, without doors or windows. What does this have to do with Petro? Nothing and everything; it is just a signifier that resonates in my family history, a gesture of persistence that awakens the dream of that big house that we traditionally call Our America. The personal is political only if history is written with openness, generosity and frankness.

I dreamed that I had unfolded myself when we were going to a militant meeting: it was another me who was carrying the weight of a fatuous prestige, and I calmly gave it up as he walked away by another path; and I was also the one who, deprived of that, found the warm welcome of a colleague who knew what she had written, she let me know naturally while she led me to another scene. There was no flattery or understatement in her gesture of acknowledgment, just material understanding put into action. We were crowds of enthusiasts from everywhere. At last I was with them: my companions.

*Philosopher, writer, researcher at Conicet.

Source: Pagina12

Disclaimer: If you need to update/edit/remove this news or article then please contact our support team Learn more

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.