Each being can be inhabited by several eus, some forms to think and to feel. What I am speaking does not have nothing to have with the theories of multiple personalities, not. I am mentioning the diverse faces of the mind, of the innumerable sensations that we possess that for times it seems to be impossible that they live in one same one to be, but live. We have some unknown sides, until the moment where we give of face with them and we arrive to have the sensation that is not about us and yes of a foreign being that took pose of our body. We can pass the life without having this notion simply or running away from it. It remembers the imaginary friend that speaks that all the children have? It always heard this, right? I also and believed until today. But now I find that the such invisible being nothing more is of what ours another side fighting to be heard.
When if she is child and not yet if it is contaminated by the terrestrial restrictions, distrust is not had or until fear can be said to leave that the diverse sides of one exactly being can coexist. But the measure that if grows in them is given the duty to choose an only side to occupy the official rank and the other or the others are obliged if to hide and to be treat as fancies to infancy. But who is that in the ones of the such obligation? Good question to try to answer, now does not need to be. But independent of the reply, what he interests is that it or they comes back, being able even though to assume council member and faithful roles allies. They can coexist the official side forever as facetas of the imagination and to be discovered for nobody or, already in a case of pure evolution of its owner, never be presented to the world.
A fine fog, followed of wind squalls, makes to raise me the gullet of japona and to more sink in the head the woollen cap. In foot, in the high one of the thick wall that serves of barrier in the entrance of the port contemplates, in the blackout of the night, the dark mass of the revolts waves of the ocean, that with boom beat soon below of me. Everything in return is desert. A little beyond, the dark and disformes countenances of great anchored ships. To far, the lights of some buoys of signalling, indicating the way for the boats. Absorbed in my thoughts, it seems as if it was in another dimension of time and space, and suddenly it comes me it the souvenir the image formed for my mind, of other seas, other distant lands and a man who at night costumava to sit down in a rock bank, in the Island of the Devil. Captain Dreyfus, victim of one of the biggest errors judicial of the history of France.
In this direction, here in this place, I feel myself completely exempts, but at the same time, I ask myself if this will not be only one illusion, perhaps therefore the true freedom is interior, according to Krishnamurti. Exterior, I believe that we are all prisoners of some thing. I am still a good motionless time there, later I follow for the little illuminated streets of the old city, in direction to the center. Soon ahead, some bars still opened. Some women of the night, with the sleepy heads on the tables thinking perhaps about its sad destinations as kept out of society of the life. Some few noctvagos passer-bys pass hasty escaping of the cold, that after some days of heat comes back now with redoubled force.