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SILO Book Presentations
Guided Experiences
The Atheneum, Madrid, Spain, November 3, 1989
Thank you very much to the Atheneum
Thank you very much to a Plaza y Janés
… and we go into theme.
On May 2, 1916, Ortega
introduced Bergson here in Madrid, at the Atheneum
On that occasion, Ortega explained that this society, the Atheneum,
was an institution dedicated to the cultivation of and reverence for ideas.
With that mission in mind, I would like to speak here tonight in this same hall,
not about literature,
as one would think is called for by the nature of the book we are presenting,
not about the tales or stories
of which this volume is composed,
but rather about the ideas out of which these stories have arisen.
Of course, I’m not saying that when one speaks about a literary subject
ideas are absent,
but simply that typically the focus is on its aesthetic aspects.
Sometimes we examine the work's formal aspects and, of course, its contents.
The author may relate his or her life experiences,
allowing us access to his or her biography, sensibilities, and perception of the world.
What reason is there, then, for my speaking about ideas?
Simply because this book
is the practical application
of a theory of consciousness
in which the image, as phenomenon of representation,
has special importance.
It is true that I will have to say a number of things first,
especially for those who have not seen the book we will discuss tonight.
In any case, these preliminaries need not impede
the communication of that structure of ideas,
that theory which I mentioned.
Let’s look first at the history of this work.
How boring, no?
This book
was originally written in 1980,
revised in 1988 and made available for your consideration just a few days ago.
At this point, I would like to read the introductory note which says the following:
"The work consists of two parts.
The first, “Tales,”
is a collection of twelve stories
that comprise the more dense and complex part of the work.
The second part, “Playing with Images,”
includes nine descriptions that are simpler
than those of the first part and also more agile.
This material may be viewed in various ways.
Superficially, it may be seen as a series of short stories with happy endings.
They have the lightness of drafts
carried out for practice and simple 'amusement'
In this way they could be seen as simple literary excercises.
Another viewpoint..., another viewpoint,
however, reveals this work as a series of psychological practices
based on literary forms.
This is clarified, continues the introductory note,
by the explanatory notes and comments included at the end of the book.
We know all kinds of stories written in the first person,
I, in the first person…
this “first person” traditionally, it is not the one of the reader…
but that of the author,
The book redresses this age-old discourtesy
with each story providing a different setting that serves as a frame
for the reader to fill the scene with events
and concerns from his or her own life.
As an aid, there appear at intervals throughout the text
asterisks to mark pauses at key points
that can help the reader introduce, mentally,
the images that transform a passive reader
into an actor in and coauthor of each description.
This original form also allows
one person to read aloud,
for example,
observing the aforementioned pauses, while each listener
imagines his or her own literary “knot.”
This approach—the hallmark of these writings—
would in more conventional stories destroy all plot sequence.
It should be noted that in every literary piece,
the reader—or spectator
in the case of plays, films, or television programs,
can identify more or less fully with the characters,
while recognizing, either at the time or later on,
differences between the actor playing the role in the piece
and the observer, who is “outside” the production
and is none other than the spectator him or herself.
In these writings the opposite occurs:
The main character is at once the observer,
agent, and recipient of the actions and emotions.
In any case, whether we like or not these “guided experiences”,
-continues the introductory note-
we will at least recognize
that we are in the presence of an innovative literary initiative,
which is not something that happens every day".
That is the end of the note.
As we have seen, the book is composed of brief stories
in which asterisks appear indicating a pause in the development
for the reader to insert, at that point, whatever image is deemed most appropriate.
In this way, the development of the story continues
but is rendered more dynamic by the introduction of this new element.
Let’s look at the specific case
in the first of these tales, called “The Child”:
"I find myself in an amusement park
It is night,
Everywhere I see mechanical rides, filled with light and movement,
but there are no people there.
Then I discover nearby a child about ten years old,
who is facing away from me.
As I move closer,
the youngster turns to look at me,
and I realize it is myself when I was that age."
Asterisk!
That is to say an interruption, so that can insert myself,
as an image, into the story,
as suggested by the text,
The story continues…
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
The child tells me something about an injustice that has happened
and begins to cry. To console the child, I promise we’ll go on some rides,
but the youngster insists on talking about the injustice.
In order to understand the child better,
I try to recall what happened to me at that age that was so unfair.
Asterisk!
From what I’ve said so far, I’m sure you can understand
the mechanics of reading the guided experiences
In addition, there is a common pattern of construction
that all such stories comply with.
First, there is an entrance to the theme and general setting of the scene;
second, there is an increase in “dramatic tension;”
in a manner of speaking,
third, we find the representation of a life problem;
fourth, there is the denouement, or resolution of the problem;
fifth, there is a reduction in overall tension;
and sixth,
there is a not-too-abrupt exit from the experience,
generally retracing some previous steps of the story.
Let me say a little more about the form of construction,
the framework for the situation presented in each story,
that is, the context in which each experience occurs.
In order to place the readers in a situation
in which they can more easily make contact with themselves,
it is necessary to distort the structure of time and space,
and this is done following the lessons we learn from our own dreams.
We need to free the dynamics of images,
avoiding the rationalizations that can prevent them from flowing easily.
If, at the same time, we are able to
destabilize the corporal register,
the sense of position of the reader’s body in space
this will help the reader question anew
various moments in his or her life,
or even future moments as actions that might yet be carried out.
Let’s look, then, at an example that illustrates these points
from the experience titled “The Rescue”:
"I am in a car that is speeding down a large highway.
The driver beside me is someone I’ve never seen before.
In the back seat
are two women and a man, who are also strangers to me.
The car races onward, surrounded by other cars driving recklessly,
as if their drivers were drunk or crazy.
I’m unsure whether it is dawn or dusk.
I ask my companion what is happening.
Looking at me furtively,
he answers in a strange language,
“Rex voluntas!”
Turning on the radio,
which blares noisy static,
I can faintly hear a weak metallic voice
monotonously repeating,
“...Rex voluntas,...”
The traffic slows down,
and by the roadside I see
wrecked and overturned cars with fire spreading among them.
We stop,
and abandoning the car, run toward the fields.
in a rushing sea of terrified people.
Looking back
through the smoke and flames, I see
many hapless souls who are trapped and doomed,
but I’m forced to keep running by the human stampede that pushes me along.
Amid this delirium I try hopelessly
to reach a woman trying to shield her child
as the mob tramples over them.
Many stumble to the ground
The chaos and violence are spreading everywhere,
so I decide to move in a slightly diagonal direction
that will let me escape the crowd;
I aim toward some higher ground
Many of the fallen grab at my clothes, tearing them to shreds,
but I notice that the crush of people around me is growing less.
One man breaks free of the mob and comes running toward me.
His clothes are in tatters and his body is covered with wounds,
On reaching me he clutches my arm,
and yelling like a madman points frantically down the hill.
He’s speaking a language I do not understand,
but I think he wants me to help rescue someone.
I tell him to wait for a while
that right now it’s impossible…
I know he cannot understand me,
and his desperation is tearing me apart.
Then he tries to go back down,
but just as he’s leaving I trip him and he falls headlong.
He stays on the ground sobbing bitterly.
For my part I realize that I’ve saved both his life and his conscience
because he did try to rescue someone, but his doomed attempt was prevented.
Climbing higher, I reach a freshly plowed field.
The earth is loose
and furrowed by the recent work of a tractor.
In the distance I hear gunfire,
and think I know what is happening
hurriedly I leave the place.
After a while, I stop once more.
Everything is silent.
Looking back toward the city,
I see a sinister glow.
I feel the ground begin to shake beneath my feet,
and a rumbling from the depths
warns me of an imminent earthquake.
Within moments I’ve lost my balance
and find myself lying on the ground. Curled on my side and gazing up at the sky,
I’m overcome by waves of dizziness.
The earthquake passes,
up in the sky
there is an enormous moon,
red, as if covered in blood.
The heat is unbearable and the air is filled with an acrid odor.
Meanwhile, I’m still uncertain whether it is dawn or dusk.
Sitting down, I hear a growing roar.
Soon I see filling the sky
hundreds of aircraft like deadly insects that disappear
toward some unknown destiny.
Nearby I come upon a large dog staring up at the moon. It begins to howl,
almost like a wolf
I call out to it,
and the animal approaches me timidly.
When it reaches my side,
I gently pet its bristling fur
and see shivers running down its body.
The dog pulls away from me and begins to leave.
I get to my feet and follow it,
and we walk across an area
of rocky ground until we reach a small stream.
The thirsty animal rushes forward and eagerly begins to drink,
but all at once draws back and falls over.
Approaching the dog I touch it, and realize that it’s dead.
I feel a new earthquake which threatens to knock me over, but it subsides.
Turning around, I behold far off in the sky
four enormous clouds advancing with the muffled rumbling of thunder.
The first cloud is white,
the second is red,
the third is black, and the fourth is yellow.
And these clouds are like four armed horsemen
riding on the storm,
travelling across the heavens and laying waste all life on Earth.
I begin running to escape the approaching clouds,
realizing that if their rain touches me I’ll be contaminated.
As I run, suddenly towering over me I see a huge figure
my path is blocked by a gigantic creature
swinging a sword of fire in a menacing arc.
I shout that I must keep going because the radioactive clouds are approaching.
He replies he is a robot
there to prevent destructive people from entering,
adding that he’s armed with lasers,
and warns me not to come any closer.
I see that the robot is on the dividing line between two distinct areas
the one I’m coming from, barren and dying,
and the one ahead, filled with vegetation and life.
So I shout to the robot, “You must let me pass
because I’ve done a good deed!”
“What is a good deed?” the robot asks.
“A constructive action, something that builds
and contributes to life,” I answer.
“Then tell me what you’ve done that’s so good,”
“I’ve saved a human being from certain death, and what’s more,
I’ve saved his conscience as well.”
At once the giant robot stands aside,
and I leap into the protected area just as the first drops of rain begin to fall…"
Here I’ll stop reading from this story.
An endnote contains the following comments:
"The eeriness of the plot is achieved through
the ambiguity of time, parenthesis:
"I’m unsure whether it is dawn or dusk”;
the contrast between spaces, parenthesis:
“I see that the robot is the dividing line between two distinct areas;
the one I’m coming from, barren and dying,
and the one ahead, filled with vegetation and life”;
the inability to communicate with other people
and the Babel-like confusion of tongues, parenthesis:
“I ask my companion what is happening.
Looking at me furtively, he answers in a strange language, ‘Rex voluntas!’”
and finally by leaving the protagonist at the mercy of uncontrollable forces:
heat, earthquakes, strange astronomical phenomena,
polluted water, a climate of war, an armed giant robot, and so on."
Time and again the protagonist’s body is destabilized
it is pushed and shoved,
it must walk across the soft, uneven ground of a freshly plowed field,
it is knocked to the ground by an earthquake.
Do you understand the mechanics?
In a number of guided experiences,
The aforementioned pattern in the framing of the situation is repeated
each time with different images
and stressing the particular problematic being dealt with.
For example,
in the experience titled “My Greatest Mistake,”
everything revolves around a kind of misunderstanding,
which is treated by presenting a confusion of perspectives.
In turn, since this story involves an event
that we wish could be changed in our past,
an event in our lives
that we wish had happened in a different way,
temporal and spatial modifications are introduced
that, of course,
modify our perception of the phenomena, and in fact
end up transforming the point of view,
the perspective, from which we see our past.
Thus, while it is not possible to modify the actions that occurred,
it is possible to change the point of view from which we see them,
and this allows
a significant change for the better in the integration of those contents.
Let’s look at part of that story:
"I am standing before some sort of court.
The room is full of people,
who remain in silence
Everywhere I see stern faces.
Breaking the tremendous tension that fills the room,
The clerk of the court
adjusts his glasses,
takes a piece of paper and solemnly announces:
“It is the sentence of this court that the accused shall be put to death.”
Immediately there is an uproar
some people applaud while others boo,
I see a woman faint.
Finally an official manages to restore silence.
Staring at me darkly, the clerk
demands,
“Does the accused have anything to say?”
When I say that I do,
everyone sits down.
Immediately I ask for a glass of water
and after a brief commotion
they bring me one.
Raising the glass, I take a sip,
finishing with a loud and prolonged gargle.
Then I exclaim, “That’s it!”
Someone from the Court harshly demands,
“What do you mean, ‘That’s it’?”
Yes, “That’s it,” I repeat.
But to satisfy this person
I say that the water here tastes excellent,
much better than I expected,
and I continue with two or three other pleasantries of this sort.
The court clerk finishes reading the document with these words:
“Accordingly,
the sentence shall be carried out today:
You will be abandoned in the desert without food or water
above all, without water.
I have spoken!”
I reply strongly, "What do you mean I have spoken"
Arching his eyebrows, the clerk reaffirms,
“What I have spoken, I have spoken!”
Soon
I find myself in the middle of the desert,
riding in a vehicle and escorted by two firemen.
We stop, and one of them says, “Get out!”
So I get out.
the vehicle turns around and heads back the way it came.
I watch it grow smaller and smaller as it moves off across the dunes."
Other events transpire in the story
and finally the following occurs:
"Now the storm has passed and the sun has set
In the twilight I see before me a whitish dome
several stories high.
Although I think it must be a mirage,
I get to my feet and make my way toward it.
As I draw closer, I see that the structure is made of a smooth material,
a shiny plastic perhaps
inflated with compressed air.
A man dressed in Bedouin garb greets me,
and we enter through a carpeted tube-shaped passageway.
A door slides open, and I feel a refreshing rush of cool air.
Once inside the structure,
I notice that everything is upside down.
The ceiling is like a smooth floor from which things are suspended.
I see round tables above us with their legs pointing up;
water falls downward in streams that curve and return upward
and high overhead are human forms seated upside down.
Noticing my astonishment, the Bedouin hands me some glasses saying, “Try these on!”
I comply and everything is restored to normal.
Ahead I see a large fountain shooting vertical streams of water.
Tables and other objects exquisitely coordinated in color and form.
I see the court clerk coming toward me, crawling on all fours.
He says he feels terribly dizzy,
so I explain to him that he’s seeing reality upside down
and needs to remove his glasses.
Taking them off, he stands up and says with a sigh,
“Indeed, now everything is fine—except that I’m so short sighted.”
He goes on to say he has been searching for me
in order to explain that I’m not the person who should have been put on trial
that there has been a most deplorable mistake,
Immediately he leaves through a side door.
Walking a few steps, I find a group of people seated in a circle on cushions.
They are elders of both sexes,
with varied racial features and attire.
All of them have beautiful faces.
Each time one of them opens their mouth,
I hear the sound
of faraway gears,
of gigantic machinery,
of immense clocks.
I also hear intermittent thunder,
the cracking of rocks,
icebergs splitting,
the rhythmic roaring of volcanoes,
the light drumming of a gentle rain,
the muffled beating of hearts,
motor, muscle, life
and everything in perfect harmony,
a majestic symphony of sounds.
The Bedouin hands me headphones, saying, “Try these on, they translate.”
Putting them on, I clearly hear a human voice.
I realize it is the same symphony of the elders,
now translated for my clumsy ear.
This time as he opens his mouth I hear,
“We are the hours,
we are the minutes,
we are the seconds.
We are the various forms of time.
As a mistake was made with you, we'll give you the chance to restart your life.
But from what point do you wish to start again?
Perhaps from your birth,
or perhaps from just before your first failure."
Asterisk! And so on.
Here I should add some comments about the type of images used,
because while one may have the impression
that all the descriptions involve a strong visual component,
it happens that many people
tend to favor a form of representation that is basically auditory,
or kinesthetic, or cenaesthetic, or perhaps a mixture.
In this regard I would like to read a few paragraphs from a more recent work,
an essay titled “Psychology of the Image”.
It reads as follows:
"Psychologists through the ages
have made extensive lists dealing with perceptions and sensations,
and today, with the discovery of new neuroreceptors,
they talk of thermoceptors, baroceptors, detectors of acidity, alkalinity, etc..
To the sensations corresponding to the external senses
we will add those that correspond to diffuse senses such as the kinesthetic
movement and corporal posture, the kinesthetic
and cenaesthetic
the general register of the intrabody, temperature, pain, etc.
which, even when explained as an internal tactile sense, cannot be just that."
For our purposes today this quotation is sufficient,
even though we do not pretend with it to exhaust
all possible registers that correspond to the internal senses
and the multiple combinations of perception between them.
What we need to do now is to establish parallels between
the representations and perceptions
generically classified as “internal” and “external.”
It is unfortunate representation has so often been limited
to visual images and also
that spatiality
is almost always taken to refer to the visual,
when in fact auditory perceptions and representations
also denote sources of stimuli
that may be localized in some “place.”
The same happens with touch, smell, and taste, as well as
those related to the position of the body and phenomena of the intrabody.
Since 1943, laboratory observations have shown
that some individuals have a propensity
for non-visual images.
This led W. Grey Walter in 1967
to develop his classification of distinct types of imaginative contents.
Irrespective of the accuracy of that formulation,
the idea began to be taken seriously among psychologists
that the recognition of one’s own body in space
or the memory of an object
could often be based on something besides visual images.
Indeed,
It began to be taken more seriously
the case of perfectly normal subjects
that described a sort of “blindness”
with respect to visual representation.
No longer was it possible after these studies
to consider visual images as the nucleus of the system of representation,
casting other forms of imaging into the dustbin of “eidetic disintegration,”
or indeed into the field of literature,
where idiots and retards say things
like the character in Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury.
Who says things like:
"I couldn’t see it, but my hands saw it,
and I could hear it was getting dark,
and my hands saw the slipper
but I couldn’t see it myself,
but my hands could see the slipper,
and I squatted there, hearing it getting dark."
To return, then, to our study of Guided Experiences, I think we can agree
that even when presented in a predominantly visual way,
anyone can adapt them to his or her own system of representation.
Furthermore,
some are clearly based on other types of images…, other types of images.
This is the case of “The Creature,” as you can see from this brief passage:
Without visual images…
"It is night, and I find myself in total darkness.
Groping ahead with my foot, I can feel ground covered with vegetation.
Somewhere nearby is the edge of an abyss.
I also sense the presence of the creature
that has always provoked in me a special feeling of terror and disgust.
There may be one of them, or there may be many
but I’m certain that something is relentlessly drawing near.
A ringing in my ears, at times mingling with a faraway wind,
contrasts with the utter silence.
My wide-open eyes cannot see a thing.
My heart is pounding,
my breathing is shallow,
and my dry mouth has a bitter taste.
Something is approaching…
What is behind me that disturbs me and sends cold chills up my spine?
My knees feel weak,
and if something grabs me or I feel its breath
or jumps on me from behind
I’ll be completely defenseless.
I’m paralyzed—all I can do is wait."
Let’s look at another case,
but now with different types of images
and the translation of one system of representation into another.
For this we take a part of the guided experience called “The Festival."
Systems of translations of images
and of transformation of a system to another system of representation.
"Lying in a bed, I gradually become aware that I’m in a hospital room.
Faintly I hear the dripping of a faucet.
I try to move my limbs and then my head, but they don’t respond.
It’s an effort just to keep my eyes open.
The ceiling is smooth and white.
As each drop of water drips from the faucet,
there is a flash across the ceiling
like a ray of light.
One drop, one ray.
Then another.
Then many rays,
and after this I see waves of light.
The ceiling keeps on changing with the rhythm of my heart.
Perhaps it is the effect of the arteries in my eyes,
as blood pulses through them.
Now the rhythm outlines the face of a young person."
Later on
in this same experience
we move beyond visual perception,
which becomes included in a more complex system of representation
and is translated into other perceptions and therefore other representations
It says ...
"I fix my attention on a flower,
connected to its stem
by a slender stalk with a transparent skin,
and whose interior glows a deep green.
I reach out my hand, lightly running my finger along the polished fresh stem,
barely disturbed by tiny knobs.
Moving up through emerald leaves,
I come to the petals, which open in a multicolored explosion.
Petals like stained glass in a solemn cathedral,
petals like rubies,
petals like embers awakening into flame
and in this dance of hues,
I feel the flower lives as if a part of me.
The flower, disturbed by my touch,
releases a sleepy drop of dew, barely clinging to the tip of a leaf.
As it falls the drop vibrates, forming an oval as it lengthens.
And now in the emptiness it flattens out, only to become round again,
falling in endless time
falling, falling, through endless space.
Finally
landing on a mushroom cap, the drop rolls
like heavy mercury, sliding to the edge.
There, in a spasm of freedom,
it hurls itself into a tiny pool, raising a tempest of waves
that bathe an island of marble.
Ahead the festival continues,
and I know that this music
connects me with that young woman gazing at her clothes,
and that young man leaning against a tree and petting a blue cat.
I know that I have lived all this before,
and I have known the tree’s jagged outline,
and the sharply defined volume of each thing.
In the velvet butterflies that flutter around me,
I recognize the warmth of lips
and the fragility of sweet dreams."
And so on.
In these experiences,
images are not only located
in front of the protagonist or in the surroundings,
but may also be inside the subject.
It's complicated, it's complicated…
We should note here
that in some dreams, in some dreams…
the dreamer sees him or herself in the scene among other objects
that is, with a look that is “external.”
But it also happens that the dreamer
will sometimes see the scene from his or her own point of view,
almost the way it would be seen when awake, in vigil.
The dreamer’s look has moved inside,
in everyday representation, now, right now
we see things that are located outside us as external;
that is, we look out from “behind”
a tactile, cenaesthetic boundary
given by the register of our eyes, face and head.
Thus, I am able to close my eyes
and represent what I have previously seen.
However, I experience these things as “outside,”
even though I am looking at them not outside, in perception,
but rather inside myself, within my space of representation.
In any case, my look is separate from the object.
I see the object outside myself, although I am representing it “inside my head.”
In the example from the experience “The Child”
I see myself when I was little.
I see myself when I was little.
In reality, I see the child
from the register that I have of myself today, in which I recognize myself.
That is, I see the child outside myself,
from my present inner look.
The child which is me many years ago
speaks to me now of an injustice that took place.
In order to know what the child is talking about,
I make an effort to remember
the I of today tries, not the child,
what happened to me when I was a child,
that which-I-once-was.
As I do so, my look moves deeper “inside” me
to my own recollections,
and the child I see is outside the direction of my recollection.
So when I encounter myself in a scene from my childhood,
how do I recognize myself as truly myself?
It must surely be through a look that is external to me,
but internal with reference to what is external,
in this case the child in the amusement park.
This raises a number of interesting questions,
but to simplify the subject we can say that, in general,
I can speak of representations as if they were "outside"
and of others as if they were "inside"
remembering that this of "outside" and "inside"
is being considered simply
from the difference placed by the cenaesthetic-tactile limit of the eyes, face and head.
Now that this is clear, let’s consider some examples of differences
in the location of looks and scenes.
It was a little heavy… ?
And so!
In the experience titled “The Chimney Sweep” we find the following:
"After a while the Chimney Sweep rises
and picks up a long, slightly curved object.
Standing in front of me he says, “Open your mouth!”
I obey.
I feel him insert some type of forceps reaching into my stomach.
To my surprise, however, I find that it’s not too uncomfortable.
Suddenly he shouts, “I’ve caught it!”,
and little by little he begins pulling out the forceps.
At first it feels like something is tearing my inside,
but then I feel inside a pleasant sensation,
as if from my lungs and internal organs
something malignant that was stuck there for a long time has become detached."
Close quotes...
Here it is clear that we are working with cenaesthetic registers,
images from the intrabody.
But when these are imagined as “outside”
as with what is perceived as “outside” in daily life
they produce effects in the intrabody.
The modification of the scene and one’s look
follow the mechanics that we observed in the story of the child,
except that in this case what we imagine as “outside”
is not like the “child”
that we considered visually.
Rather, it’s a sort of cenaesthetic register that’s placed “outside,”
not in the sense that I feel something in my interior
and now that feeling is outside my body,
but rather that now what I feel in my intrabody
is external to my look
or to a new cenaesthetic register that is even deeper,
Without this mechanism to change the position and viewpoint of one’s look and the scene,
many phenomena of daily life would not be possible.
How could an external object…,
an external object, produce repugnance in me
simply through my looking at it?
How could I “feel” horror when another person's skin is cut?
How could I feel solidarity with another human being’s pain,
or with other people's suffering or pleasure?
Let’s examine a few paragraphs from the experience titled “My Ideal”:
"I am walking through an open space,
used for trade shows, I see exhibition halls and machinery.
I see many children playing on high-tech mechanical rides.
I come upon a giant figure made of some solid material.
It stands upright.
Its large head is painted in bright colors.
There is a ladder extending up to its mouth,
which the little ones climb to reach
the huge opening. When one enters, the mouth gently closes,
and soon the child pops out the back of the giant,
coming down a long slide and landing in the sand below.
One by one the children go in and come out,
as a song flows from the giant:
See Gargantua gobble up the children, with great care, not harming a hair,
Tra la la, tra la la,
With great care, not harming a hair!
I decide to climb up the short ladder. As I enter the huge mouth,
I meet an attendant who tells me,
“Children go down the slide, but grown-ups use the elevator.”
He continues the explanation as we descend through a transparent tube.
Soon I say that I think we’re probably at ground level by now.
He replies that we’re still only passing through the esophagus.
The rest of the giant’s body is below ground,
unlike the children’s giant, which is completely on the surface.
"You see,” my guide informs me, “there are actually two Gargantuas,
one for children, and another one for grownups.
We’ve already passed the diaphragm, and soon we’ll stop at a very pleasant place.
Look, the elevator door is opening and I can show you the stomach.
Would you like to get out here?
As you can see, this modern restaurant serves delicious food from all over the world.”
The proposal of “external” images
acting upon internal representations
is clearly visible in the experience titled “The Miner.”
So, quotes: "I yell loudly as the floor gives way, dragging me down.
A sharp jerk on the rope around my waist
abruptly breaks my fall;
I’m left dangling absurdly at the end of the rope like some muddy pendulum.
My fall has been stopped just above a carpeted floor,
and I see before me a room flooded with light.
It is an elegant hall in which I glimpse some sort of laboratory
filled with enormous bookshelves.
But my predicament is so pressing
that I’m completely absorbed in trying to free myself.
With my left hand I grasp the taut rope; with the other I release the buckle
fastening the rope around my waist,
and tumble softly onto the carpet.
“What manners, my friend,... what manners!”
says a high-pitched voice
I spin around and stop short.
Standing before me is a little man, around sixty centimeters tall
Except for his slightly pointed ears,
he could be described as very well-proportioned.
He is dressed in bright colors,
yet in the unmistakable style of a miner.
I feel at once ridiculous and dismayed when he offers me a cocktail.
However it’s quite refreshing as I drink it straight down.
Now the little man cups his hands
to his mouth like a horn.
Then makes a mocking sound.
I ask what this mockery means and he replies that thanks to this
in the future my digestion will be much improved.
He explains that the rope squeezing my waist and stomach as I fell has done me a world of good,
He concludes his strange remarks by asking me
whether I see any meaning in the expression
“You are in the bowels of the earth.”
I answer that this is just a figure of speech,
but he assures me that in this case it holds a great truth.
Then he adds, “You are in your own bowels.
When something goes wrong in their guts, people's thinking can be odd.
In turn, negative thoughts can harm their internal organs.
So from now on you must take good care of yourself in this regard.
If you don’t, I’ll begin walking around,
and you’ll feel strong tingling
and all kinds of internal discomfort.
I have colleagues in charge of other parts of your body such as lungs, heart, etc.”
Having said this, the little man begins walking on the walls and ceiling.
As he does so, I feel
twinges of discomfort near my stomach, liver, and kidneys.
Then he sprays me with water from a golden hose, cleansing all the mud,
and in an instant I’m dry.
I stretch out on a spacious sofa and begin to relax.
Rhythmically the little man passes a soft brush over my waist and abdomen,
producing a remarkable sensation of relaxation in these areas.
I realize that when discomfort is relieved in my stomach, liver, and kidneys,
my ideas and feelings change for the better.
I feel a strong vibration
I feel like I am rising up,
I'm in the elevator rising toward the surface of the earth, to the outside world."
In this guided experience,
the little man proves to be a true expert in the theory of the cenaesthetic image,
though naturally he doesn’t tell us
how an image can be connected with the intrabody and act upon it.
Earlier we saw, with some difficulty,
that the perception of external objects
serves as a basis for the elaboration of images,
and that this allows us to re-present what has earlier been presented to the senses.
We saw that in this re-presentation, there occur modifications, changes in the location
and point of view of the observer’s look
with regard to a given scene,
and we asked ourselves
about the connection
between the perception of an unpleasant object
and our internal reactions to this perception.
That is, we are talking about
sensations in the intrabody,
which serve as the basis for representations that are also “internal.”
So here we are, filled with questions that have not been fully answered,
and I fear that it is here that we will have to end this talk
But first I would like to add one or two thoughts.
Insofar as we continue to consider the mental image
to be only a simple copy of perception;
insofar as we continue to believe that consciousness in general
maintains a passive attitude before the world
responding only as some sort of reflection of it
we will neither be able to answer the foregoing questions
nor others that are truly fundamental.
For us, the image
is an active form for the consciousness to be, as structure, in-the-world.
The image can act on one's own body
and the body-in-the-world
because of intentionality, which is directed outside itself
and does not simply correspond to a for-itself
or some natural in-itself,
reflected, and mechanical.
The image acts within a temporo-spatial structure
and within a “spatiality” we call the “space of representation.”
The various and complex functions that the image carries out depend in general
on the position it occupies within that spatiality.
A fuller justification of what I am explaining here
would require an understanding of our theory of consciousness,
and for that I refer you to the essay “Psychology of the Image”
If, however, through these “literary diversions,"
as they have been called,
if through these narratives or stories,
I have been able to help you see
the application in practice of a broad conception,
then I have not failed to do what I promised at the outset of my presentation
when I said that I was going to talk about these writings
these Guided Experiences,
not from a literary point of view
but from the standpoint of the ideas that have given rise to this literary expression.
Thank you very much.