The two brains

There are two brains.

There is one that we well know, inside the head, it thinks and reasons, analyzes, develops. It also imagines, magnifies, ennobles. Exposes. Spins, complicates, clarifies. Tells. All that, the brain in our head can do, and more.
However there is another brain we might miss. It is located in the chest. With another type of neurons. It feels. Some people call it heart.

There is something about the way our brain works that freaks me out. Sometimes it's just too hard to understand. The more I think about something, the further the matter darkens, the quicker the clarity vanishes, the more confused I feel. There are times in our lives, times of mental chaos. In those moments, urgent things normally impose over important ones. The threshold of endless arguments. We mistake a part for the whole. There is a beautiful saying in spanish that prays: don't let the tree prevents you from seeing the forest. Too many 'musts'. Too many contradictions. How to find peace in the midst of so much mess: the point.

When chaos reigns, it's time to pay attention to the other brain. The one located in the chest. It cannot think, analyze or explain. It can just say no or yes. But it should be enough, right? Listen to the second brain.

On transcending polarity

It is inevitable to polarize. From time immemorial, we have had the need to polarize and construct dualistic views of the world, perhaps as a human response in seeking to understand this complex environment in which we are placed. Just think about creation myths and religious stories—to quote an ancient example, but there are plenty—: they already showed these pairs of opposition: creator and created, light and shadow, day and night, sin and salvation. We still talk in terms of binarity as we continue to oppose objects and concepts to understand them: the sun and the moon, the city and the countryside, the left and the right. Even digital technologies are entirely based on two terms: ones and zeros. Over an above, human Modernity has done nothing but enhance this particular conception, mixing it with the idealization of order and progress and a cultural system that supports —and guarantees— this division.

Whether this binarization is fundamentally a structural issue of the world itself or whether it is a developed behavior of the human psyche is irrelevant to me. There is something clear: uncertainty generates anxiety, it is distressing, anguishing. Standing in front of the abstract, of the obtuse, of the vast, the inability to classify, it makes us blind, crazy, it stagnates us. We are not trained to enjoy this particular struggle between opposing forces. We humans have known, since archaic times, how to take advantage of the reduction of events' complexity to just a pair of alternatives and have turned it into a survival mechanism, which is particularly awesome. However, it looks like we are getting too accustomed to this simplification.

Grays —as the midpoints between black and white— mean complexity, the indeterminate, the incompleteness. Also, for the western culture that shapes us, grays translate directly into anguish due to the impossibility to choose between two differentiated elements, in this case black and white. The modern apparatus keep on making us think in terms of binarity. This symmetry has become even a quantum principle that now also runs our physics; just think about the latest scientific discoveries on matter and antimatter. A re-interpretation of Dante’s work The Divine Comedy actually mentions that "the darkest places in hell are reserved for those who are neutral in times of moral crisis". Why all this propaganda against the slightest idea of complexity?

Although duality works effectively when it comes to solving rational issues, it presents serious problems with regard to irrational affairs, often deeper and more relevant to our existence. The lack of polarity hence requires a higher critical analysis of what we know, see and experience, which does not sound particularly appealing to the world power system. Binarization continues to exert an obsolete hold on us if it stops us from looking beyond this duality of black and white, or good and bad. That's why it urges the need to transcend polarity.

There are probably other ways but this is what has worked for me so far —and I am sorry I always talk about my life, but the fact is I haven't lived another one—. If we assume that our understanding of the world depends on its deconstruction in pairs of opposition, then it is logical to choose one of two alternatives. Save that in order to transcend this polarity, I deeply believe it's necessary to explore both alternatives, and furthermore, carry to the extreme of them. There is somewhat controversial with the extremes and also a lot of modern propaganda against its implications. But I personally think that going to the extreme of possibilities is actually the best way to perceive the whole. It demands a high degree of commitment, a release of the organicity, an opening to the risk of exposing oneself to the self-awareness of being. The journey may become even magic when we find the opposites in total syncretism —the order in disorder, for example— and the whole conception of dualism starts to weaken: the two mutually exclusive alternatives show up together?

Openness to radical change is not seen as an alternative anymore, but as a consequence in the search of transcending polarity. Of course it's clear we have to think about what we're willing to lose, to let go, but not necessarily overthink. After all, there is no thing such as pure state of the subject, moreover, if something is actually true, it is the capacity of the subject to be affected by everything. We are so social, so created by the coercive apparatus, so assembled, that we find it almost impossible to think about a range of possibilities that breaks away from what we and society expect from us. These limits are closely related to the polarization model that runs our critical thinking.

If we are able to spot this slight deviation, this shift, this variation in our natural organicity, it probably means that somewhere there is a positive perturbation: time to take advantage of it, time to start exploring. Polarization is essential, as long as we do not just simply choose one of the poles but transcend carrying both alternatives to the extreme in order to lead the emergence of a new wider and more complex understanding of the whole thing in question, and also of oneself, of course. The era of continuous change is paying off, especially in this quest to transcend polarity. But the willingness to make it happen is still the determining factor.

When the road disappears

More than two years have passed since my last entry. I have recently found myself reading some of my old posts, and for some moments I couldn't help feeling that they were written by other person than me. Time is nothing but distance, and now, when I read those entries, it becomes clear to me how far we can travel from our old selves as time goes by, even being in the same physical location.

Fortunately I started this year travelling, and after being devoured by the most imposing corners of Patagonia, I wanted to share what I felt down there, which I believe is in tune with the beginning of a very special year for most of the people that surround me.

I would dare to say that more than light beings, humans are movement beings (which would be pretty much the same anyway). There is something about the way we move and what leads us to move, and I'd like to call it here 'the road', just to be clear in the metaphor. So, there is this certainty under our feet, the road we follow, with different intensities, more or less passionate, more or less confident, but still there: the road. If there is a road, therefore there is a goal, there is a destination, projects, ambitions, just movement, and when we move, we often have a kind of marked road underneath us. But recently, I have come across the thought that sometimes we put so much attention on the road, that it makes us unable to see where are we actually heading to.

But beyond that, the big thing comes when the road forks, or even worse, when it disappears. How difficult it is to keep us as movement beings when we can't descry the road! On a small scale, I felt this uncertainty when the trail vanished in the middle of a forest day-trekking in Fireland. There we were, standing still at the end of the road, at the beginning of the real world, looking forward but unable to move even a toe. Of course it took us not long to start walking our own path, avoiding swamps and passing through tunnels of fallen trees. What happened: we had to switch our source of confidence, what takes time, of course, and the bigger the scale, the more time it takes to unblock the fears and get back into the ring.

On the flight back home, it was extremely cloudy and I thought of the pilots, trying to catch sight of any hint that could locate them in the space. The cabin has to turn very very mystical when the plane is shrouded in clouds so thick that impede any vision. Even for them, the road disappears. The have to switch their sources of confidence: they can't trust their senses any longer, since those become fuzzy and confusing, but still they have other ways to feel that they are on the right path. There is no fear.

When the road disappears, one feels itself small. Roads make world look smaller, certainty makes world look smaller. As soon as the path vanishes and darkens, we feel tiny, minimum, fragile, but part of a huge expanding universe though. It puts us in a place where our boundaries, in communion with the outside, are effaced, and we cannot do anything but cultivate ourselves and grow. And once we dispel all our fears, we are able to move again. That absence of fear is the closest thing to God I've experienced in recent years, and in the Andes, in the middle of nowhere, it becomes stronger and emotional.

This year comes to me as a year of uncertainty. A kind of tabula rasa, empty. Far away from all the previous ones. I feel that what is certain today can change dramatically tomorrow. Everything changes, but actually. The evidence is everywhere. I've visited yesterday La Menesunda, a 1965 mythic work of the Argentine art’s history by Marta Minujin, which has been recreated at the Museum of Modern Art in Buenos Aires. Anyone in Buenos Aires should visit it, mainly to feel this discomfort of the sudden, of the surprise, but also to realize how comfortable it becomes the uncertainty, so postmodern, so hedonist. This year appears as a year of uncertainty: which means, I need to switch my source of confidence. That's why, when I look back in time, those old entries on my blog strikes me as being remote and distant. There was a road, and now it's disappeared. 

Start over again

I have forgotten where or when it was that I first met the structure of a wave. Probably I did not think about the similarity between them and life. But now, this is interesting.

Waves are everywhere. They are oscillations that travels through space and matter transferring energy. Structurally, waves are formed by cycles (red arrow), which are determined by crests and throughs. These terms mean the maximum and minimum value within a cycle, respectively. Waves are everywhere, from the sounds we hear, the communications, medicine, to the colors we see. However, no matter where they are, they always display the same structure: energy that moves infinitely up and down (between crests and throughs), over and over again. And here we have another great metaphor about life: it is all about cycles. Up and down. Like waves, after each through (which could mean bad times), everything starts again. The wave starts to return to its original shape, to reach the top and go down again and so... But what really matters: you can't corrupt the structure! After a crest, it will come a through. After a through, it will come a crest, again. No choice. It is a rule of nature.

I believe it was Maquiavelli who wrote once that humans live in cycles: when they reach the highest point of civilization and progress, and in the event of it not being possible to improve more, the only possible thing to happen is to get worse. And then again, when societies reach their most miserable point of their existence, it not being the option to get worse, they have to improve. It is a must. It can't be helped. Cycles. Like waves. Crests and throughs. I was thinking about it because my days here have been plenty of ups and downs, and I have been trying to figure out the meaning of each 'descent'. And now, I think it is simply about letting go.

Every through brings something we must let go in order to get back up. And it's not the easiest thing to do, especially since we are a species that tend to create bonds with everything. We love people, things and actions and we want them all with us forever. But the secret (and hard thing) is just to let them go, and this relates to my previous post about time. We have to get used to the fact that we can't control it! Your hair will fall, the ice cream will melt, you will leave your place, people will die, your beloved will find a new love, right-wing extremists will still gain support, the winter will come and so... like it or not. Get over it. Like the structure of waves, non-breakable, uncontrollable... every through will bring something with that you will have to let it go in order to continue with your life, in order to reach the next crest. Like cards in a game of chance, you won't be able to change them but to use them in your benefit.

You could certainly ask yourself what sense makes to live if you know that everything is finite and that after every crest you are going to face a through. Well, at least for me, it is all about how we understand time. If the climb was worth it, you enjoyed the crest... who cares about the through? I mean, you need some bad times to notice the good ones! We are here to learn, and every cycle translates into learning. If this were your last cycle, would you dare stop doing something to save it for the next one?



In this exact moment, 4.31 A.M, I look through the window to see the moon of New York City pale and veiled with filmy clouds. For some reason, I can't sleep. There was a premonitory change in the atmosphere today, a quickening of tempo, an increased volume of sound. I am probably about to face a 'through'. Maybe it is time to let something go. In the phantom gleam of dawn I can see a new ascent. And there I go.

Rolling camera

I was so filled with the thought of coming to New York that I could think of nothing else... and yet this moment of arrival has come and gone, I have scarcely sensed its passing. But I am starting to get accustomed to the fact that time will fool us again and again so, quite mindless of the future, the last weeks I have surrendered myself to the flow of time, and it started to pay off.

I'm just about to become a film camera. Since I am here, I have almost spent more time with a camera than with my pillow, seriously. And it has been majestic: I was able to experience firsthand what so many great cinematographers have felt since the very beginning of cinema. Loading the camera with rolls, checking for speed, measuring light with a light meter... those actions sound nowadays nearly archaic. In fact, as a member of the Generation Y (also called The Millennial Generation), sometimes it is difficult for me to figure out that there is no chip in those cameras, that everything is mechanical, that getting the image is just a matter of light physics and chemistry. Amazing. But what made me sit down and write today is what happened in the middle of a party in a patio in Brooklyn. I was sitting by a little fire drinking sangria when I had this epiphany that made me understand life from a new and deeper perspective: I saw my life as a film camera. No kidding! Now comes the explanation:

Film cameras use rolls of film stock to capture images. The camera I have been using, an old german Arri designed by the Hitler government in the 40s, uses rolls of 100 feet, each one with enough footage to film about 2 minutes and 50 seconds at normal speed. After filming, to 'discover' what it was filmed, the film needs to be developed. I know, it is a process. It takes time, but especially, it costs money ($$$). And a lot! Filming is so outrageously expensive that I now know why the digital market is devastating film industry. When the camera is rolling, the film inside makes a beautiful noise as it runs through the mechanism that allows the light to enter and expose it. That noise means that film is being exposed, so every time that I film a scene with an Arri, I take care of everything that I can control before starting to roll and I cut in time because I don't want to waste footage, which translates into time and money.

So, let's go back to the party in Brooklyn. I was sitting there, alone, sipping my sangria calmly, my head plotting a million revolutions per second, when I started to hear in my mind the familiar noise of the camera rolling. And that feeling that comes out when the camera is rolling but nothing is happening in front of it and you know you are wasting film... that's called desperation. I kind of despaired, and I told a friend about my feeling. I felt that I had to make a change. However, he barely managed to nod and then said: "You are right, let's grab some drinks". I don't think he understood, but anyway it became clear to me.

The point is that with film, it is evident the feeling of wasting it because it costs money and when you have to pay for it, it hurts. But what about my life? If it was a camera and time was a film roll... shouldn't I be taking care of every time that the 'camera' rolls and nothing happens? Why is it so difficult to understand that time is finite like film and it is also valuable enough not to waste one iota? I am glad I have been working with a camera enough time to get this metaphor.

Now I know how it feels to waste film (and life). And I'll try not to let myself feel that way ever again. You should too. And if it is too difficult to understand, you can always get an Arri, film stock and try it yourself. In the end, life and cameras aren't that different at all. 

People

I arrived at La Guardia International Airport last Wednesday on a sunny and lovely summer day with lots of expectations. However, my mind took a little more time to leave my country and reach NYC. So I felt as if I were caught in a dream but with the ability to think rationally. You know that epic song by Freddie Mercury, 'Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?' Well. Everything looked familiar but at the same time nothing seemed real for me. I couldn't take my eyes off of the bus window during the entire ride to the hostel. I looked out the window as wonderingly as though I had just landed on another planet. Everything was so high! Everything was so... so.

Unfortunately, the following days went from being a dream to becoming a kind of nightmare. I had never felt that way before: having no place to live. I had come here with the idea that looking for a place was no big deal. However, as days went by, I noticed how wrong I was... everyday seemed more difficult, and although I was surrounded by millions of people, I felt fragile and alone, reminding me how tiny we actually are. I wasn't able to enjoy everything I was experiencing. Anyway being here was a great thing, so I thought to myself, how could such opposed feelings coexist?  

When you are alone for more than 3 or 4 days, your mind gets used to thinking twice as fast as before. Given that everything remains inside your head, you can't actually filter anything. Heaps of ideas, places, colors, tastes and feelings end mixed up in a single nebula of thoughts. I am convinced
that everything happens for a reason. So yesterday, when I was on the verge of a panic attack and this nebula was about to explode, I sat on a rock in the middle of the Central Park and tried to clear my mind. I kind of organized my head, and I realized that the whole situation had to have a meaning. I mean, I was sure that something was trying to show me something. There was a little thing out there which I wasn't able to see.

And suddenly it came out. He, she, they... my people, the people. So easy it was. Tons of people from all over the world, connected by relatives, friends, siblings, whatever, even people that didn't actually know me directly, all of them were there for me: checking their contact lists and sending emails, calling more people, moving their feet, spending time from their lifes just for me, all willing to help me find a place to live. I felt a blast of energy, if I can say it that way. I thought 'how will I thank them?' They are so nice, and they are sooo many...

And someone told me this morning (after I finally got a place and things started to settle down and find their way): «don't worry... it's time to harvest love». And she was right, oh yes she was. I think there are specific moments in life when love just pops in... and they aren't exactly many. So, thank you people, for all your love. I will be forever grateful. And thank you life, because even though I felt terrible the last days, it was another great lesson.

End of the world, home of joy

Jesus had already predicted that the arrival of the Last Judgment was imminent in year 30. Martin of Tours reaffirmed those predictions a few years later, adding that the world would end before year 400. Days before the 6th of April 793, the monk Beatus of Liébana prophesied the second coming of Christ and the end of the world on this date. People, believing the world would end, fasted overnight. Pope Innocent III said the world would end 666 days after the rise of Islam. 

William Whiston, an English theologian, historian and mathematician, advocate of the periodicity of comets, held that comets were responsible for past catastrophes in earth's history, and predicted in 1736 that the world would end on October 16 of that year because a comet would hit the earth, causing widespread anxiety among London's citizens. Meteorogist Albert Porta said in 1919 that an alignment of the planets would cause the explosion of the Sun. Housewife Dorothy Martin from Chicago reported receiving messages from aliens by automatic writing. Such messages claimed that the world would end due to a great flood before dawn on December 21, 1954. Lots of people foretold that computers would no longer work at the beginning of the year 2000, leading to failures in the control of nuclear warheads and in all systems controlled by computers, causing doomsday. 

OK. According to Mayan predictions (which might be misinterpreted), the Judgment Day is scheduled for tomorrow. But, after analyzing the history of the "doomsday dates", should we actually believe, once and for all, that the world as we know it will end tomorrow? Because we could go further with the analysis: Sir Isaac Newton proposed, basing his calculations on data from the book of Daniel, that the Apocalypse could happen after 2060.

Let us think a little... 

Anyway, I love these occasions. Seriously, I love them. They make me think about how I've lived so far. And not in a nostalgic way, but from a global perspective. And you know what? If the hypothetical case of The Day of the Lord taking place tomorrow was true, I think it would be OK for me. I mean, I've gone through really deep emotional states, I've felt true love, friendship and infinite passion. I tried everything that this world gave me, and was thankful for everything I got. I  lived far away from the people I love, and I fell down and got up countless times. I have learned another language and understood other people's mind. I have enjoyed every single moment of the years, and I did not let one year be worse than the previous one. I have laughed to tears, I have cried until the tears turned into laughter. I sang, danced, jumped, ran... I always got carried away by the flow of life. Anything I regret? Nothing. 

So, Doomsday, you don't scare me. In fact, you make me happy. Because you show me how lucky I am. Cheers!