Like the first Presidential debate, the much anticipated second show down didn’t deliver a straight knock-out blow either. Gradually, the Presidential campaign 2016 is turning into a low level display of accusations, gossip and hearsay, worse than I can recall from the nine previous Presidential campaigns that I have followed as a news consumer. The newly elected leader of the Free World inherits a tainted image from the campaign trail and –starting the day after the elections- has to restore credibility and dignity. One candidate grossly underestimated the impact of slandering by proclaiming: “It’s just words folks, just words”.
The original tree is long gone, no matter. Leaving footprints in this sanctum is a privilege, mine will be humble. For the longest time I wanted to visit Bodhgaya. It is arguably one of the holiest places on earth. Bodhgaya, you ask? In the sixth century BC, a man of noble decent sat down under a Bo tree near Bodhgaya, in present day Bihar. He became Enlightened. Ever since, the tree was called the Bodhi tree, or Tree of Enlightenment. When the man sat down his name was Siddharta, after rising up again, he went by the name of Buddha.
You are who you are, but only right now. In a little while you transformed into somebody else. As time passes and events happen in your life (or not), you are never really the same person. From the moment you are born until the last breath you take, you are partaking in a continuing series of transformations. Small instances and big metamorphoses, ones that are explicit and ones that go unnoticed. All of the time. It explains why over time the same stimulus can trigger an entirely different response. Celebrate your transformations, they make for a journey of a lifetime.
One moment he is utterly depressed about a grievance in his luxury accommodated life. Like when we are out of chocolate spread. Or a hole wrecks his grijze t-shirt. Maybe his favorite sitcom runs low on episodes. Anything. The next moment he is all smiles again, and you would never suspect the tears that momentarily preceded. I wonder how he does it: shedding off the sorrows of a six year old and to instantly produce an upbeat demeanor. Fortunately enough, Kasper is willing to share his secret: “You see, I am really a quick forgetter”.
Fiction pertains to everything we can imagine, for if we couldn’t imagine it, it wouldn’t be fiction. Non fiction, on the other hand, is everything we don’t have to imagine, since it would be fiction otherwise. Fiction thus is bound by the limits of our imagination, whereas this constraint does not apply to non fiction. Fiction is like a parallel universe, whose outer limits are defined by your fantasy. Non fiction, on the other hand, requires no imagination, and consequently has no boundaries. I have a hard time processing this paradox of fiction: there are limits to what does not exist.