I flow in words. It is hard to write, but I try it because Doctor Getullio , my neurologist, realises it might be a good way to see what has happened to me . The truth is that it is not really that in the minds of those who reach the organic collapses, what I think, so we do all exams all over the place, and I don’t even mind them actually anymore. In the past they were my greatest nightmares. I don’t even mind so much exams, and the unabated hunger that reaches me everyday. I do it all. I simply imagined he knows, and might have finally realised how much I have always lived deeply in the symbolic world, through words, through so much that the pragmatic people feel it is not that important now.
So, suddenly even the most pragmatic people had to realise what had affected me leading to a sequence of weird diseases with no final diagnosis were led by my own despair in my mind.
It was in 2007 that l had my first epileptic attack. It was in the middle of the night and I was in a friends house. I had travelled Morocco first with Haiko my ex, and with Adriana, but they had to go home and I decided to follow the trip on my own. Eventually encountering Leila who is a brilliant photographer and has worked in borders… I had been in that crazy border when you cross a door remain into African continent to the fictional Europe of Ceuta. I felt a certain puzzlement then and I returned to Morocco the following day. I travelled on my own following Ramadan , and the villages I was recommended, taking rides, trains, and buses. I did never feel threatened as respect. Though all restaurants were open for tourists.
Then I returned eventually to Marrakech to stay longer with Mounia. I loved my stay with Mounia how friendly and carrying were their family with each other. A certain night as I was about to sleep, I felt like a shock. I did not want to call help though when I woke up I was very confused. Now I know I had an epileptic attack then, that day on my own I was confused and let it be.
On my own, not knowing what had triggered, and not wanting to call for help from my dear friend Mounia. I remained a few more days till I flew back to the UK. To me, very soon I started to realise that these triggers seem to have happened every single time when I felt an enormous sense of vulnerability. And the scary part is that every single time, it feels more dangerous. And so I write, open my soul, to how these collapses feel, it is almost like a desire, a plea for survival as what I am: simply very fragile in these world. It scares me that it seems almost like a non-conscious plea for care in my own terms…
So I write and apologise right now for how poorly these lines are put down. In fact I guess I have this strange mind where it is not so much interested in perfection but rather in breaching of the separation of beings. I will talk about this one day. These basis of oneness and the others. Categories are in the depth of my interest. My studies have gone through science, the brain, the psychological aspects of peoples minds, cultures and the mysticism.. so, stimulated by Dr. Getulio I seat to write once more about it, it felt great, then very difficult, though I knew it would have been very hard.
It is hard after it means with oneself observing itself. The technique of Dra Euthimia, my psychiatrist reminded me is part of the practice of Mindfulness (and yoga meditation technique), felt like a good thing to do. Though meditating with no obligation to report to the other (nor oneself) is way easier. There we are back to complication of existing in the world, the explanation to the world. So let me tell you it is hard for me to read, to see films and hold all the basic activities. It is now much better to be slow.. and rest. but I ll write more.
In the past I flew through these words, really hallucinating most of the time and in silence, till one day I wrote in portuguese, for some reason it felt easier to write it in English but I knew I should attempt to connect to the world where I came from, that would have been what Aquiles, my psychologist would have said. Then I felt my own words were telling me different things, like another person editing me, or criticism that were being written by my brother. A gentle world but out of place. Then I did understand that the process of thought was fast and that my brain is still inflamed and until I am still having Cortisone I would be eating more, looking swollen and having strange thoughts… oh wow now I felt relieved.
I have a few blogs and one of them is called http://www.descolonizandoamente.wordpress.com, which means decolonizing the mind. It is called that way as an homage to all that I had learned from my friend, professor and ex-boss Mustapha Masrour. I am so thankful to Mustapha that it is not possible for me to put it into words now… I will make sure to write it more about it in time. Though I must say that I did decolonize my mind and became more aware of the prejudices I was born into… I therefore also realised that total de-affiliation brings with itself a certain total loneliness, or a new very strong affiliation to a very strong conviction to a new faith. I am in an interesting time now wondering into how to travel my mind rather than to colonise it.
It makes me laugh here realising I am trapped by languages…. I must reconnect to where I come from, but I never want to leave the world that I connected to, a world of beauty and difference, buta world that always opened arms to my never ending internal loneliness. I would like to point out that as I write this text I felt I had not written that sentence. The words where ” buta world that always opened arms to my never ending internal ”
I was first furious, feeling like someone else was editing my blog. Now however I am even capable to accept that my own brain might have realised that there it is an inhabitant loneliness and that what I attribute to my brother might be one more strange progress of my myself. As I say my brain is doing much better.
So, I seat here in a process of gentle recovering. I go to several doctors. I am medicated. I have strange feelings but when it is all good I can tell a whole story and the thought starts in the centre and then flies to the right. It feels like a river in the amazon going to the right like most western languages seem to do.
The strange thing I have is that times my whole head turns to the the left…. like if I were looking back to search for my past. If feels it is all very far away, like in some desert where all that I have is lost now. The words, the memories, all there and I want to reach it. And inevitably these times I feel languages feels like it wants to run even more back to reach to the left, though more and morel I just feel the desire to come to the present walking back to the right to, the present, leaving behind what happened in the hospital in Asia and searching for the present. Looking for the present.
Put it simply the thought mainly always appears in the the present. Sometimes I look back. I have a desire to go even more backwards to reach something far. I try to do it less since I noticed (or when it started….). Most of the time I turn and I can speak and feel language like it is in the western, like people seem to do language go to the right in these places.
I don’t think I ever started from the left. It feels like it is a progress, like in an middle eastern language that goes from where it starts to the left.. This is so complex, too hard, in an confused mind. I hope you get something 🙂
Being that all that we know about the mind is very temptative… and I must say though I have no desire, nor capability of debating these patterns of learning languages or the mind and definitely especially now I also know I should put effort as it might happened to help.
I started so long ago searching for meaning, and I was so cared for through these diseases I was examined in painful ways, lost so much of my ability to be my own person but I did every time struggled to search for more, was every single time I was taken care of. I loved and was loved all the time, and yet I always felt I was lonely.
I did it so many times. There are no regrets. I was always met with gentleness because you encounter what you expressed was always kindness. And as I guess I always feared more my own own loneliness I met the stranger in its real place, with the other.
But I laugh as I remember about the Brazilian Joy, I remember, once upon a time I had written about it. How it felt that in Brazil happiness joy was the less refugee against the oppressions, people simply went out and danced not letting their minds being inffected.
So, though feels like it is the best way out, and I am reminded that I had once written about how in arriving arrived in Brazil that I felt the joy all over the place and that eventually I thought it felt joy was like the last form of resistance
So I seat here, in my grandmothers s house, who also is recovering. I do the basic recovering process and we laugh seeing Michael Pailin going around the world. It is not total joy as we are all recovering, she is 89 and I have crazy diseases but we laugh.So even little things like writing this whole mail with basic no help feel great… a few weeks ago I knew not some people.
I realised only many of you might even know what I am talking about. Too late now…. The fast section 🙂 II have been severely sick 3 times. I almost died… And the case I did not it is because I was with Edu and who took care of me …We were about to go to Burma and I was caught up in a series of Epileptic attacks, I was then induced into in a forced coma for a while. Once I woke up I could not even know anyone not even my parents who had flown to Thailand. I felt most of the time in a another reality. I ha felt I was constantly being poisoned. Ir attempted to be be kidnaped, all of these happened in september. More precisely I arrived in Brasil the 20 an of September having left Brazil in end of of April. Once I arrived I could not still could not really recognise peopleIt…..
I visit great doctors: Dr. Getulio, neurologist, Dr. Aquiles,psychologist
For Mounia Paintings: http://www.mouniadadi.com/
For Leila Photos: http://leilaalaoui.com/