THE OTHER REALITY
Something quite wondrous accompanies us through life: this is the other reality, an amorphous mass of chance occurrences which have no basis in Aristotelian law, but which emanate from or are manifest in our thoughts.
We are walking down the street when suddenly, for some strange reason, the thought crosses our mind that we haven’t seen a certain friend for a while, and quite out of the blue, without having called him up or made any arrangements, we run into him right there and then. “What a coincidence,” we say, “We were only just thinking of you.” One day as we’re lying down taking a rest, we remember another friend. Ten minutes later the phone rings and there he is on the line, asking whether we’d called his home today!
From the time he was a small boy, Julio Cortázar had sensed in himself a certain receptiveness, a propensity for attracting coincidences. In an interview with Ernesto González Bermejo, Cortázar relates that once a friend he hadn’t seen in several years, who wasn’t even aware of his whereabouts at the time, though she had a feeling he was in France, sent him a letter suggesting he meet her one Tuesday. She sent the letter on Monday. He received it the same day and replied saying he wouldn’t be able to meet her because he was leaving on a trip. By chance, about four hours after mailing the letter, he went out for a walk and, believe it or not, they ran into each other, right there in some remote corner of Paris. Without realizing why, they turned around and recognized each other.
Cortázar also tells about the state he enters when he writes, where he feels as if he is under the influence of a drug, with words flowing freely. He says for most of his stories he doesn’t have a set plan, or even know the ending, and everything happens as though someone else is writing it. Amazingly, he admits to having been afraid to sign his stories because he couldn’t believe he was the author. Sadly, Cortázar is now gone. However, his presence remains with those of us who constantly read and admire his work. In his stories, fantasy — or rather the fantastic — was not something artificially created. His approach was to include whatever exists, providing it’s not part of a life governed by the logic of “two plus two are four” and “I only believe it if I can see it.” His characters were supersensitive mediums, fully aware of this other reality that coexists alongside the logic imposed by Aristotelian law.
Another name for the other reality to which I refer would be destiny. I believe that the inevitable and unforeseeable chain of events we call destiny is consonant with the life of the individual who lives it. Everything that occurs is intrinsically fitted to the individual it happens to. A rational person won’t hesitate to ask dubiously, “Isn’t it true that as a person sees what’s happening, he is able to change or distort events so that they just appear to be fitted to him?” This doesn’t alter the fact that two different people can be influenced very differently by the same event. How a person moulds himself to his destiny is not the issue. The real issue is that chain of events that unfolds in such a way as to be experienced by a person who in a general manner fits the situation he has had to undergo.
This is so much the case, that destiny can not only change a person, but can form his character, too. For example, a continuous series of tragic events in the life of a child can shape a destiny in a completely different way from what it would have been. Let’s examine the case of Edgar Allan Poe. At the age of two he became an orphan. It was a very short and painful phase — just imagine all his hardships as a child. Destiny may have been unjust to him but it didn’t allow him to die, for a kindhearted lady adopted him soon afterwards.
Finally, there is something that does generally happen by chance — and this is love. You cannot seek out love. It arrives of its own accord without being called, and — in my view — such a powerful and beautiful attraction to another person cannot belong to reality.
One day when out with a friend, you visit a home where you are introduced to another person. You pay little attention to him, yet after you leave, that person’s face remains etched in your memory and suddenly, you find yourself back at that house searching for something you have lost, and when you find it you start fabricating excuses and explanations without any reason. You want to leave because there’s something in his look that makes you uncomfortable, yet at the same time it attracts you. You are nervous, because you can’t define the feeling it produces in you — then a few days later you are talking provocatively and making innuendoes as though you expected some remarkable event to join your body with his.
What is important is not our awareness of those events, but rather that our minds should be perceptive and remain open and receptive to them. Something quite wondrous accompanies us through life without our being aware of it — this is the other reality!
