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4.33 AVERAGE
4.33 AVERAGE
Pessoa – "Dreams Without Illusions"
I am free and lost.
I feel. I have fever, chills. I am myself.
In Pessoa I have made a lifelong friend. Rarely do I find an author who speaks to my wild adoration of words as well as my spiritual hunger. The word "spiritual" does not even really say it, it is the unveiling of things as they are, and the raw bare telling of it. My last big love was an unsettled scribbling philosopher who used to write things like "Everything is ourselves and we are everything, but of what use is it, if everything is nothing?" (47) and reading his seemingly nonsensical rants I would scoff. Then I started doing some serious work and met some real teachers and everywhere began hearing the same thing: this life is a dream. We are caught in the illusion. Everything and everyone we see is a reflection of ourselves. A projection of our minds. We are the creators of everything we experience. True self is no self. We are everything, we are nothing, indeed.
"Whenever I see someone sleep, I remember that everything is asleep. Whenever someone tells me he dreamed, I wonder if he ever thought he did anything but dream" (81)
Pessoa's insistence on dreams, the very literal dream-quality of existence, the awareness of our everyday disguises in the clothing of identity, the happiest hours of no-thought, his acutely detached observations of the unconscious humans around him—all of these reveal a being who is awake in the dream. He states that he never had anyone he could call "Master" (67), but somehow, at some point probably early in his life, the curtain of illusion was yanked back to expose Reality. No wonder then that he spent the majority of his life in solitude, connected but not relating to his fellow humans. Writing, I suspect, created outlet and purpose, and of course companionship, in a life alienated from the ignorant dramas and delusions of the sleeping world. He was not, however, enlightened/released from suffering; or maybe he was, who knows? Either way, he succeeded in conveying both a vivid and undeniable appreciation of life, and an abysmal yet matter-of-fact longing for death. To see things as they are and continue to be: I'm sure this must have been a challenge. But Pessoa renewed my faith in the possibility of communicating the unreligious ineffability of waking up, of seeing through the illusion of separation, doubt and fear which surrounds us. Without sentimentality or agenda. Simply to express, to create, to pass on a written artifact of understanding for those, like me, to come across and treasure.
I am free and lost.
I feel. I have fever, chills. I am myself.
In Pessoa I have made a lifelong friend. Rarely do I find an author who speaks to my wild adoration of words as well as my spiritual hunger. The word "spiritual" does not even really say it, it is the unveiling of things as they are, and the raw bare telling of it. My last big love was an unsettled scribbling philosopher who used to write things like "Everything is ourselves and we are everything, but of what use is it, if everything is nothing?" (47) and reading his seemingly nonsensical rants I would scoff. Then I started doing some serious work and met some real teachers and everywhere began hearing the same thing: this life is a dream. We are caught in the illusion. Everything and everyone we see is a reflection of ourselves. A projection of our minds. We are the creators of everything we experience. True self is no self. We are everything, we are nothing, indeed.
"Whenever I see someone sleep, I remember that everything is asleep. Whenever someone tells me he dreamed, I wonder if he ever thought he did anything but dream" (81)
Pessoa's insistence on dreams, the very literal dream-quality of existence, the awareness of our everyday disguises in the clothing of identity, the happiest hours of no-thought, his acutely detached observations of the unconscious humans around him—all of these reveal a being who is awake in the dream. He states that he never had anyone he could call "Master" (67), but somehow, at some point probably early in his life, the curtain of illusion was yanked back to expose Reality. No wonder then that he spent the majority of his life in solitude, connected but not relating to his fellow humans. Writing, I suspect, created outlet and purpose, and of course companionship, in a life alienated from the ignorant dramas and delusions of the sleeping world. He was not, however, enlightened/released from suffering; or maybe he was, who knows? Either way, he succeeded in conveying both a vivid and undeniable appreciation of life, and an abysmal yet matter-of-fact longing for death. To see things as they are and continue to be: I'm sure this must have been a challenge. But Pessoa renewed my faith in the possibility of communicating the unreligious ineffability of waking up, of seeing through the illusion of separation, doubt and fear which surrounds us. Without sentimentality or agenda. Simply to express, to create, to pass on a written artifact of understanding for those, like me, to come across and treasure.
dark
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
a haunting, poetic dive into the quiet chaos of the human mind, where every fragment feels like a whispered truth about the beauty and unease of simply existing.
(read it in the original language (portuguese) first, but rereading in english for research purposes, y'know?)
(read it in the original language (portuguese) first, but rereading in english for research purposes, y'know?)
reflective
This book has great emotional depth, it explores the feeling of feeling different, apart from society, and of introspection into the essence of your soul.
The Book of Dissociation.
Sometimes relatable, sometimes contradictory, sometimes... you just wanna slap the guy! It's a looooooong read, especially since there's no plot, just a lot of very well written (but bleak) ramblings on life.
Sometimes relatable, sometimes contradictory, sometimes... you just wanna slap the guy! It's a looooooong read, especially since there's no plot, just a lot of very well written (but bleak) ramblings on life.
This was beautifully written. A gorgeous collection of writings that reflect on a man's view of the world, himself, and his place in it.
challenging
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The Book of Disquiet is cutting and languid, profound and insular, an equally aggravating and freeing renunciation of an age that exults both individual ego and pleasure and unceasing productivity on behalf of "society." There were passages where I was struck by how wild it is to see my own feelings and anxieties articulated by someone who lived a hundred years ago (when Fernando Pessoa/Bernardo Soares says he stopped knowing how to want, I feel that). Other times, I wanted to shake him and try to convince him that it's good actually to care about other people, even if the concept of knowing oneself, let alone others is gross.
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
mysterious
relaxing
slow-paced
This is a collection of amazing prose fragments that Pessoa wrote throughout his life as various other people he made up and wrote as, finally collected into one book. None of this was published while he was alive, so it's mildly surreal to see how pieces he wrote as various other people all end up coming together. Recommended to me as part of my 2023 reads, and highly recommended on my end.