Eye of The Other Tiger: Borges and the Dreamer Within

Triptych for Borges' poem "El Otro Tigre" by Elza Norma Gonzalez

“The mind was dreaming. The world was its dream.” 

Jorge Luis Borges, from “The Circular Ruins” in Collected Fictions, trans. Andrew Hurley (a source)

All may read the entire English translation of Borges' text, "The Circular Ruins." This piece of intensely magical literature breathes a truth rarely spoken. Life is not simply a dream, but a dream within a dream. As one may chance on an ancient temple, or its ruins, there is a parallel labyrinth quality of sacred architecture and geometry in life and consciousness. As we dig deeper into the internal realities of our lives, we find that to dream is more resonant with the truths of our ephemeral existence. More and more, as I live a life of conscious dreaming, I confront the ultimate truth that I am impermanent, and was not made to last. To dream within the dream of life is the beginning of truth-seeking in the creative arts, and in the drama of everyday voice and action. The dream within the dream is the resonant core of our foundation; the heart of our mind. And finally, we are led into the holy of holies, the central chamber of the temple ruins, where we see through the eyes of a Dreamer who is not us, and yet who dreams our lives. Or, as Borges writes in El Otro Tigre (translated by Alastair Reid), "Let us look for a third tiger. This one will be a form in my dream like all the others..."

See my related posts: Borges On Volcanic Riddles of the Unconscious & Borges and The Ancestral Mirror of World Literacy

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 She shares with me her dream by being, and I become hers.

Enter Her Image by RK

She Above the Soft Night by RK

Full Moon Pines by RK

Inner City Arboreal Heart Transplant by RK

Face of the Dreamer by RK

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...napping between contiguous web-threshed freedoms to a forgotten deafening…and thickening the low-coasted noon of the heat wave forecast…my mind becomes sullen with blank remorse and a violent emptiness fills me…bearing down on memory like a catastrophic angel of the white light…pitch black featureless dusk of interpersonal reason in the long endless fight to be good and seek happiness in the joyful cries of others…

Bingeing on the unnecessary billions…whose lives anger at the human mold in a resounding attempt to save a bit of that home…that once was stolen from the earth’s own sun-dried hands…still cool with the dank earth and her womb of littered seeds

And the rains pour angelic wisdom over the arisen anguish…to craze for the source and defy the powers that be in an unanswered mind of free rationality...

Dreaming of berries in season and wild-crafting the maze of Her swollen lust…turning on the locomotion of boom bang music over the café loudspeaker…three hours into space in the beyond of our lost anxious sound...

“Each to their own” writes back the lazy teacher…beginning with Zen and ending with architecture…bending for no one except the jungle fire steaming behind the glassed promenade…glowering sickly in the mud of visionary astonishment…shaken in a thud…the mortified martyrs’ brought cinematic drip dry skin…to toast their muscular direction to the lunar fist...

excerpts from "Random Parkade of Fences"

Borges and The Ancestral Mirror of World Literacy

"Childhood passed away and the tigers and my passion for them grew old, but still they are in my dreams. At that submerged, or chaotic level they keep prevailing. And so, as I sleep some dream beguiles and suddenly I know I’m dreaming, then I think: this is a dream, a pure diversion of my will and now that I have unlimited power I am going to cause a tiger.

Oh incompetence, my dreams never manage to breed forth a longed for beast.”

[From “Dreamtigers”]

Narrator

"Borges dream world extended from the house in Palermo to the city around it and out into the endless continuity of the pampas. Here in the open country he discovered another aspect of Argentina’s mythology. The land where his ancestors had fought, the vast sky and the gauchos..." 

From “Jorge Luis Borges: The Mirror Man” 

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The dark forest leads under a storm-cast flood of opaque black cloud above the dimly lit cabin, barely in sight. Leaves, burnt by the frozen winds crumple with delicacy under our unforgiving step. Sense-deprived, we share the hollow bitterness of the cold mystery ahead. With Mexican friends, we enter the home of the recluse. Maps of Metis land and the intriguing sizzle of wild game invite us onto the weathered upholstery of inspired comfort. Indrawn, yet tempting, the host’s gaze is untamed, always welcoming. As friends and I sit around the country table, the food begins with due presentation, decadent meats and thick bean dishes melt in a haze of tantalizing scents. Conversation ensues. Drink follows. I’m ridiculed for my lack of Spanish. Dejected, I comb the ghastly wilderness, alone under the silent, new moon. Pitch darkness swallows me in a mutual fight with my emotional vacuum, self-trust extinguished with each step upon the unknown forest ground. I walk until dawn. On my own, I know the comfort of the empty sky, the abandoned railways, and graffiti concrete beside shallow streams. All are mere steps towards the final return, to where I used to be.

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Dark

"A dream of the dark is never a good aspected omen as after such a dream you are in danger of losing control of your temper and causing yourself a lot of hardships and losses. If you dream that dark is falling while you are traveling it is an ill omen for any business you try to conduct unless the journey is finished before it gets dark." (iDream)

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I revere my Jewish ancestors over the Hebrew G-D,
that is to say:
the personal history and presence of my ancestors are closer to me in bond
and in the formation of my living human identity
than are the laws prescribed in Hebrew society,
for we are of a greater human community

- excerpt from "Jewish ancestors"