borofsky_dreamed1

Quería volar / He wanted to fly

Quería volar.Más que todo en este mundo, él quería volar.

Todas las mañanas se despertaba a la misma hora. A las siete de la mañana, se ponía su bata de baño y miraba hacia la ventana. Mirando el amanecer, deseaba poder volar; juraba que con alas volaría a dar un paseo. Lo único que deseaba era la posibilidad de explorar el mundo desde los cielos, pero la tristeza del saber que no podría hacerlo en realidad, le atormentaba lo suficiente para dejarlo viendo afuera por la ventana con ojos de masoquista.

Su rutina diaria era siempre la misma. Se duchaba siempre por diez minutos y se cambiaba sin muchos preámbulos en catorce minutos. Siempre elegía el color de sus camisas basado en el color del cielo.  Cogía el reloj de la mesa de noche, su portafolio que dejaba en la mesa del comedor y su abrigo que se encontraba colgado por la puerta. Vivía de una forma simple y eficiente sobreviviendo su monótona existencia, una existencia como la de cualquier otros ser humano.

Regresaba a su casa a las seis y cuarenta y cinco de la tarde. Colgaba su abrigo por la puerta, ponía su portafolio sobre la mesa del comedor y dejaba su reloj sobre su mesa de noche. Preparaba una cena que casi siempre dejaba mucho que desear y pensaba en las cosas buenas que hizo ese día para relajarse. El padecía de estrés y su terapeuta le daba ejercicios para relajación e introspección. No gustaba practicarlos, pero de vez en cuando eran muy efectivos cuando no muchas cosas buenas habían pasado durante el día.

Se acostaba a dormir a las nueve y media, luego de una cena de introspección. Soñaba. Siempre soñaba. Que volaba por los cielos, sin miedo y con fervor. Sentía el frío viento acariciar su rostro dócilmente mientras los pantalones de su pijama bailaban con la rapidez de su vuelo. Sus sueños eran aventuras que calmaban su alma y lo liberan del estrés. Sus sueños eran los únicos momentos de felicidad incontrolable.

El se despertaba todas las mañanas a las siete, se ponía su bata de baño y miraba hacia la ventana. Mirando el amanecer, deseaba poder volar. Pero la tristeza le removió la mirada hacia afuera. La tristeza no le permitió ducharse y tampoco vestirse, estupefacto, se quedó al lado de la ventana. En vez de ducharse hoy por diez minutos, decidió volver a dormir. Para poder así dormir y soñar. Despues de todo soñar lo liberaba.

Soñó que estaba en un laberinto enorme compuesto de arbustos y piedras preciosas. Estas paredes hermosas llegaban hasta besar el cielo. Soñó que no existía una salida trivial, que debía hacer algo para escapar que no era de todo ser humano, no existía una salida excepto su deseo. Tuvo un momento en el que pensó sólo una cosa cambiaría su monótona existencia; él debía volar. Y voló. Su cuerpo se elevó, rozando y acariciando las paredes de aquel laberinto que alguna vez lo había tenido prisionero. Abrió sus ojos y observo el laberinto en el cual había estado. Era un circulo gigante con intersecciones entre distintos caminos que no llevaban a ningún lado ya que el laberinto carecía de salidas. Por fin, había escapado. Volaba tranquilo y libremente como si fuera cosa de todos los días. Abrió sus ojos una vez más para comprobar si es que su sueño era más que un sueño. Quería verificar que su sueño se había vuelto su realidad. Se pinchó la lengua con los dientes y le dolió. Estaba vivo y estaba volando con las nubes y las estrellas.

Lastimosamente, todo lo bueno no siempre termina en lo mejor. El voló, pero la gravedad ganó, y él con una sonrisa, simplemente durmió.


He wanted to fly. More than anything in this world, he wanted to fly.

Every morning, he woke at the same time. At exactly seven, he would tie his terry-cloth robe and stride towards the window. Looking out into the broken dawn, he wished for flight; he wished for wings. He longed only for the chance to explore the world from the skies and his inability to do so tortured him. And so every morning, he would stare at the world around him with nothing but masochism in his heart.

His daily routine was always the same. A ten-minute shower to cleanse his longing, followed by fourteen minutes for dressing: he liked to choose his shirts based on the color of the sky. He would take his watch from the nightstand, his briefcase from the kitchen table and his jacket from the inside of the front door. He lived simply and efficiently, surviving only through his mundane existence, an existence like that of every other human.

At six forty five in the evening, he returned to his house. He hung his jacket on the inside of the front door, placed his briefcase on the kitchen table and laid his watch on the nightstand. He prepared a dinner which always could have tasted better and while he ate, he thought about the good things in his day in order to relax. He suffered from stress and one of the exercises his therapist had given him was to reflect upon the day. It was supposed to promote relaxation and introspection. He found them rather tedious, but from time to time, they proved useful.

After his dinner of introspection, he would go to bed, at half past nine. And he would dream, as he always did, of flying. He found a freedom where he flew, with fervor and without fear, through the skies. Skimming through the night sky, he felt cold air caressing his face and billowing through his pajama pants. His dreams were made of adventures which calmed his soul and freed his stress. His dreams were his only moments of uncontrollable bliss.

He woke at the same time, resolutely supine. At seven, he tied his terry-cloth robe and strode towards the window. Looking out into the broken dawn, he wished only for wings. His sadness hindered him, and he was unable to shower, unable to dress, unable to locate his desire to leave the window. But leave the window he did, back to his bed he went, looking for the dreams which unleashed him.

He dreamt he was in a giant hedge maze with green walls that rose so high that they kissed the sky. He dreamt there was no exit, no way out except for his own desire. He had one moment in which only one thing could overcome his mundane existence; he had to fly. And fly he did. His body rose up, touching and skimming the walls of shrubbery which has once encased him. Opening his eyes, he stared down at the labyrinth that he had once been a part of. It made a giant circle of intersecting and conjoining paths, none of them ever finding the outside of their container. Finally, he was out. He was flying calmly, freely, as though he did it everyday. Opening his eyes once again, he checked to see whether it was more than a dream. He checked to see whether his dream had become reality. Biting his tongue, he felt a piercing pain. He was alive, and he was flying! Through the clouds and stars and sky, he existed in freedom.

Alas, all good things come to an end. He flew and he flew and he flew, but gravity won. With a smile on his face and freedom in his heart, he simply fell asleep.

by Alvaro Machuca

Photo Credit: Middlebury Mahaney Center for the Arts, “I dreamed I could Fly” by Jonathan Brofsky

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s