By RENATO ORTIZ*
Someone without a shadow would have been freed from the dark temptations, the stain that corrupts us, it would no longer be necessary to wear the mask that distorts us before the complacent gaze of others, disguising what we really are.
The first time he realized this was when the sun was at its zenith; he stood motionless in the center of the garden, without moving a muscle, and when he looked at the ground, he was ecstatic to realize that there was no shadow. He was overcome by a feeling of joy and pleasure, a warm sensation of completeness invaded him. He had never felt anything like it. The sun was at its zenith and formed a straight line perpendicular to his head, the light projected on his opaque body was absorbed by the grass at his feet.
He kept his arms close to his body and turned his legs from side to side, the movement did nothing to change his astonishment, the shadow remained hidden. After that his life changed, every day at the same time he walked to the garden to wait for the light, he thought he had discovered relief for his banal life. However, his futile efforts were to no avail, his several attempts to align himself with the sun's rays were frustrating; the orbit of the star had tilted slightly, but enough to illuminate the shadow of his existence on the ground.
The desired zenith was a fleeting point in the celestial sphere. A deep sea of melancholy took hold of him, nothing filled the emptiness of his broken being. Months of sadness and desolation passed without him being able to find himself. That was when he came across something surprising when he turned on the lamp on his desk. For some time now he had wanted to organize the scattered pieces of paper, the untidy books piled on top of each other, and that huge, cumbersome dictionary that he had received as a gift and had never consulted.
When he looked at the shadow of his hand projected on the wall, he realized it was mutilated. He repeated the gesture several times; when he placed it in front of the light source, the shadow appeared clear and dark, but the outline scribbled on the screen revealed the absence of one of the fingers. The index finger was missing. Surprised and happy, he remained there for hours on end.
He then began to attend the office regularly, no longer dependent on the infidelities of the sun. During the day he anxiously awaited nightfall; in the darkness of the room the beam of light was intense, pushing the amputated part out of him. Ritually, without missing a single day, he repeated the experience that enchanted him. After several months something changed: another finger disappeared. Astonished, he realized that little by little the rest of his body met a similar fate; he stripped off his clothes and positioned himself naked between the path of the light and the wall. Everything had disappeared.
He could now walk around the house and garden without the discomfort that tormented him; even during the day his dark side had gone, nothing overshadowed his true presence. However, the dazzlement was accompanied by a restlessness, he was invaded by a persistent and languid tiredness, a morbid weakness enveloped him. He had barely taken a few steps before exhaustion consumed him, stumbling he would lose his balance and sit down to rest. However, he noticed that when he remained still, his mood returned, the immobility gave him back his stagnant energy.
From then on, he moved as little as possible and spent the day resting, far from the trivialities of life. Inertia and solitude became inseparable companions. He knew that psychologists call the region of the unconscious where unconfessed, harmful desires nestle, the shadow; there, the repressed emotions and sensations of the Ego were hidden. Becoming aware of this condition of imperfection would be the path to overcoming and self-affirmation.
Someone without a shadow would have been freed from the dark temptations, the stain that corrupts us; it would no longer be necessary to wear the mask that distorts us before the complacent gaze of others, disguising what we really are. The internal and the external would share the same virtues. Satisfied, he placed the rocking chair in the garden, the sun was blazing overhead, and enjoyed the tranquility of Being, motionless, he had found his essence: he had become a prisoner of himself.
* Renato Ortiz He is a professor at the Department of Sociology at Unicamp. Author, among other books, of The universe of luxury (Mall). [https://amzn.to/3XopStv]
Originally published on BVPS blog.
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