Mankind howls at the moon

I have added some “fallen leaves” to my blog in Spanish, especially sections that won’t appear in the fifth and final book of Whispering Leaves (WL).

Although it is the shortest of all, the last book of my series was the one that, in a sense, gave me the worst headaches in terms of making my mind for a final version. It was not until recently that I decided to keep only the essentials and not add postscripts and details about my extermination fantasies: which existed in the original versions from 2007 until this year.

Here is the uncensored introduction (a “fallen leaf”) that will not appear in my fifth book. My explanatory notes in brackets were written a month ago:

* * *

The first section discusses the consequences of the wound inflicted upon me when I was seventeen, the wound of the fear of eternal damnation closed in false: a subject that will give us the key to understand why hundreds of millions of humans continue to worship so horrible deities. Only in the second section I’ll talk about my vision of an ideal future for mankind that gave this book the exterminationist title [originally I was going to call it The Extermination of Neanderthals]: ideas I had developed long before reading Alice Miller and Lloyd deMause; ideas rooted in that despairing cry of a child writhing on the hearth of an imaginary Moloch [this is a reference to the final part of my fourth book].

Although the vast majority of traumatized individuals remain in dark ignorance over their miserable existence, I find it unbelievable the amount of time, three decades in fact, that took me to understand what my parents and their society had done to me. And yes: I developed embarrassing security operations in my desperate attempts to get out of a mental Gehenna. Such mechanisms delivered me to such a long night of a soul that it makes no sense to use this spiritual odyssey for multiple volumes. [Note of 2012: since nobody would read me]

Suffice it to say that although I am a complete skeptic of the mantic arts, it comes to my mind the symbol of a pair of cards of the Marseilles Tarot. On The Moon we can imagine how the psyches of the bicameral Mesoamericans and their Lacrimae lunae, so trapped as howling dogs in a perpetual night, turn from the earth to the moon: toward their insatiable and demanding celestial body [another veiled reference to what I say in my fourth book]. In the card of The Sun, instead, multicolored droplets are directed backwards: from the celestial body to two children. These are found facing each other, frolicking under the solar glory and touching themselves with their hands: a gesture of non-erotic but compassionate love between themselves. The century-old Marseille illustration shows these children naked in a place protected by a fence. The sun protects and blesses them as a parent provides (not demands) their energy and care. Instead of sacrificing them on the altar of poisonous pedagogy, the child’s life is an experience to be enjoyed. A Jungian writer saw the characters of this card as a boy and a girl and claims that these twins, separated now from the Eden that housed them, “will create a new world together.”

The Splendor solis or great crescendo in psychogenesis of our species will be revealed at the end of this book. At the moment I’m just saying that, unlike my lunatic stage [I meant my falling into cults and pseudo-sciences, of which I speak in the fifth book, so well symbolized by the card of The Moon], now I feel surrounded by noon and see everything so clearly and transparent that I must say it was not Paulina [cf. book #3] my knowledgeable witness, as some readers might believe from reading my third book, but the feeling of having been soul-mirrored in a mind that knows the nucleus of the human psyche, as I did while reading Breaking Down the Wall of Silence. Alice Miller is the person I’m more indebted and the fact of having discovered her so late is something that bothers me exceedingly.

It was not my fault. Although Banished Knowledge had been published since 1990 in Spanish I did not discover it until twelve years later, and Breaking Down the Wall of Silence (Abbruch der Schweigemauer), that I read in English, to the moment of writing this line has not been translated into Spanish. The latter book shows Miller’s maturity of thought. The howling mankind had not announced me her findings and I lost the best summers of my life. I remember a book-review in which the author asked why this woman did not monopolize the front pages of newspapers. The sad truth is that she does not capture the attention even in the well-guarded towers of academia visible in the card of The Moon. Remember the scandal that, to date, no university has any chair about the emotional toll caused by parental abuse on children.

Despite that my long night came from the fact that all humanity howls at the moon, I find hard to avoid an irrational shame for not having me released from these Lacrimae lunae by myself. To see me so advanced in years, so far from the ephebe I was, I get the feeling that I should have started this work, which has now culminated with the publication of WL, in my adolescence. Had I done it, long time ago I’d have shelved this autobiographical mourning and become a consecrated Kubrick. But it was impossible without a true knowledgeable witnesses, and in the mid-1970s Miller’s books had not even been written. I had to wait twenty-seven years for the total encounter, as in the card The Sun, that would divide my life in twain. Only now I see that God the Father that I feared was a projection of the blackest part of my father’s mind, of his demons transfused into my soul, my dementors. My friend Paulina would not have led me to this knowledge because she never settled accounts with her family, and never abandoned her pious Catholicism.

So, I say one last time: thank you, Alice, for invoking the Expecto Patronum! that finally expelled my dementors.

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