The American Dream (a porch of our own)

Mark Twain

Mark Twain at his porch with little kitten by his side.

 Have we been under the spell of illusion for so long?

Ok: wrong question. Let me start again.

We all chase ghosts, don´t we? I think we´re entitled to some sort of illusion and ignorance in order to heal, digest and handle life´s biggest joys and disgraces. Without a pinch of illusion and evasion we would explode – simply explode (life´s always too much to take – the pleasant as well as the unpleasant).

What if we found out the American Dream – Humanity´s dream – was nothing but a mistaken shortcut to Love? We all have the same destination tag but most of us get lost on the way there or choose roads that lead us to our dream´s exact opposite direction.

Call me a sucker for Love (that I am). Chasing money, power, status, material goods and (sick) societies´ pat on the shoulder may well be a twisted way of chasing Love. I know I do: chase it, follow it, dream about it, work with it and from it – I AM love (“Candide”, Voltaire) and there´s nothing like an american southern porch to remind me of it.

I´m in New York, all right, but these porches follow me around as if they were my own breath: they´re chasing me as much as I chase love. Brooklyn is full of them (those damn porches!) – provoking me, awakening my imagination and setting my desire on additional fire.

Here´s what I see (my own American Dream): me, sitting on one of these porches (beaming with tender nostalgia, a sense of warm protection and eternity): the love of my life (yes: he exists) by my side, his hands resting around my waist, then rolling down my hips, caressing my wounds and erasing my fears: our smiles so true they dispense words: ice tea on a white wooden table and a jar of flowers singing a lovely southern tune only earth remembers.

porch_smWe kiss the sunset goodbye (some clichés will never go out of fashion) and remain in silence, lost in awe, grateful for the treasure of having found our own abode, our home, our porch, ourselves. No money can buy it, dear; no medal will be earned from this; the world will not turn its head and bow to us; no patting on the shoulder; no public recognition; no power except for the power of genuine happiness. How do you climb this mountain – uh?! How do you? No university degree can get you there; no hard work or sleeping with the boss; no particular talent or ambition can make you land on this porch. Yet you bow in-Joy*: you´ve come so far so arrive where you are.


The Notebook” movie (excellent movie based on a lousy book by an author who is – surprisingly! – a constant best seller creator) may have something to do with this recurrent phantasy: me and him at the porch, relishing at our own good fortune (having found each other). Yet the “The Notebook” is just the point of the iceberg. All dreams I ever dreamt begin and end here: at this porch: with you and me: holding each other: in: silence & eternity.  sssssss

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