Power has us

We don't have power. It is power the one that controls us, that transforms us, that guides us to do whatever low instincts dwell in us. Unless you are an exceptional being.

One of the marvels of reading good books is that they help you realising things. It doesn't prevent you from making mistakes (we wish), but sometimes it can reduce the probability of us making them. If we know that doing our free will hides the possibility of us becoming spoiled children regardless of our age, we may want to put some control measures on ourselves and exercise some self-discipline. This can be useful, for example, when it comes to not spending all our money on payday on our favourite fancies.

Of course, we don't need to read any of the best novels in the world to know that, but it is also because we will be faced with reality, sooner or later, and reality will tame what our free will would not. We are lucky: we don't have such a huge power that would get out of control and devour us. Otherwise, we would benefit from the example of Bastian in Ende's The Neverending Story, whose wishes, no matter how big or small or likely to happen, would become true. Bastian is like most of us: he had some traumas, some lack of self-confidence, some inferiority complex; he felt powerless for too long, and suddenly he is given the power of making his wishes, every single one, come true. And so he does. I don't want to be a spoiler, so allow me to be a bit cryptical: with every single wish that became true, he lost something—until, towards the end of the book, he seems to be about to lose everything without noticing... What is he losing with every wish? Does it have a happy ending? Read the book. Is it realistic? It is a beautiful image of what happens in real life, IMHO.

At least in literature, there are examples of individuals that are immune to the temptation of infinite power. In Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, when Samfast takes the Ring from Frodo and puts it on his hand, the Ring offers him a vision of Power, of Control on everything on Earth, on wills, on entire nations. Sam is not affected by it and the Ring, the Offer of Absolute Power, goes silent for many pages, and will not tempt Sam again. Sam had the Power and carried Power in his pocket for many pages because he had to, he humbly accepted his role. There are politicians like that, even if we don't see them often; but they do exist, and you, dear reader, probably have two or three in your mind from recent history.

We are not Samfast (well, maybe you are, but allow me to continue as if you weren't). If we could, we would be more like Bastian, most of us. And if we cannot be Samfast, being Bastian is the best option of those we have left—as weird as it may sound.

We could also be Warlords.

Power wants to grow and it uses us as its tool. It used Napoleon, it used many others, it keeps using and always will use anyone available.

There is a certain admiration for Napoleon. I always heard my history teachers talk about him as a great strategist. Today, I see him with less praising eyes: I just see a man who sent tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of his own people to death, just because he wanted more power. He had enemies to defeat, you know. With enemies to defeat, territories to conquer and a lust for power that could never get satisfied, the lives of those devoted to him were as worth as the potential of lentils to become plants one day: zero when you want a plate of stew.

Put a spoiled child with some hidden inferiority complex at the top of society and you will see what happens. It could be that, in order to destroy his enemies, the spoiled child infects his devoted ones with a lethal disease in the hope they will get in contact with his (probably imaginary) enemies and bring them to death. That's the role of his devoted ones. The role of lentils in my stew is to keep me on my feet, and the role of the King's subjects is to keep him on his throne. Being destroyed for their King is an honour, after all. Their King calls them out, politely suggesting how wonderful it would be if His Lands were packed with people getting infected from each other, ready to spread His Majesty's Justice among His foes.

Yes, I believe we are in a global war right now. Yet I don't think it is a war of Humanity against a virus. The virus, and part of Humanity, os just a tool, fulfilling the conquering and defeating plans of some Kings who are nothing but spoiled children with a lust for power that will never be satisfied. They believe they are in charge, that they are in power; but it is Power who owns them.

Today, we are losing our beloved ones, we lose our health, we lose our hope, many lose their lives. We feel powerless. Yet the paradox is that, to a certain extent, the most powerful can be the most powerless.

Because they can't feel loved and their loss is Bastian's.

Acompralipsis

Acabo de ir a la compra después de cuatro días encerrado en casa. En estos días, la sociedad checa ha pasado de anunciar el cierre de fronteras para dos días más tarde, de cerrar los restaurantes de ocho de la noche a seis de la mañana y de no permitir las reuniones de más de 30 personas a la situación actual: prohibición de salir de casa sin mascarilla, las compras de 10 a 12 están permitidas sólo a los mayores de 65 años, cierre total de fronteras, horarios reducidos en todo, semi-cuarentena al país entero (salir sólo para lo más imprescindible).

Yo tenía que salir a por pan. O quería salir a por pan. Podría habérmelo cocido en casa, quizá, con harina, bicarbonato, agua y lo que internet me sugiriere. Fui a última hora del día (sobre las 19:45), más que nada porque mientras Lorenzo alumbra, las calles están llenas de familias con niños y sin mascarilla. Y mientras que me alegra mucho ver a las familias pasando tiempo juntas y a los niños poder disfrutar de tiempo extra con sus padres, los niños son impredicibles y no me apetece coger ningún bicho. Llámenme paranoico, pero sus creencias no son mi certeza.

En el supermercado y áreas colindantes, la gente mantiene en general la distancia. Hay menos gente de lo habitual en esta época, día de la semana y hora. Algunas personas apartan su carrito, casi de modo angustioso, para dejarte pasar y no molestarte, o eso dicen sus miradas. Otras personas se apartan con la angustia de que podrías ser un malhechor dispuestos a contagiarles lo peor de lo peor de un modo más intencional aún que el de Creysidí. Unas terceras ven que vas a un estante, cambian su rumbo para ponérsete en medio y se ponen delante, haciendo como que miran y se van sin llevarse nada. Otra, una, realmente, busca y no encuentra: busca qué era eso que te ha llamado la atención. Con la misma, se va. Una persona más se para, encuentra lo que yo quería, coge todo lo que puede, se le cae uno al suelo, me mira con la expresión conocedora de que no hay lugar para la amabilidad en los tiempos de la peste. Al señor le cuesta agacharse, aunque no me parecía tan mayor para ser tan poco ágil. La que supervisa las cajas sin personal tiene el gesto cansado y amable a partes iguales, se olvida de mantener la distancia y yo no sé si agradecérselo, porque hasta un ser asocial como yo se siente algo desamparado. Pero me doy cuenta cuando ya me he ido de que he estado ¡cerca de un ser humano!

Meto la compra en la mochila. Una mujer sale a paso apresurado y, al doblar la esquina, me ve. Hace un quiebro brusco para evitarme. Bendito miedo: si no es por él, se me come.

Llego a casa y, ya vestido, salgo a tirar la basura que ya tenía preparada. Voy por la acera. Un joven va en bici por la carretera, hablando por el móvil en voy bastante alta, sin casco ni luces (por supuesto) pero al menos lleva mascarilla. Me ve. Hace un quiebro brusco, esta vez para subirse a la acera e irme al encuentro. Mi calle es peatonal: no necesita ir por la acera para evitar coches (que no circulan en este preciso instante ni prácticamente en todo el día). Yo me aparto, cortésmente (p.i.). Pasa a mi lado, gritando a su interlocutor, con un gesto que parece decir "espero que te pienses que te grito a ti" que me sorprende. No es hasta varios minutos después que recuerdo que las bicicletas no tienen permitido ir por la acera. Ato cabos. Da igual que se acabe si se está acabando el mundo o no, hay gente que no regatea en esfuerzos para intentar molestar a los demás, les salga bien o no.

Y yo no me acuerdo ni de su cara. Es más, aunque estoy escribiendo esta entrada como reflexión y como pequeño diario de pandemia (como están haciendo tantos otros), con lo que me voy a ir hoy a la cama es con los grupos renovados de WhatsApp en un momento en el que la gente se busca con tiempo y con ganas, buscando y ofreciendo un tono amable. Hoy me iré a la cama con el gesto de la comunidad vietnamita de la Rep. Checa, que están ofrenciendo tentempiés gratuitos al personal sanitario, a la policía, a los bomberos. Hoy me iré a la cama pensando en esos amigos que, cuando llega la noche, repasan a toda la gente amable que se han cruzado durante el día y los eventos bonitos (si no tienes amigos así, conviértete en uno y que cunda el ejemplo). Hoy me dormiré con una sonrisa en los labios porque ha pasado otro día y sigo vivo y sano.

Me quedan menos de cuarenta y ocho horas para romper mi ayuno de azúcar blanco. ¡Y tengo muuuucho chocolate en casa!