A dream with Cioran and Heidegger
It was a large and quiet lake. The reflections of clouds and the sun and the stars and the moon
were stirred by a soft warm wind. I turned on my back, floating, the sky open to my own eyes.
An apple tree stood out of a meadow along the shore.
Images rose in my mind, disturbing my peace.
I saw Cioran dissecting the apple next to me, first it was small pieces, then puree,
then all of a sudden it was not there anymore. For a moment I couldn't remember
that there ever was anything in my world like an apple at all.
Even Cioran's thinking sharp as a honed kitchen knife had stopped to be in existence.
It had annihilated itself. Maybe this was his way, he didn't sleep, and thirsting for the mercy of sleep and for the joy of mornings he tried to lead thinking itself to disintegration: to find peace in nothing which must be difficult as long as you are somebody.
I saw a certain humor in it, staring at me like a slowly winding and ,yes, grinning, snake .
I rolled around in the water, put in a few strokes for my freedom, then decided for the apple: I refused to be infected by Cioran’s way of thinking.
A shadow fell, and I heard someone talking in long and elaborated sentences, with an intonation of absolute importance. Heidegger appeared, still talking and writing. And again I couldn’t see the apple.
I found myself deeply occupied with the ontology of apples. Again the question, so fundamental: “Is there an apple?”. The apple got lost in translation, caught in a so very German system of communication reminding of administrative procedures with their very own exclusive and impenetrable terminology.
The power of language destroyed my apple. I refused to listen: the apple re-appeared.
After all Cioran and Heidegger lived quite a long life. They must have eaten something
even if they may not have enjoyed doing it.
I started swimming again, and reaching the tree I ate the apple.
I woke up without any signs of infection.
