The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [52]
“Artists? Are you painters, sculptors, a theater group?” asked the journalist, thinking he was dealing with a bizarre group of performers.
Smiling, Honeymouth replied, “No, no, nothing like that. We practice the art of complicating life.” And he laughed that distinct laugh that could be heard fifty yards away.
The journalist thought he was being spoken down to. But my friend had been sincere and spontaneous. Then, trying to better explain his thought, he added:
“Throughout history, we’ve complicated life, but now we’re going through a complicated process of uncomplicating our lives. It isn’t easy, but we’ll get there.”
Honeymouth was enthusiastic because it was the first interview he’d ever given. He felt drawn—at least a little—to the white-hot glow of the spotlight.
“But who is this leader of your group? What does he do?” asked the curious reporter.
“I don’t know who he is. But I do know that he sells dreams,” Bartholomew said innocently.
“He sells dreams? How does that work? Isn’t the guy dangerous? Isn’t he crazy?”
The disciple looked all around and said:
“I don’t know if he’s crazy, but I know he says we’re all in a world of madness. And the chief wants to change the world,” he said, making the dreamseller’s goals seem fanciful. In reality, the dreamseller wanted to stimulate people to thirst and hunger for change, for only they could be responsible for their transformations.
Puzzled, the interviewer inquired:
“Wait, what? That raggedy character said that we live in a world of madness? And he wants to change the world? And you people believe him?”
“I don’t know if he’s gonna change the world,” Bartholomew said. “But he’s changing my world.”
“Are you anarchists?” the reporter said, changing directions.
Bartholomew knew nothing about the anarchist movement. He didn’t know that Pierre-Joseph Proudon, who inspired that movement in the nineteenth century, defended the idea of building a new society, one capable of expanding individual freedom and liberating the worker from the exploitation of big business. In that social order, constituted by organizing the workers, people would treat their fellow men fairly and develop their potential. Anarchists didn’t recognize the governments power, its laws or its institutions. They lived under their own governance. Without the intervention of the state, they thought, humans could live freely.
But the dreamseller disagreed with the central idea of anarchism. To him, without constitution and institutions, human beings could commit atrocities, trounce the rights of others, assassinate, extort, live only for themselves and display unrivaled savagery. Nor did he want to replay the hippie movement, which had emerged in the wake of America’s war in Vietnam. Young people’s frustration with the war generated disillusionment with institutions, and that had become the seed of a movement of peace and love, but one without social commitments.
The dreamseller’s plan to sell dreams, on the other hand, was replete with commitments to society, especially to human rights, freedom and mental health. That’s why he recommended to those who would follow him that they not abandon their activities in society. Only a few, maybe the weirdest, were called to his training.
Bartholomew didn’t know what to answer. He just scratched his head and replied with philosophical simplicity: “Look here, my friend, I don’t know if we’re anarchists or not. What I do know is that until a short time ago I didn’t know who I was.”
“And now you do?” the interviewer asked. But our friend tied his mind in more complex knots.
“Now? I know even less. I don’t know who I am or what I am, because what I used to think I was isn’t what I am at all. I still don’t understand who I am, but I’m searching to find myself. You understand?”
“No!” answered the reporter, completely confused.
“Thank goodness! I thought I was the only one who didn’t,” Bartholomew said. “Look, my friend, I only know that I used to live falling down drunk every day, but now I’m lifting