Lupelius - The School for Gods

As I later recalled my attitude on that occasion and other similar ones, I realised that what Iaccepted without too much resistance, or even immediately and unquestioningly, when theDreamer referred to mankind in general, provoked in me a response of unassailableresistance when His criticism was aimed directly at me.“People like you… only feel alive when they are amongst others …they prefer crowdedplaces… they find work in government offices or large companies…wherever they feel thereassuring presence of the crowd…They celebrate all the rituals of dependence and gather inits temples: cinemas, theatres, hospitals, stadiums, courthouses or churches, just to be in agroup with others, to escape from themselves and the unbearable burden of their solitude”continued the Dreamer.I had an instinctive defensive reaction. An irrepressible hostility darkened my being,almost as if those words had threatened something vital or upset a plan which had beenmade long before. Mentally I lined up all the harsh words, like a row of mortar shells I wouldhave liked to lob at Him. By focusing on that reprehensible mob I attempted to clear it away,but only managed to draw a pained grimace on my face. The Dreamer was testing the wallsof my resistance. He knew how to breach them. He gave me a ferocious smile, as if He wereabout to strike me, and whispered:“A man like you falls ill and is willing to be cut to pieces by surgeons…by the shamans of astill primitive science, just to draw attention to himself…” I gasped, as if I had beenpunched in the stomach. The Dreamer let a few seconds pass as if he were counting me out,as if he were referee and adversary at the same time.“Do you remember the painting?” He asked me out of the blue, completely changing histone and demeanour. He knocked me off balance every time. I would never get used to theseabrupt changes which would be performed with a suddenness and mastery that I had neverseen in anyone before. I was amazed by His ability to transform Himself entering into atotally new state of being without transferring even one atom from the previous one. Iimmediately understood that His question referred to the painting I had admired beforecoming into the greenhouse where we were now. I recalled the picture of Narcissus admiringhis image in the pool moments before being swallowed up by it.“It is the symbolic story of a man trapped in his own reflection” – explained the Dreamer,barely concealing His mirth at my vain attempts to adapt the muscles of my face in responseto His sudden change of topic and mood. “The fable of Narcissus is the metaphor of a manwho becomes a victim of his own creation” He continued. He revealed to me that, contraryto what is commonly believed, Narcissus was not in love with himself but with the imagereflected in the water, without being aware that it was his own. In fact, believing he waslooking at somebody else, he became infatuated, fell into the water and tragically drowned.“Once you realise that the world you see is the projection of yourself, you are free of it”concluded the Dreamer.I was in a state of shock. …How had it been possible for one of the most crucial myths ofour civilization to be misunderstood for thousands of years? How on earth had it beenpossible to miss an explanation that was so simple?40