“Oh, stories, stories … the whole world is a story, because once it has never been like today, and what is today it will be like never before. How many fires, candles and how many flames you the story didn’t burn, and they all have been extinguished, and many will light up just to be extinguished again. Only you, the story, you will only be extinguished with the last man … and only he will know well that this world has been a long and the same story.”
This is the beginning of the novella “Story” written by Barbu Ştefănescu Delavrancea, with his intuitive genius of the repeated and sometimes compulsive expression, of the events and life strategies, affective disposition and spontaneous reactions, the challenges and downfalls, the desires and the suffering generated by their failures. This is also the way our life story, most often in the game of forces that seem to overtake us on an archetypal scene in which we enter to play a role. We do not even realize we’re living in a simulation. We are in possession of our own feelings and expectations, which we most often think are ours. We are conditioned by parents, teachers, life partners, loved ones, and sometimes by our children. We are conditioned by the social roles we perform, by the political context in which we evolve, by the dominant cultural structures, by what is “fashionable.” We live in the dramas of our past and in anticipation of the accomplishments that will occur once in an “illo tempore,” we are captive in the terrible and repetitive game, and most often chaotic, of our own mind. All this only reinforces and confirms the story that we believe to be ours. And this “our story” will encompass us more and more, by sorrowing the life in us, it will come to live in our place, beyond us and after us, pushing us further from the being that we really are.