Juancho José Barreto González / [email protected]
The door is a little droopy, when you push it it makes a scraping noise, a screech. The moth is like time, it does its work silently. He tells me that he has been very bad after the pandemic, he forgets things. Forgetfulness is more dangerous than ignorance. One, alone, can forget oneself. Yesterday he was here, he opened that door that when pushed makes a scraping noise.
When it was new it didn’t even make any noise. Recently opened and installed, it boasted of its function of letting out and letting in. “Those of us who passed by there had nothing to do with the door, we were indifferent, it was the same to enter as to leave, it didn’t make any kind of noise.” Now the moth leaves behind piles of “door dust.” It’s slippery and dangerous. Whoever cleans the apartment on Mondays removes that dust with a plastic shovel that the company has given him. Since the shovel is broken, then, the threads of door dust are scattered in the hallway. People step on the threads of dust as they pass. I listen to them because I have acquired the ability to hear the beating of a distant heart, the noise made by a falling needle, and so on. One thunder to me is a thousand thunders. Hence my fear of going to Catatumbo…
Sometimes you have to push it hard, time passes. As if it were actually a real, closed door, similar to the door to the basement of consciousness. The secretary from another office told me that it was resolved quickly. “The main door fell down, I decided to put this other door in this office, it didn’t matter if it was closed or open. The front door must remain locked if we are not inside.” Then I began to philosophize about the disappearance of doors, that multiple threshold that separates one place from another. When there is no door the breeze passes without permission, the breeze and the rush.
There are speeches that pass through doors without opening them or perhaps they always remain open. They violate the territory within without much work. They create a false identity from within the other, they violate them without knowing them. Invading the darkness of the other, wanting to give it light by falsifying, lying. I judge the darkness of the other with a false, dim light. It emits a dust like that of old doors, sticky, disgusting.
The solution is to walk yourself through our rickety door. I look at the details of my door and must decide whether to remove the lock or replace it with a new one. I have tried many methods going through electric doors. It usually happens, I forget the key inside and the people behind the door. Or when I sleep, I dream of other doors, even that big door of the old house that time ate up. That same door became a bed in a stable. One of my brothers, instead of working, would lie at that door and dream that he was a famous tiger.
After a few days we discovered that it was important and sacred to “not knock down the door” whatever it was. The dream insisted that it was essential to learn this lesson and tell the door and the people inside “I’m going for a walk.”
Immediately, he had not taken a step and a half after leaving “without knocking down the door,” he thought about where to go. It was not about analyzing where to go but about understanding the size of the commitment so as not to make the same mistakes of doors without doors, half-closed or eaten by moths.
#Letters #moth #Juancho #Barreto
Interview with Juancho José Barreto González on the Metaphors of Life and Memory
Editor: Thank you for joining us today, Juancho. You’ve expressed some profound thoughts on memory, existence, and the symbolism of doors in your writing. Can you explain a bit about the metaphorical significance of the door that you describe as “droopy” and “scraping”?
Juancho José Barreto González: Thank you for having me. The door represents a barrier, both to the past and to our memories. It was once new and functional, symbolizing opportunities and potential. But like our memories after the pandemic, it has deteriorated. The scraping noise it makes is a reminder of how time has changed our perceptions and experiences. We’re confronted by our own forgetfulness, which can be more dangerous than ignorance.
Editor: It’s striking how you connect the moth to the passage of time. Can you elaborate on that idea?
Juancho: Absolutely. The moth works silently, much like time itself. It eats away at the fabric of our memories and experiences without us even noticing until we see the ‘dust’ it leaves behind. This dust can symbolize lost moments or forgotten identities. In a way, it’s the residue of our existence—slippery and sometimes dangerous as it mixes with our daily lives.
Editor: You mention the concept of a “basement of consciousness.” Do you see the door as a gateway to that deeper understanding of self?
Juancho: Yes, indeed! The door serves as a threshold to our subconscious. Just like the secretary who suggested the front door should remain locked, we often keep certain parts of ourselves hidden away. We only enter that ‘basement’ when we confront our fears or seek deeper truths. The door becomes a symbol for the choices we make on which aspects of ourselves we allow to be seen or hidden.
Editor: you express a fear of going to Catatumbo. How does that relate to the themes you’ve discussed?
Juancho: Catatumbo, with its thunderous storms, symbolizes chaos and unpredictability. Just as the thunder reminds me of the little things—the heartbeat, a falling needle—Catatumbo represents the overwhelming aspects of life that we often push away. It’s a powerful reminder that memory and existence are fraught with storms. We can choose to confront them or remain locked behind our metaphoric doors.
Editor: Thank you for sharing these insights, Juancho. It’s fascinating how your reflections on something as simple as a door can unlock deeper discussions about life, memory, and consciousness.
Juancho: Thank you for having me. It’s essential to keep exploring these metaphors, as they guide our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
Juancho: Yes, exactly. The door serves as a threshold, a gateway into the deeper recesses of our psyche. It’s like a passage to our subconscious where we store memories and emotions. If we don’t confront and acknowledge what lies behind that door, we risk letting our experiences go unnoticed, allowing them to accumulate like dust. The question becomes whether to open that door, to embrace what lies within, or to leave it locked, preventing the breeze of change from entering our lives.
Editor: You discuss the idea of “not knocking down the door.” What does this mean in the context of your journey through life and memory?
Juancho: This phrase is a critical lesson I learned. It speaks to the importance of respecting our past experiences and memories. Instead of rushing through life, we must take the time to truly process our emotions and thoughts. When we simply bulldoze through doors—those barriers we have built—we risk losing the essence of who we are. Instead, we should approach our past with curiosity and care, stating, “I’m going for a walk,” allowing ourselves to reflect without forcefully dismantling what we have lived through.
Editor: what do you hope readers take away from your reflections on doors, memory, and existence?
Juancho: I hope readers will cherish their own “doors” and acknowledge that each one carries a story, a memory, or a lesson. Rather than being indifferent, we should engage with these thresholds, understanding that every experience we pass through shapes our identities. By doing so, we can reconnect with ourselves and define our paths moving forward, recognizing that every door we encounter is an opportunity for growth and self-discovery.