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The co-editor of Atalanta has written a surprising book from the “not me”. With a foreword by her husband, author and editor Jacobo Siruela. Both are Empordanese by adoption since more than a decade.
Cuaderno de noche is not a usual literary work. It is written from a point of view of the other world, not this one. Neither is it literary artifice. The direct and appealing writing reveals surprisingly courageous intimacy.
Inka Martí has learnt how to capture dreams in a book. This requires delicate technique. A dream is fleeting, yet the unconscious likes to be taken note of. If you do so, it teaches you to relate to everything there is in the universe. The oracle is inside you. You need only to listen to its call and turn off the electromagnetic gear of progress. Silence, please.
When you wake up, you remember the dream, but before that, from the dream itself, you have to learn how to catch a detail: an olive tree from which snakes hang at sunset. You remember a spectacular detail from your own dream to learn how to remember the whole dream when you wake up. I have paper next to my bed and, without moving my head, I write what I remember. It is important not to move your body so the dreams cannot escape.
Her eyes are a piece of Mediterranean on a clear summer day. Her gaze is strong, at times searing. Some people know what you are about hardly taking note, as if by accident. This is power in constant watchfulness. And it shows itself when something worrisome appears by relating what is without to what is within.
I’m very intuitive. There is no usual literary work in Cuaderno de noche, only purification. Sometimes dreams appear like a sonnet. Then they are marvellous. Others are like the sting of a bee; the recurrent ones. Yet when it is the bee itself that stings, they are unique and fascinating.
El Asno blanco. La visita. El tigre y el niño. El águila. You read them with ease and they are recorded in a strange way; the images return and catch you, dragging you to a state of somnolence: a child, the grim reaper, metal horses, a German grandmother, the light of a sleepwalker, a fairy tale.
On the other hand, there is a symbolic world of magic and poetry. Fascinating. Jung called it the soul of the world. Symbols. We live too much in the external world of material things, turned outwards. We have forgotten our interior being, our ability to relate to the symbolic. Like a monkey locked into a room with small windows who jumps from side to side. Concentration techniques such as meditation help you remember dreams because you work on visualizing your mind. Perhaps progress atrophies our capacity for dreaming. Too much noise.
Does hypnotic induction help to recover this ability?
Hypnosis helps a lot. I’ve been practicing it this last year to relax and sleep more deeply, and it has also activated my world of dreams. You should not mistake dreams with imagination, which is daydreaming. It also helps to read old books and the classics. The first stories appeared from sleep, and they used to be told by the fireside. We needn’t be afraid of Freud, who associates everything with sexuality. The Pharaoh has a serpent in the third eye, but because of this nobody thinks he is a sex addict. When you are told a dream, you instinctively detect if it is truthful, because it impresses your heart and connects with that other not you.
HER EMPORDÀ
- A walk: The ruins of Empúries in winter
- A cultural space: My house
- A village: Palau de Santa Eulalia
- A restaurant: Mogambo, in L’Escala
- A dish: ”Les Garoinas”
- What does the Empordà have too much of? Roads
- A place that inspires you: The Fluvià between Sant Pere Pescador and the sea
- Advice to politicians: Throw out the corrupt ones
- Your eminent Empordanese: Dalí
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