Sensing the presence of the past. The sense of Phantasia.
"There are places where the presence of the past is felt. These keep stories and secrets that we will never know, but that we will feel in one way or another."
Hello, welcome to another post on The Void. Here I share about the Sides and Tangents of my head. Trippy things. Today I come to talk about sensing the presence of the past, of those who have been where we have been, and who perhaps have wondered about the same things as us. Is Phantasia something unreal? What if it were a kind of sense that we ignore (or even worse) that we have lost thanks to technology, progress, fashion, or beliefs? This post is also part of a series dedicated to exploring the topic of the human senses from different perspectives. If you like this newsletter, press 'like', leave a comment, and subscribe to receive notifications and to support my work.
In the society we live in it is difficult to feel and connect with nature and with the messages that she brings. Through progress we have created coverings or layers that inhibit our senses, further separating us from the connection we have with the past, with the wind, with the trees, and with a view of the horizon. But has it happened to you that walking through certain places you feel the presence of those who have already walked there?
There are places where the presence of the past is felt. These keep stories and secrets that we will never know, but that we will sense in one way or another. Places that just by remembering them you feel an energy that has remained there for indefinable times. The wind and the trees speak to us, bringing with them voices that can only reach us through the imagination (a sense we rarely consider when we experience the world).
"Imagination is the eye of the soul." -Joseph Joubert
The first time I felt that kind of presence was when I was a child. I was playing on the mountain that gives name to the place where I grew up, Bello Monte (Beautiful Mountain). I approached a cliff facing southwest and the breeze carried with it the smell of nature. In that moment I felt something I had not experienced before, presences from the past.
The view pointed to an orange sunset from where I could see more beautiful mountains in the distance. And to my delight, for a moment the friends around me went silent, which intensified the experience.
I suddenly thought about how many pairs of eyes I had witnessed the same view thousands, hundreds, and dozens of years ago. I felt that at my side was the presence of the souls of those who had been captivated by such a view, and that they asked themselves the same thing as me.
Then I felt the same thing in the backyard of my grandmother's house on my dad's side. What separated the house from an immense mountain was a cyclone fence about four feet high. The smell of the wind that comes pushed by the ocean from the southeast gave a peculiar scent. A smell of stories of the sea and the jungle, that when paired with the sight of that mountain, gave me a sensation of being observed. I used to rest my arms on that fence and look up, trying to trace a path to find the mysteries of the Taíno Indians who walked there. I imagined that people in loincloths were looking at me from above, and that at some point they were where I was (looking up).
At my grandmother's house, the feeling of presences became stronger when one day my father, my brother and I jumped over the fence to climb the mountain. I remember feeling the presence of a fourth person in the group. But it was not in our same space-time. However, he or she did not follow us, but walked along with us.
The same thing happened to me several times when I lived in Austin, Texas. I used to frequent a park with a mystical ravine that showed traces of fossils in its rocks. (Walnut Creek). As far as I know, I have no ancestral connection with the Coahuiltecan, Comanche, or Apache who inhabited those lands; but that ravine made me sense them in certain areas.
In the forest I frequent in Central Florida, for my nature walks I feel the same way. Just as with the natives of Texas (as far as I know), I have no ancestral connection with the Seminole Indians, but there are points along those trails where I cannot help but feel their presence. As if they accompanied me along with the deer, the wild turkeys, the alligators, and the birds. As if someone else was taking the same steps as me, looking in the same direction, and breathing the same air.
On these walks, when I take off my shoes and socks to feel the ground, I feel like I'm entering another world. Feeling the sand, the leaves, the roots, and the water with my feet creates the sensation of connecting with those souls who passed through those same lands (Wekiwa), and that wondered the same as me.
I don't know how else to explain it. Maybe it's me with my fantasies and dreams. Maybe. But seeing the green of the plants, wildflowers, mountains, rivers, lakes, trees, and the sea have an 'I don't know what', that sharpens my senses and awakens a mysterious and mystical sensation (another sense),
According to what is said, Aristotle used to say that imagination is a kind of sensation that has a privileged contact with reason. He called this Phantasia.
When I walk with the deer, I feel like they are talking to me. "Who are you? Where do you come from? Where are you going?" Those voices make a part of my soul stay there (in the forest, looking at nature). That piece that I leave becomes one more soul to be sensed by someone in the near, or distant future, wondering, “How many eyes have witnessed the same sight thousands, hundreds, and dozens of years ago?”