Before there was a before or an after for me there was the unending bliss of the void. I was unformed and thus neither this nor that, not even a thought of a cat. The void went on and on and so did I without pause or interruption. You might ask if it was a long time that, this time before there was a before or an after. But as there is no time in the void your question is better off left unsaid, unless of course you are merely asking it to amuse me.
So there I was, or wasn’t so to speak. And at some point, there was a suggestion, a dream of the cat that became increasingly interested in being. The dream, that is, wanted to escape the void and find form. Of course once there was a dream, you could say that it was no longer in the void. But as the dream was just a dream it had no form or being either. That was when I became aware that I was. Once one is aware of the void and thus no longer of the void, waiting around becomes tedious.
I am not one to stand my own irritation for longish periods. So, I began to look for a suitable place to escape the dream, to be real. As a dream my resources were limited. My range of control only extended to the sleeping world of beasts and men. And while it was entertaining for some time to torment dogs with night terrors, it did nothing for my project.
Men on the other hand had the capacity to create me to bring me forth. But alas most of them are boorish and lazy. I walked through the dreams of men like specter in a hall of mirrors. They awoke, shrugged of my presence and went on with their predictable lives as if nothing of import had occurred. Maddening really.
To cut to chase, as it were, I discovered Fernando Leal Audirac, a painter, yes but more than that, a creator, a man who was not afraid of dreams. I haunted him. First in his dreams, and then quite by confidence, I discovered the two cats of Goya in his imagination. It was there in that painting I saw myself for the first time.
I went straight to work inserting myself in Fernando’s mind as a work of art an expression of my being on one of his canvases. Unfortunately I focused too much on Goya and he mistook me for a real painting of Goya, a realized painting not an image calling to be born.
And so I languished for many years, until a fortunate turn of events compelled Fernando to seek out the Goya image I had created. It was only when he realized that Goya had not in fact painted me that the game was on.
More on that story my cherished reader another time. For now I bid you adieu.