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    On the Morphean Chair
    On the Morphean Chair
    On the Morphean Chair
    Ebook151 pages2 hours

    On the Morphean Chair

    By Alan Tenenbaum W.

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    About this ebook

    According to Greek mythology, Morpheus is the god of dreams, foremost of the Oneiroi, who was begotten by Hypnos (sleep) and Nix (night). Morpheus is the brother of Thanatos (death), and of the dark winged Phobetor, the personification of nightmares.

    Thanatos prepares the way for the entrance of his brother Morpheus with the death of a way of life, the life of an ordinary man who enjoys “walrusing.”

    This isn’t a fantastic tale, nor is it science fiction or mythology. It’s not the story of an accident, nor is it a motivational book. It’s the true story of a man who in one very real moment is ripped out of a very pleasurable chair and dropped into Morpheus’s chair. It’s a chair where the “real me” struggles, branches off, and is converted into “another me” which makes room for Morpheus to come in, with his wings, to transport him to a better reality.

    But when the quadriplegic awakens, Phobetor is the one who is present in his nightmares. This agonizing account of quadriplegia is narrated with simple vocabulary at once youthful and playful inviting us to keep reading; at other times narrated like a professional led by the medical terms that situate us in the conflict.

    The work is a successful interplay between the imagination, dreams and reality where the creation of words, sensuality, eroticism, and of course the dream world are always present.

    The chapter titles compel the reader to return to them upon reaching the end and merge them into the action forcing the reader to reflect by which feelings of solidarity with the protagonist emerge. These feelings of solidarity are gradually transformed into feelings of admiration as we see him rise up from Morpheus’ Chair to narrate this journey from man to superman that he shares with us in this life lesson.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAlan Tenenbaum W.
    Release dateSep 27, 2018
    ISBN9780463423325
    On the Morphean Chair
    Author

    Alan Tenenbaum W.

    (below, in English)Alan Tenenbaum nació en la Ciudad de Guatemala en la tarde del 22 de abril de 1982. Desde muy temprana edad, sus tres pasiones han sido la música, los deportes y viajar, sumergiéndose en las distintas culturas para aprender de la vida. Al terminar sus estudios secundarios, empacó su mochila y se dirigió a Israel, donde vivió en un kibutz durante seis meses, bajando pencas de banano de las palmeras y conviviendo con gente de todo el mundo.Tuvo la grandiosa oportunidad de vivir cuatro años en la hermosa ciudad de Boulder, donde saco su título en Mercadeo de la Universidad de Colorado. Al graduarse regresó a su país natal donde trabajó por años en la industria de la publicidad y el mercadeo.Fue en otra tarde, pero esta vez la del 21 de junio del 2008, en que Alan Tenenbaum volvió a nacer. Un misterioso clavado a una piscina lo dejó inconsciente debajo del agua. Afortunadamente, sus familiares y amigos que lo acompañaban lograron percatarse de la situación y lo sacaron justo a tiempo, antes que se ahogara. Sin embargo, los restos de dos de sus cervicales impactaron su médula, dejándolo cuadripléjico a sus veintiséis años.Siguieron unos años muy difíciles, tanto para él como para su familia y amigos, pero con actitud positiva, paciencia y mucho trabajo, lograron acostumbrarse a esa nueva vida. Alan Tenenbaum sigue luchando día a día por buscar independencia y regresar a hacer todo lo que le apasiona.A raíz de unas notas que escribió en Facebook, muchos le sugirieron escribir un libro, cosa que jamás le había pasado por la mente. Una noche de insomnio surgió una idea que se convirtió en su primer libro, En la Silla de Morfeo.Su misión es compartir su historia y lecciones de vida, por medio de su libro y charlas motivacionales, con el objetivo de inspirar y tocar la mayor cantidad de vidas posibles.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Alan Tenenbaum W. was born in Guatemala City on the afternoon of Earth Day of 1982. From a very early age, his three greatest passions have been music, sports and traveling, submerging into different cultures to learn about life. When he graduated from High School, he packed up a backpack and went to Israel, where he lived in a kibbutz for six months picking banana bunches from palm trees and mingling with people from all over the World.He had the great opportunity of living in the beautiful city of Boulder for four years, where he got his Marketing degree from the University of Colorado. After graduation, he went back to his home country where he worked for years in advertising and marketing.It was another afternoon, on June 21st of 2008, in which Alan was born again. A mysterious dive into a pool left him unconscious under water. Fortunately, friends and relatives who were with him that day realized what happened and pulled him out on time before drowning. Nevertheless, a small piece of his shattered cervical bones bruised his spinal chord, leaving Alan a quadriplegic when he was only 26 years old.Difficult years followed this incident for Alan, his family and friends. But with a positive attitude, patience and hard work, they managed to adapt to his new life. Alan Tenenbaum W. struggles day-by-day seeking more independence and to keep on doing what he’s passionate for.From a note he published on Facebook, many suggested Alan to write a book... something he would’ve never thought about! During a night with insomnia, he had a great idea, which lead to his first novel: On the Morphean Chair. His mission in life is to share his story and life lessons through his book and conferences, with the objective of inspiring and helping as many as possible to see life with a positive attitude.

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      Book preview

      On the Morphean Chair - Alan Tenenbaum W.

      ON THE MORPHEAN CHAIR

      by Alan Tenenbaum W.

      Copyright 2018 Alan Tenenbaum W.

      Smashwords Edition

      Translated from Spanish by Orly Michaeli

      Edited by Maureen Maher

      Cover by Javier Escobar Paniagua

      Title illustrations handmade by Alan Tenenbaum W.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

      Thanks!

      Forward

      1…Walrusing

      2…Superman

      3…Anesthesia

      4…Surprise

      5…Hands

      6…Help

      7…Applause

      8…The Basement

      9…The Trip

      10…Future

      11…Stimulation

      12…Love

      13…Present

      Pictures

      About the Author

      Contact the Author

      To my Flapis,

      my parents

      and my brothers.

      Thanks!

      Thank you so much to my friends who helped me with the starter.

      So thankful with everyone who held the steering wheel and gave me direction.

      Thanks to all who filled me up with gasoline.

      And to everyone else, thank you, thank you, thank you for keeping my radio on with great music!

      Ready to travel around the World!

      Forward

      There’s a book we read in second grade, and even though its title has long left my memory, its message stayed with me forever. The story was about a little girl, let’s call her Marta, and how Marta loved painting because it allowed her to put on paper all the impossible things she dreamt up. The pages were filled with drawings that Marta had made, like flying donkeys in a starry sky; forest flowers eating cake and laughing at a birthday party; Marta with more arms than an octopus.

      The book made me decide that I wanted to be like Marta — she, armed with her paintbrush, and me, with my pen, creating worlds through our art.

      Fast forward to about two decades later, when my brother’s best friend and a beloved member of our community, Alan Tenenbaum, told me he was writing a book. We sat at his apartment, my legs tucked under me on his leather couch and Alan at his desk, chatting through our writing habits and techniques. Would you take a look at this for me?

      I never imagined that Alan’s memoir about his accident would take me back to Marta’s dream world. The moments of that time in his life, from my small and distant vantage point, were less like flying donkeys and more like devastating nightmares. I remember standing at the hospital, amidst hundreds of Alan’s family members and friends, waiting anxiously for him to come out of surgery. I remembered watching my brother, in this memoir played by the character Joshua, downloading tons of movies to take to Alan’s hospital bed. I remember worrying over how to say hi to Alan when I was seeing him for the first time in his chair, and how quickly he disarmed me with his ease, wrapping me in a big hug.

      But instead of being filled with the trials of changing his life after his accident, the pages of Alan’s book made me feel like I was back in the swirling illustrations of Marta’s world. There were seductive mermaids, tantalizing and teasing. There were eerie wall hangings that hypnotized viewers, giant-headed aliens that performed surgeries, dominatrix nurses who threatened to torture.

      He wove a world in which dreams are easily mistaken for reality, and in which reality is escaped through soaring imagination. And, somehow paradoxically, it is those dreams that Alan threaded throughout his story that make his reality all the more tangible, resonant, real. It takes a dream of hands fluttering over a keyboard, a thundering hall with patients dancing Hava Nagila, to feel the pain of not being able to wriggle your own fingers.

      Translating Alan’s book, trying to absorb his voice as my own, made me realize that it’s not just his art that makes him like Marta, but it’s also his life. He is an expert creator. Handed a new life when he was well into his own, reborn from a swimming pool on a Guatemalan beach house into a new body, Alan found the strength to build anew. He constructed new ways of allowing his body to do the things it had been doing for decades — eating, scratching, showing affection. He formed a professional life that’s far outgrown the pages of this book. He sculpted a love story out of his physical therapy that at once fully embraces and surpasses any of his physical limitations.

      When most of us can only dream of creating worlds in our art, Alan has managed to do it where it counts the most. His brightness and brilliance are his paintbrushes, and his life, a vibrant masterpiece transcending even our most ambitious painting or dreams.

      - Orly Michaeli

      Life is always much sweeter at the beach. A simple statement, but true. Day and night, the mood at the shore is magical. Even when the sky is completely covered by clouds, presenting the prelude to one of the best light shows on the planet. And it’s a free spectacle, for that matter! Watching a thunderstorm from beginning to end is dazzling. White zigzags branded for a few seconds in the darkness and forever in my mind.

      One of the most pleasant things life has to offer, and one which I enjoy the most, is spending hours sprawled out on the sand and wading in the shallow waves. An act that I’ve christened as walrusing because it is so similar to what those creatures, so ugly but knowledgeable about life’s pleasures, do all day. When the sun crowns the sky with rays, you can find me on the beachside, walrusing, like I was on that hot day in June, when the Russians had eliminated the Dutch from the Eurocup. The Dutch had ended the game lying on their backs, much like I was, except they were on the grass, mourning their unexpected elimination from the championship. I had also been sad about their loss while watching the game, but now, I was happily trying to assign a shape to the only cloud in the sky. It looks like a scorpion, I thought to myself.

      This is the life! said my brother, who also looked like a lounging walrus in sunglasses, a few feet away from me.

      You just spit! I pretended to wipe my face with my hand, and when he looked at me, confused, I added Spit the truth, I mean!

      We had been there for a couple of hours, enjoying the sand, sun, surf, and sky. Everything that’s free and yet most valuable. The sun was rowdy, arrogant, boasting its power, but we had the salt water on our side, and each wave was caressing our feet, knees, and sometimes even our backs. The breeze was also our ally, refreshing our sunburnt bodies and, along with the water, protecting us from the unbearable heat.

      Before dashing out the door, we heard our mom’s familiar words, the ones she always adds when she sees us heading to the beach.

      Watch out for the sun! She yelled at us, Don’t get sunburned!

      And be careful in the ocean, added my dad, the Pacific Ocean demands our respect.

      Despite their warning, here we were, my brother and I, in the waves and under the sun. But we aren’t wild walruses or rebellious sons. We were swimming only up to where we felt safe, and we had smeared on a heavy coat of SPF 30 sunblock; the ideal amount to protect ourselves and still get a bit of a tan, since we looked like a couple of beached albino walruses from the Laptev Sea.

      How long have we been out here? asked my brother.

      Everyone else was still sleeping when we left the chalet since we’d stayed up late having another one of those great parties, right by the pool and rancho. Those ranchos…by the end of the night you can’t help but admire them from your swaying hammock. They’re ingeniously built, always keeping out the rain!

      We’ve been here for while, I answered, based on the redness of my arms and chest. But I could still stay out for hours.

      Me too, he said, sighing happily.

      I looked for the lone cloud in the sky. It had been blown to the right, and now it looked like a mermaid. A thin mermaid, with large breasts and short hair. I felt like swimming among the unruly waves again, but I was too relaxed over that wet volcanic sand that had formed the perfect mold around my imperfect body. The whole situation made me want to close my eyes, and all the sounds around me were accentuated. I felt like the waves were crashing right next to us. Almost on top of us. I could hear how the water was sucked back into the sea, and part of it stayed behind, crackling as it trickled over the sand. Hearing a group of seagulls flying overhead, I imagined them making different shapes. Instead of making a V, they made two perpendicular lines, creating an L shape. Slowly, each line separated and brought its two ends together, making two circles side by side. Two Os. After a few seconds, I heard their squawking, and in my mind I saw how they lined themselves up to make a letter K.

      El, double O, kay. Look. Look! I obeyed the acrobatic birds flying in my imagination, and as soon as I opened my eyes, I realized that the cloud mermaid had longer hair and larger breasts. Before blinking I saw her flap her tail and concluded that

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