Recognizing the little prince. A very personal analysis

The first time I read it, I was 10 and I have to admit I found it a ridiculous book, mainly because I did not understand what it was really about. I got lost in the story and was not able to grasp the essence of the thing. Later, when I was 14, I had to read it for school. I remember I enjoyed reading it quite a lot because I was curious about its "hidden" meaning. Still it seemed abstract and somehow biblical in the sense that it talks about stuff that you do know but because you've been taught to. I happened to read it for my French class that same year, and again some years later. I recently went through it again and found it to be one of the deepest, yet most simple books I've read. I thought it would be nice to write about one of my favourite books in my blog.

What I like the most about "The Little Prince" is the tenderness of how it is written. I have to admit I know very little about Antoine de Saint-Exupery and his other work, other than the fact that he was an aviator and that he did find himself in the situation of surviving a plane crash in the Sahara desert (I like to think he survived in order to write this book). Yet I do know for a fact that he had to be a very sensitive and open man to destille all these insights into such beautiful words. At some points in the book I can't help but feeling excited and emotional.

For me, "The Little Prince" is about everything seen through the eyes of child, and the eyes of nature. It deals mainly with love, with innocence, and with "Really seeing" the world as a fresh start everytime. It also talks about a goal-driven society, and how meaning deviated and souless the essential things become once they receive a price tag or a purpose.

"Grown-ups love figures. When you tell them that you have made a new friend, they never ask you any questions about essentail matters. They never say to you, “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies?” Instead, they demand: “How old is he? How many brothers has he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make?” Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him."

 "The Little Prince" somehow manages to simply state it all. What I also find surprising is the fact that what is written in this apparently irrelevant children's book, is also written in very different words in the core texts of civilization.  Christianism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, and I am sure  many other religions, they all tell us one way or another that “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

The character of the Little Prince represents the inner boy, the innocent, forgotten heart in each of us. That playful soul who really plays the game not really caring about winning or following the rules. That part of us who knows institutions are necessary but flawed in nature. He is the kid who knows that the real thing is different from the human constructed walls and rules which we need in order to live, but not live suffocated by them. Do you recognize him in you? 

These are my favourite parts of the book which I dared to comment. I would also love to hear your comments (which you can post, and I will appreciate).

"All men have the stars," he answered, "but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travellers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems. For my businessman they were wealth. But all the stars are silent. You--you alone--will have the stars as no one else has them--"

 The stars are just stars, and they do what they are best at: being stars. For some, stars are a mean to get something, but unless they really see the stars for what they are (being perfect stars), they will never enjoy them fully.

“Only the children know what they are looking for,” said the little prince. “They waste their time over a rag doll and it becomes very important to them; and if anybody takes it away from them, they cry…”
“They are lucky,” the switchman said.

 Only through the innocent eyes, will you be able to appreciate what you really want, what you really are, in the same way an apparently useless rag doll can mean a world of new opportunities for a little girl and how so little can make them happy.

“Well, I must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. It seems that they are very beautiful.”

Dare to love, dare to surrender to life. The really good stuff requires a little bit of personal sacrifice. If you want to see the butterflies, you will maybe have to raise the caterpillars. Loving means also going through deep pain. The joy of living also involves to some point the fear of death.

"To forget a friend is sad. Not every one has had a friend. And if I forget him, I may become like the grown-ups who are no longer interested in anything but figures…"

Forgetting this playful you will only take you into the gray lifestyle of pursuing figures, of only surviving rather than living. Do you still remember your childhood friends? Do you still remember about the things you talked about? Your concerns? Do you still remember yourself back then and how you saw life?

“You are beautiful, but you are empty,” he went on. “One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me.”

There are many roses, many puppies, many kitties, and many people in the world. It is only your rose which plays the right keys in you, it is your dog which fills you with tenderness once he jumps at you once you are home, it is the kind word of your friends which comforts you or the gentle kiss of your lover which lightens up your day. A rose becomes your rose once you are able to really see it for what it is.

“To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…”

“If you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life.”

“You have hair like the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…”

Once you really see someone, once you make the rose yours, you are changed forever, you see your rose everywhere, and everything will remind you of it... Could this be what they call true love?
This is probably one of the best and most tender parts of the book. Before really seeing, everything seems like the school of fish in "Finding Nemo" who point the way to P. Sherman, Wallaby Way, Sydney. Later, you are able to see each fish for itself, the rose for itself, the man for himself.

Wait for a time, exactly under the star. Then, if a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses to answer questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen, please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back.

Will you let me know?? :)

Smaller and bigger boxes.

One day I woke up inside a box. It was an enormous, yet standard carboard box. I don't want you to think this was some sort of Kafkian experience in which the box was empty and there was no way out, no... it was completely the contrary, inside that box I had all the comforts of my room, it was actually my room, but made of cardboard.

In all my confusion, I approached to the door which was just a cut in the weak wall exactly at the same place where the door in my room would be. Outside the box, I found myself in another box. Confusion became curiosity. Where was I? What was happening? I tried to find the way out of the box only to find out that I was again in another box which contained, not only the box where I had come from, but many other boxes. This one was way bigger box, other people walked in it, I knew most of them: people from work, family and friends, others were people I had seen before but I did not know personally.

I treked around the box, I could enter to most of the other boxes, and inside those boxes there was nothing but many other boxes. To some of the other boxes I was not granted any access on the grounds of not complying with the basic access rules. While many others were able to enter, I was rudely driven away of the messy cut carton entrance -- it was "them, and I".

As the morning went by, I grew bored of the box, I wanted to get out of that place, I was starting to get claustrophobic, and I was craving some fresh air. I have to admit I was naively expecting to escape into open air upon leaving the box, but to my dismay, I left one box to be in a bigger box with the same attributes as the previous box. I really did not know most of the people here, the only thing we shared in common was that we all spoke Mexican Spanish. Again here, I was allowed into some boxes, and restricted to go into other boxes... us and them, them and I, you and I, but never Us. Even if we were all inside a big box, even if we were all Mexican, we were split appart in groups. If you know the Venn-Euler diagrams in mathematics, you know what I am talking about.

I started relating with the people of the boxes I was allowed into, we were friends, they gave me a sense of security, of belonging, of being, but then it was too much, and I wanted to see the sun, to hear the birds, to see the blue sky or the rainy clouds. The next box I was in was huge, I could hear English, Portuguese, French, German, Chinese, Japanese, and some other unintelligible languages, people coming in and out of boxes, to get into some boxes I had to show documents which showed all about me, at some other boxes I had to produce evidence that I was not planning to stay, something like a visa. The men at the entrance of some boxes pointed their weapons to my head making clear that they would rather kill me before letting me in. Mexicans hung out with Mexicans, Brazilians with Brazilians, and even if the Dutch talked to the Spaniards, and the Spaniards went out with the Japanese who liked to talk to the Cuban, there was always that sense of separateness, they were "the others", they were not us.

I felt a member of the Mexican box, and I prefered to be with the Mexican, we understood each other.  I then realized this was a false sense of security. Inside my the Mexican box we were split, and inside each box there were other "others". Outside this box, there were other animals, dogs, cats, cows, lions, sharks, turtles, and birds among many others. Dogs and cats were allowed into our box, but rats were not, and we were scared to go into the shark's box, and still there was no glimpse of the sun, and then I thought -- would there be a day when I will get to see the sky? Are this boxes really necessary? Do we need fierce aliens with aweful weapons to come and attack our earth in order to feel as the same kind?

Those Eyes

There are many types of eyes. Not only do they differ in color, but they also vary in size and shape: black eyes, green eyes, big brown eyes, asian dark eyes, small blue eyes and even Liz Taylor's eyes. Other very important traits that can be found in eyes are their shining, and their depth.

Everytime I go out, I find myself among a parade of eyes: a myriad of eyes come and go, some look away, some stare sternly, most of them just carry on with their day, and very few of them are the ones who really dare to see. Yes, only a small number of shiny and deep eyes dare to look, and this time I could not see them. How could I miss that? I just turned my back at such a display! Was I too busy with something else or was it too much for me to handle? I did look away, turning my numb eyes into the ethereal space of the same.
A myriad of eyes, and only a few dare to really see, only a few of them are innocent and prepared to understand, to receive, to absorb, and to give in abundance. The rest, like mine, just look, perouse, watch, and search. These are surviving eyes, dynamic eyes, pursuing eyes, wanting eyes, achieving eyes, the eyes of desire. They come in any color, size and shape, but they lack shine and depth. But not those eyes, those deep and bright eyes dare to be and that's all they do. Those eyes do not color the world, and do not take the shape of the circumstances.

One day I decide to explore the world with those eyes, and find out how difficult it is, how those eyes are not something I can place over my face, those eyes are perenneal and are not like the other eyes. I can do many things with the other eyes, I can choose not to show them, to look away, or to look down when I am ashamed. If threatened I can even turn my body to hide them. But I already told you that those eyes just are, and that is all they do. Then I think, I think how to get those eyes, I want them so much. I keep thinking, but nothing comes to my mind. My longing becomes an obsession, and I want to convince the world I got those eyes. I judge those other eyes, I despise them, they are so simple, they lack any substance. I keep wanting, but I still don't get what I look for, I grow in dispair and throw a tantrum. How come I don't have those eyes?

Then, any given day, I will wake up with my same eyes. I will not have needed to do anything or change anything. I will realize that those eyes have been there all along, and are just the same eyes, and that the only difference is that those eyes will be seeing from the heart rather than from the gut. These eyes will be thirsty of contact beyond the physical, they will be inviting eyes, welcoming eyes, happy eyes, eyes that dare to just be and need not do anything else. The world will look like a new place, the same way it looked when I had glimpses of happiness, and everyone will be a new chance of seeing myself, a mirror, a reflection that will change me.

Finally, these eyes will find you, and will recognize those eyes in yours, and maybe you will look away, maybe you will feel overwhealmed, but that will be OK too, because seeing your eyes, those eyes, is more than enough for me.