I’m drifting on the shore of unknown universes. I have no clue of the meaning of time. Past and future feel like now. Now feel like forever. Though, my body is still imbued with past educational patterns. Those who tell you to become, those who scare you with safety, those shaping your reflection in the mirror.
~I’m no one. This is the ultimate goal.
I’m fighting with forests of genealogical burden. Fears and wounds given as heritage to newborn children. I want to be a poet. Metallic screaming of cities either kill or nourish the vocation. I’m drifting. I’m getting lost. That is the point. There is no point.
The world is contained in the candle’s flame. The agony of thousands is carried by faraway winds. They blow and light my candle.
But I feel separated. Centuries of rational extremism created this fake feeling of being in control – of being self-sufficient.
Idling through the afire streets of Antananarivo – dozens of eyes capturing mines. They were pointing at the gap. This very gap that makes me an affluent.
~ Behind any use of power over another the ultimate assumption remains: « I feed on your energy”, Franck told me.
I was longing for healing.
And here she is. Beautiful. As the moon that rises in the event of a midnight prayer. Her sparkling dark eyes were fixed on the horizon. In an alpine castle surrounded by flying creatures, she sat like an eastern goddess. Her brown mane gave majesty to silence. And she whispered: there is no other. We are.
~This is the ultimate truth. There is no truth.
NH