Posts Tagged ‘lifejourney’

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Mute #JesuisCharlie

22 janvier 2015

je-suis-charlieEveryday’s routine, it goes on…

Time hasn’t stopped. Nothing’s changed and yet everything is different.

It’s the same winter cold hurting your hands and preventing the blood to flow, the same people tapping their feet in the bleak morning, waiting for the train to pull up, trying to wake up, trying to figure out reality from their dreams, the same clock telling you to get up, you sleep walk through the routine, you close your eyes under the water beating down your neck, your back, your face, you stand in front of your closet trying to figure out what to wear, cursing yourself for not planning ahead, yesterday you should have thought about tomorrow. You should have known. Someone should have known.

You’re not hungry. You never are before you leave but now your stomach hurts.

Nothing seems real anymore, everything hurts, even more than usual, if you wake up the numbness will stop and it can’t, how can you go on, how can you accept the routine, the minutes, the days, how can life go on… If you wake up you will start feeling and anger will rush in, with frustration and the deafening noise of things left unsaid.

Please tell me… how to look down in my child’s innocent eyes and explain.

Something happened.

You can’t wrap up your mind around it.

Somewhere in your head, there’s a young girl screaming that this isn’t right. If someone came into your home, if someone pushed the door and walked and spread terror, what then, how would you go on… You often get angry when your kids don’t lock the door, they feel so safe and confident, probably thanks to you, they are very curious and unafraid, you and your inner barriers admire that in them. Look, all these people dead Maman, look at those mad men, why Maman, can’t they take a joke? Poor them then. The adults are so intense and weird. It’s a pretty harsh way to disagree over a bad joke.

They bend their head solemnly; somehow they got it quicker than you.

This is what it feels like. This is what happened

Someone walked into your home and killed people you had never met, even though you knew all their names and faces, even thought you had read their work, laughed at some of their jokes and frowned over others. Some one walked over your soul and reminded you that nothing is forever, they showed you how hard it is to remain true to freedom, how much courage it takes to unabashly laugh in spite of or because of how absurd our world is.

You who won’t speak, you who knows so well how to love and embrace the present, today you can’t cry over what is nor over what will never be. You are mourning in silence, knowing things must change but not quite sure where to start.

They had so much joy and irony in them, still, they had so much to do, to draw, to speak of.

They have been robbed of a future and you feel like you have been robbed too, that something that wasn’t quite yours but that you felt you could claim as yours was ripped away.

Today’s routine is about whys an why nots, it’s about never knowing when you will be home, where exactly will people be so afraid that they will call in a bomb scare, the threat is unreal and only exists in themselves, to you everyone is a potential companion whether is be for 5 minutes or a lifetime, today is about trains going backwards and people trapped and scared, today is about walking endless hallways and finding a way home… and when you forget your phone, you are truly even more peacefully alone than usual.

Life will go on. People will heal, they will forget, blindness is so much more comfortable. There will only be a few, like you, waking up in the middle of the night to wonder and cry for the lost ones and the darkness in the ennemy’s souls, for, so you think, they must have endured hell on earth to hate so much that the only answer would be to walk into someone else’s home, cross the sacred threshold and shed blood. There is no redemption, there is no going back and you have no answer and so, in your own innocent loneliness, all you can do is walk the hallways in the cold and find your way home to hold your children.

And when you arrive, they will look at you and say:

– They are not lost, they are dicks.

And they will be right.

 

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Battement d’une larme au sein d’un coeur fêlé

18 décembre 2014

Il faut recommencer, réapprendre, les doigts qui se délient, les espoirs qui renaissent, le corps secoué par la mort et réveillé à nouveau vers la vie, réconcilié de sa souffrance quotidienne tandis que l’oxygène se fraye en force des étranglements quotidiens et explose les poumons, le cœur, les cernes, l’âme déployée en attente d’infini, il faut oser, croire, avancer, se libérer de ses propres barrières et donc oser croire, surtout, en soi, en l’impossible, en la force de la lumière sortant de l’ombre, en la possibilité d’un lendemain ; il faut fouette cocher, il faut serrer le mors et s’élancer, s’autoriser des pas en étourdissements et en étonnements d’être encore là, ici, le chemin existe toujours devant, le brouillard des jours, des mois et des années se perce enfin des rayons chauds d’un astre bienveillant et immense, alors que les larmes des disparus n’ont pas encore séché et que la terre fraîche reste à creuser ; il faut se souvenir gravement et tendrement des jours passés, des pas côtes à côtes le long de la rive, entourés de bleu et de vent humide – chérir ce qui fut et ne pourrait être – il faut croire qu’on peut oser s’élancer et s’autoriser un bonheur en peine des absents avec au cœur un feu brûlant de les avoir connus, cette sagesse solennelle caressée d’une brise en sourire léger de savoir que sans eux nous ne serions qu’une ombre, qu’ils nous ont révélé à la lumière, nous ont donné chair et résonance, nous ont positivement marqué au fer au point que chaque palpitation manque de défaillir en vertige de leur départ et que nos mains se rattrapent et nous raccrochent au présent sans parvenir à combler les manques…

Tournoie autour de nous la joie permanente dont ils ont imprégné nos êtres, même s’ils nous ont quittés et que leurs noms résonnent au dessus des vagues d’une mer constante et imprévisible : quel que soit leur nom, quel que soit leur âge, quel que soit le temps dont ils ont fait grâce à la terre, quel que soit l’apaisement ou la violence de leur arrachement, nos cœurs sont des rescapés, des survivants, agenouillés et en faille sur le sable salé, debout face à une falaise hurlante à invoquer le ciel, chaque respiration dépouillée de leur présence, de la certitude qu’il existe une cohérence, une raison, chaque apport d’oxygène nous rappelle à l’humilité face à l’Immense et nous enveloppe du sentiment béni d’avoir frôlé l’indicible et d‘avoir été aussi entièrement Aimé.

Il n’y a pas de mots, il n’y a pas d’explication, les mesures de la faille en nous n’a pas d’importance, nous avons été aimé, et cet amour ne saurait disparaître quelles que soient les circonstances.

Nous avons le droit de pleurer, d’être en colère et de ne vouloir tolérer les règles d’un jeu pipé à l’issue inéluctable – nous sommes dans l’arène particulière de notre propre Hunger Game, chaque seconde éloigne notre curseur du début pour le rapprocher de la fin et nous ne connaissons pas la distance à parcourir… et pourtant, et pourtant, nous continuons, nous vivons, nous aimons, chaque battement de cœur est souffrance et rappel, chaque regard ou sourire en célébration d’un instant arrêté, d’un chant éblouissant apaisant nos blessures, glissant le long de nos cicatrices pour soutenir les jours à venir car il faut recommencer, il faut s’élancer librement vers l’espoir de la vie, forts d’une armée de souvenirs bardés d’amour et de lumière, il faut oser vouloir tout, maintenant, avant que la marée ne remue le sable et n’efface tout.

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Sitting on a bench, looking at the sky

22 juin 2011
Photo

It’s been such a long forth week… You sit on the bench, too tired to go on, your body resting on the cold green wood, you close your eyes long enough to relax and at last you breathe. You are lost where you should be, it’s taken so long – your whole life – that a few more minutes or days even won’t matter.

It is all right

Maybe you’re going to stay there for a little while, in this foreign silent street you never knew existed. Just for a little while, just long enough to look up at the sky and dream with the clouds. When you were little, you thought they were made with sugar and that living there would be so exciting. To look down on the world, to travel from North to South as carefree as the wind…

The sky today is beautiful; maybe you could lie down and truly look at it. T'is the middle of the day and the street is empty, no one would see you – a man as old as you looking up at nothing, how silly. It is achingly whole and refuses to choose between the deep blue partly hiding behind white growing clouds. Far from spreading darkness, they are infusing light throughout and it is an odd breathtaking sight. And yet you breathe and it is your heart that’s requiring repairs.

For years your heart bled for a train you never took, everyday for eleven months you didn’t take that train, over and over, and when you looked back you had regrets and realized this was worse than feeling remorse.

One day, who knows why, you did stop overthinking and followed your instincts, but it was too late. Her patience had worn thin, she was gone. There was no one waiting for you at the end of your journey. Perhaps she didn’t love you enough, you thought bitterly, but you knew you were wrong.

Since then, never again, you forgot to be afraid and you lived. You took risks and you won, you travelled from North to South as carefree as the wind, you never looked back and nevermore had regrets, and even forgot about remorse. Of course what you built lacked stability, how could you on thin air, and what was the point. There was an eventual wife, children, women on the side, some thriving business ventures you sold when you grew restless as you always do.

Until two weeks ago and an envelope in the mail.

It looked as all mail does, uninteresting, and yet after reading it you didn’t know whether to feel drowned or saved. You learned of this street you never knew existed, you learned of silent words that had never reached you. There is hope you think, decisions to be made. You have a few days before you, enough time to think, to take the time. You probably already have the answers – for when did you not?

You look at the sky again… The wind is changing.

At last you get up and you walk away: you will come back tomorrow.

Maybe.

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Fire in the Sky

27 novembre 2010

The sky is on fire. Its flames extend beyond clouds and buildings and hits your face which you've instinctly turned towards the window. All this gold on your dark skin and curls, it is beautiful. 

Your eyes closed, your wobbly head resting on the train's door, a quiet smile on your face tilted towards the dying sun, I sit next to you on a folding seat and I envy your peace. 

We cross path often, you and I, we take the same train from Paris to the Eastern suburbs. It is usually late in the day… as the winter crawls upon us, we feel heavier and spent by the time we commute back to our respective towns. We don't always chit-chat, there are days, like today, when we let each other rest in her thoughts and from her day. 

I know that you're a dentist, that you have two twin boys, I know that your days are long, from the time you get up to get them ready for school to the moment when you can rest your feet, you only have so few but precious hours of sleep. I've never heard of any man in your life, I've never asked but from your sad smile I guessed there were some disappointment and tears. 

You always look prim and proper and neat. You have to, you explained once, your clients are already stressed enough as they are. "If I dress as I usually do during the weekend, they'd never let me touch their teeth!". And then you laughted with warmth and amusement and it was as if a new flower had bloomed on the train. 

"This light burning the sky outside, it is so heart wrenchingly superb" you utter suddenly. "You should take a picture". You've learned by now that my twitching hands constantly snap shots of the most useless and sometimes the most amazing things. You open an eye and let out a laugh, for, of course, I have already taken a good dozen pictures with my phone. You take yours out and shoot me. Snap!

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The spring in your steps

4 novembre 2010

Sometime, you think you've reached the end. The end of the road, the end of your will. You don't understand how you go on but you do, because there is no other way, because you won't know of different paths than your own. Because the unthinkable does not exist in your world and values, and so there it is, there is no solution but to walk forward in the darkness.

After all, it is your own road on which you walk through life, or rather, you belong to it, you've lost yourself in its hills, somewhere along the way, bend after bend, obstacle after another, you've shed bits of yourself and can't remember being something else than what you are today. There's been happy moments, shiny memories filled with carefree joy and light, and maybe that's where your energy comes from nowadays.

Most days you feel grey and unseen and unimportant. You're the tallest girl I know, and also the thinnest, yet you feel petite and obese. You're trapped in your life, you're trapped in your body, in your unfulfilling job, in the unseen pain of the everyday details and futilities. 

Every detail is so important and failed. 

You feel invisible, like, no one sees you, no one really needs you even though you're indispensable and so demanded upon that you never seem to have time for yourself. You manage a team of eight in a marketing firm and you can't remember having time on your own, just you and the silence and the wind in the leafs. You'd walk down the river and lie on the grass under an old tree, and you'd watch the sky and the sun through the branches, and you'd listen and be heard. 

How horrifying… To be alone with yourself once more and face the truth of what you think you've become. You've put the bar so high for yourself that you're bound to fail.

Sometime though, you forget that you hate your life and yourself and the choices you've made. You had reasons for them, they were probably sound ones but now that you look back everything seems wrong. Yes, somedays you let go of what you think you should be, your soul takes a break and puts its personal cross aside. For a while your body relaxes, your face becomes appeased and the shadow of a smile that I've sadly become used to gives light to a true laugh. You tilt your head gracefully, (unbeknownst to yourself you are a truly graceful and beautiful person…), your eyes look upon the world with happiness for a short while. It is not easy for you, to be happy, to be carefree.

I see you. From afar I close my eyes and I see your chestnut hair, your grey eyes that always reminded me of a painting of the ocean. There are storms and stories behind your eyes, unspoken tales that even I don't know.

You could never be invisible to me, I could never not need you in my life. And I could never ask anything of you other than what you would want to give me. It's like that. We met in the crib, our mothers had the same nanny, we went to the same schools, the same library and bell-ringing club, we fought over opinions and candy and sometimes dated the same boys. We helped each other with acne cream, college choices, husband decisions and anti-wrinkle cream shopping. You're my kin. I saw you grow up and make choices, I gave you my opinion and sometimes we fought and I gave up, but even I can't quite say when the corners of your mouth took a sad turn.

Strangely enough, I've seen a new spring in your step lately. Something that looks a lot like hope and will. The determination to be who you are and nothing else, as if you were in your car and turned left instead of going on the same old boring road. Your path seems rockier and harder, and yet new and exciting and scary and perhaps fulfilling. 

I think it's called being yourself again. 

You could never be careless but you seem carefree, or at least carefully free… I can't put my finger on it, and it doesn't matter. I think I can trust you to make your own path, I'll worry for sure, I'll wake you up in the middle of the night and ask you silly questions, and, well, maybe next Saturday we could go to the pub and get drunk like old times, and you'll tell me the story behind this new smile haunting your lips.

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bends on the road

27 mars 2010

Bends on the road used to be romantic. They were ideas of fiction you read about in books, exciting aventures that would happen to you when you’d be older.

 

Today, you are older. There is an epipen in your fridge, your husband is hitting the bars after working long hours, your wife’s been cheating on you for 13 years, your mortgage is due and you can’t pay. Today, bends on the roads are harsh, they hit you plain and hard, bends in the roads are painful. There used to be joy, there will still be joy one day, and yes, sometimes great happiness waited for you behind the corner, the birth of your child, a lover’s revelation, the smile of a friend, the recovery of a close one. You know there are as many good things as there are bad things waiting for you as you turn on the road, but today, you have grown weary of life. 

 

You have your own road, in the corner of your mind, it’s a place very real which you haven’t laid eyes on for year. It is small and steep, there are trees and small houses on each side. When people ride it down, they can enjoy watching the sea from uphill, an immense, a dark blue moving mystery.

 

You only rode it once. That’s all it took for a bend on this one road to hit you hard. You broke your skull, you broke your shoulder, your flesh burned on the road. Your ear was slashed and blood tinted the asphalt. You lost consciousness and thought you were gone forever. There was a friend behind you, on her own bike. She caught up with you, ready for a joke, ready to make fun of your clumsiness, look at you, falling like a child and not getting up again. She left her bike on the side of a ditch and saw your body sprawled on the road. That’s all that was left, unconscious limbs and a growing pain that would never leave you. It is still there today, walking life with you and marking the light with it’s shadow.

 

When she saw you, your friend thought you were dead. For days she watched you fight, clinging to an invisible rope that got you back to the light. You came back damaged, you came back bitter and feeling unwhole. You too, for many years, thought that a part of yourself was left there. That life had taken something from you it shouldn’t have. That your hopes had died, slipping away from you with your blood  on that particular day. Through the pain, through the years of rebellion, of tears, of resignation, through the time it took you to grow up, your thoughts took you back to this one road that changed your life.

 

But you never did go back. Until now. 

 

You took the train and walked along the beach until you reached the small town whose name was burned in your mind. You took your time, the wind hissing in your ears, twirling your hair with sand and salt and life. You sat there for a while, watching the sea, taking the light in. Then you turned your back from it and faced the hill. You walked the road slowly. Your mind empty, your senses taking everything in, the smells, the sharp colours, the sense of peace and quiet invading your soul. 

 

Today you know that you were born that day. The person you’ve fought to become, who you are today, wouldn’t exist if not for this bend on the road. You may not be who you were set to become, there is a painful darkness laying within you, but overall you feel blessed. Your life didn’t stop. You carried on. You built yourself an imperfect life, as we all do. Your child almost died today, your husband is an alcoholic, your wife will sleep with anyone but you, your house might be taken away from you. You are pregnant after years trying, you just fell in love for the first time, you made up with your mother, your best friend survived cancer. 

 

You don’t know what is is that is changed in you, you don’t know for sure that anything has changed. You will keep on walking your life with its light and shadows, you will keep on having successes and making mistakes. This road in the countryside looks like any other road, it is meaningless to any one but you. It shouldn’t matter as much, yet you feel there is a slight shift within you, a door opened on peace and a promise of joy. That you will walk towards it remains a choice to be made. That you are there, that you have a choice, that you are free… it is the greatest gift of all.