I am often amused to design our Earth as a huge pot that is caps rising in the morning with a cover of blue sky. When the sun appears, it begins to heat up, boiling, water vapor in turmoil. Dusk arrived, boiling falls, the sun goes down, then the lid is removed to make room for the night, radiation, to calm, to rise.
The world of men, linked to its mother nature, follows the same cycle, which begins soon crack of her pussy SUIT against time, racing wildly after time, always behind the times, anxiety despérée lost time, agitation, trepidation, quest for power, money, love, seeking to have so little in search of self and sense!
is the evening the dazzling light vanished, flake off society, the quest for meaning that embraces, that the soul can finally try to rise, getting lost in the infinite sky, in the giddiness of a starry sky, conscience awake, lucid mockery of its existence.
Prisoner of our body, we must then laugh, laugh discharge of our human constraints, drop the mask, just enjoy the chance to live here, live the present moment.
My God .... And if the night did not come back!
Night dizzying and frightening for both of us. Then the man was invented the day instead of night, the lid shut on him artificial light of our cities, drowning his soul in some illusory derivatives. He muffled noise, fearing the sound of silence too!
Only sleep still leaves room for dreams, so unconscious, consciousness of dreams is now choked.
by 78 degrees north, light in summer never ends. The subterfuge of men beaten by that of nature, a location that turns day and night in two single cycle of 6 months. No more starry skies, the infinite sky, daydreaming under the Milky Way. Instead it remains a horizon of choice for our soul, provided it manages to slip into the sea horizon infinity, to run the snowy peaks neighbors to sneak along the fjords, crossing the ice front, back then the huge frozen rivers, into the unknown on these lands at risk in our society irresponsible, kingdom of the polar bear who has had so much to tell of his ice cold, the quizzical look of his present, worried about his future.
Revolt brewing in itself sad fact of our helpless condition of individual overpower our community as to both ingenious in its evolution, that genius of its destruction. So
still dream! Christian Bobin you remember, those few words that tell so imperative that the imaginary
"You know nothing better to do in your life that look which goes to infinity, delivered from his same. There is a beauty that is only reached there in that great intelligence given to the mind by the time empty and the sky clear "
0 comments:
Post a Comment