Passages à l’âme

I look through two openings, a prism of the world. Isolated from myself, uncorrelated, parts of myself appear and disappear, creating the illusion of reality. The inside and the outside. A mask, able to signify the beautiful and the ugly, or the good and the bad. I search in the eyes of the other for my truth. He only sees himself. We are masking each other.

On this road, searching for our differences, the dissociation rips cries from us. From birth we cry to return to the breast of our mothers, a cry from fear of the cold, and of rage which resonates in all languages, for all ages. The cry of helplessness and of anger. Waiting for comfort from a world which vibrates and vacillates. When the echo of my cry reaches me, if I hear it, answering my needs, I take under my wing my own and unique truth, my inner mother, and fly away towards my destiny.

So I will go where my dreams take us, into my memories first to pay homage, then on the search for the shadow which preceded me. I will confide the reality of my dreams, nightmares or promises. To fly on the shoulders of the angel towards necessary voyages.

On this road butting against the question of meaning, I look back, curious about the emptiness which swallows me up. I reassemble the bits and pieces which have made up my life, a patchwork which defined me and of which I am constructed. I draw the map of my path, on which murmur my ghosts. Which silent paths have preceded us? Reconstructing myself piece by piece, I embroider what has been bequeathed to me, what has been transmitted to me and which exceeds me.

Raising my gaze led me to illusion, made me stumble, on my road I ask myself the question of meaning. I look in myself and reunite with my heavenly part.

Going towards the paths of knowledge, putting our feet on those which have preceded us, without believing that they knew better than us, without allowing ourselves to split, to become fragile, joining our souls to those of others, we create the Divine.