Alone and with you
Reality is a subtle construction of our senses. Different joys, different wounds, a swarm of interpretations summarizing our curricula.
We all dream a little of the same fables. What we perceive by our senses for thousands of years will have ended up settling in a conception of the reality which has difficulty to understand the new algorithms.
The world, once again, is changing before our eyes. In the past, bushes spoke and dictated commands, then the Earth broke free from its flat terrain. Later, our telescopes, microscopes and equations mixed everything up again. The universe is grand, the infinitely small is indeed infinite, the order of things is in everything. What is going on around the billions of stars that make up our own galaxy would be similar to what is fomenting through the gigantism of other swarms of phenomena. Everything below is like everything above and vice versa. The dance becomes both hellish and tragically beautiful.
No wonder then that we are tempted to judge history for what it never was. Our gaze has changed and our past wanderings are suddenly transformed into unforgivable venality. We would like to remake the world with the tired bifocals of our senses as if we did not take the time – do we really want to? – to understand the new squaring of the universe, as if the present of our blinded eyes could not be coloured with ultraviolet vibrations.
I am lost, it seems to me, immobilized by so many possibilities. I want so much to join the bliss of the present moment, to stick to you, body and foreign soul, as if there were only answer in the questions that I could ask you in contact with your body.
It is indeed a dream, in me, in us, whose borders vibrate with the passage of the beings we encounter. It is all about original ritornellos that do not share the same orchestra and audience of a temporal theatre, redundant nonetheless, that it would be possible, one says now, to exceed, to overtake. That to sing, to magnify the beauty, the ugliness of what we experiment, to crack our shells and to understand otherwise the nature of what seems to be the height of the truth.
I am both happy and sad alone. I am anxious to have only waxed wings on the surface. And if I prayed to Shiva, would I have a better chance of tasting the honey of the eternal? And if I were silent, would I have easier access to the door of the stars?
Om Namah Shivaya. Is there a better prayer for modern times? Am I the one to discover it or to invent it?
