overwhelmed...

... sad, frozen, stuck, heavy, lethargic, sticky, abandoned, unloved, fearful... Aaaahhhh!! this is it. fear! At least now I know what's going on within.

I've been there all evening, trying to do something, anything --- without success. I felt something needed to shift, that I should be dancing, painting, do my ironing (it's been there for ages), just do something, do something, "just do it" as I read recently in another blog. But nothing would do.

I cooked and ate without being hungry.
I looked at sofa beds (I need one soon for my flat) on various website knowing perfectly that none would be suitable tonight.
I felt like putting some music on but the flat's never been so silent.
I fancied calling a friend I haven't seen in months but couldn't gather the energy to do so.

Clairon is overwhelming tonight and I could not call Mom around this time. For some reason, it didn't work out... I just wouldn't let go, I "want" to be a victim and receive love that is not coming. Clairon awaits a Love that doesn't exist out there. I await Love from the perfect man, the God, the confident but am unable to retrieve my projections. The man is far away and busy tonight, and Clairette is secretly sending him Love and warm wishes for a night he was looking forward to, for a meeting his heart had been longing for...

Once again Clairon and Clairette struggle and Clairon buries myself because she's too frightened of the good, the beautiful, the gold in the shadow... I think I'd better give Clairette a bit of space before the day's over, to even things out. Maybe Mom will turn up then and maybe the heavy, longing energy weighing on the God out there will lift, letting him free to be a man.

Love and compassion for all the deeply wounded Clairon of this world.

an unusual dance class

It was 34 years before I was introduced to the 5Rhythms ecstatic dance, meditation in movement by Gabrielle Roth (www.gabrielleroth.com) and I've hardly missed a weekly class. Because I love it, for once. But also because it's transformed my life. Because something happens on the dance floor that is difficult to describe with words. Because there are openings and closings, hopes and fears, terrifying anger contained in the safety of the class, terrible sadness of which I fear I won't come out...
But the worst is none of these. No, the worst, to my experience, is when "nothing" happens. No big drama, no ecstasy, no elation, no inflation, no diving, no flying... nothing.

And tonight was one of those nights. I had great expectations because it was full moon, and without being able to see it in Europe, an eclipse... and so I came with an intention. But I soon found myself limited physically by some rare feet pain, tiredness, thigh muscles as hard as rock, and a bad and painful sting or bite under my left ankle but which thought best to venture across half the foot...

I came out quiet, frustrated, sad and maybe even disappointed... (I hate to think that but I reckon it is true...) I became aware of my limitations, both physical and mental, and it just hits me as I write these words that rather than being kind and sending love and support I judged myself for my "failings" and felt resentment and anger.

I am truly sorry. It is now time to make amend with gentleness and nurturing.

Clairon, Clairette et Co...

Aujourd'hui j'ai entendu une voix de plus.
J'ai découvert plusieurs personnes qui m'étaient encore inconnues.
J'ai remarqué ces chaises utilisées que je croyais vides jusque-là.
J'ai souhaité la bienvenue à bord à ces nouveaux visages.

Après Clairon et Clairette, je viens donc d'être présentée à "Mom" (à défaut de mieux)
Mom jusqu'à ce qu'elle me dise son nom.
Ce pourrait être Demeter, mais elle n'est pas.

P. avait quitté les lieux
Mom a grimpé sur la table pour rejoindre Clairon désespérée
Elle l'a pris dans ses bras, l'a embrassée et s'est allongée à ses côtés.
Elle a laissé parler les sanglots.
Elle a accepté les rechutes.
Par sa présence elle a rassuré ce coeur meurtri.
Sans un mot elle a nettoyé ces plaies inondées de terreur.
Elle a pris le temps nécessaire.
Elle avait toute la vie.

Quand elle s'est trouvé prête, Clairon est revenue s'assoir autour de la table
Mom l'a suivie puis s'est éloignée.

P. a pu retrouver sa place
Et s'est senti apprécié pour ce qu'il est :
Un homme avec qualités et défauts
et ses limites d'être humain.
P. est revenu s'installer
Et s'est senti rassuré :
Son rôle a été redéfini
Il ne lui serait plus demandé de jouer celui qu'il n'aime pas
Etre Roi.

The white bison spirit woman

Found in the conclusion of "WE - Understanding the psychology of romantic love" by Robert Johnson is the myth below.


A very long time ago, they say, two scouts were out looking for bison; when they came to the top of a hill and looked north, they saw something coming a long way off and when it came closer they cried out, "it is a woman!" and it was. Then one of the scouts, being foolish, had bad thoughts and spoke them; but the other said: "That is a sacred woman; throw all bad thoughts away."

When she came still closer, they saw that she wore a fine white buckskin dress, that her hair was very long and that she was beautiful. And she knew their thoughts and said in a voice that was like singing: "You do not know me, but if you want to do as you think, you may come." And the foolish one went; but just as he stood before her, there was a white cloud that came and covered them. And the beautiful young woman came out of the cloud, and when it blew away the foolish man was a skeleton covered with worms.

Then the woman spoke to the one who was not foolish: "You shall go home and tell your people that I am coming and that a big teepee shall be built for me in the center of the nation." And the man who was very much afraid, went quickly and told the people , who did at once as they were told; and there around the big teepee they waited for the sacred woman. And after a while she came, very beautiful and singing, and as she went into the teepee this is what she sang:

With visible breath I am walking.
A voice I am sending as I walk.
In a sacred manner I am walking.
With visible tracks I am walking.
In a sacred manner I walk.

And as she sang, there came from her mouth a white cloud that was good to smell. Then she gave something to the chief, and it was a pipe with a bison calf carved on one side to mean the earth that bears and feeds us, and with twelve eagle feathers hanging from the stem to mean the sky and the twelve moons, and these were tied with a grass that never breaks. "Behold!" she said. "With this you shall multiply and be a good nation. Nothing but good shall come from it. Only the hands of the good shall take care of it and the bad shall not even see it." Then she sang again and went out of the teepee; and as the people watched her going, suddenly it was a white bison galloping away and snorting, and soon it was gone.

This they tell, and whether it happened so or not I do not know; but if you think about it, you can see that it is true. (Black Elk, in Neihardt, Black Elk Speaks, pp. 3-4)

summer day?

The forecasters had predicted it and here it is!!! The sun I'm talking about!!!
After a really terrible summer, we're supposed to have a nice (warm?) bank holiday weekend.
And so I'm off to the Park!

close to completion

I got it.
It's thick.
It's heavy both in weight and in reading.
And it's not quite complete yet.



It's the report from my solicitors regarding the purchase of "my" flat.

It's getting real...
Am I excited? Yes
Am I scared? Yes
Am I impatient? Yes I think so

gifts of the storm

there's a lot of pushing and shuffling tonight
there's a storm within my heart and it is felt as far as my guts on one side and my head on the other

Clairon wants to go back to what she knows: fantasies, high up in Rapunzel's tower, away from real life because it is not the way she wants it, it is not the way she dreamt it, it is not the way she was promised it would always be...
she wants reassurance, she wants contracts, she wants feelings set in stone, she wants promises right now and for ever and ever, she wants to be fulfilled, she wants to be loved like in fairytales
Clairon is being very present tonight, like she's stood up onto the table and taking centre stage, at any cost she wants to go back to a miserable life and be seen as a victim to be rescued

on the other side, Clairette feels very small and cannot raise her voice
Clairette is there though, swinging beween the belief that Clairon is right and the knowledge that she's not... and so she goes in and out of under her cloak... when she's hiding, I feel unloved, worthless and desparately hurt... when she's out, there's life, colours, jokes and peaceful hapiness for what I have

i'm grateful i sometimes have the possibility to jump "outside" myself and dissect my emotional storms yet when stuck in the middle of it, it is so very painful

Is this growing up?

Quotation

It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop

Confucius (551 BC - 479 BC)

Stone circle

To start with I must confess that I have just come back from the pub where I had a drink with my dear friend I. Well, really, a large and a small glass of wine, and in England, that adds up to 1/2 bottle of wine!!! and yes, it has come up to my system... so what makes sense to me tonight as I write what follows might not make much sense tomorrow. But really, does it matter???

There's something I've wanted to talk about all day and I'd promised myself that I'd come home and turn on my computer, regardless of how tired I feel... And I do feel tired!

After the visit of the crop circle on Saturday, I walked through Avebury stone circles on Sunday morning. A small village in Wiltshire that has two stone circles, a small an a large one surrounding the small one. The grass was very green and thick after the "miserable and rainy" summer we've had and walking through this thriving life brought tears to my eyes. A few times while standing inside the circle I felt the call to kneel down and thank the Earth for this gift of having brought me to Her, pay my respect to her Spirit, feel how small I am yet as important as any other living being. I play my part, I am part of the circle of life and this circle would be different without me. I have my place in it. It brought an immense sense of worth into my lungs and my heart...



© Suzisunflowers Avebury Circle stone circle Wiltshire Whats on Wiltshire 2003-2007


One specific stone called me close and asked that I lean against her. A timeless energy of patience, knowledge, steadfastness, detachment spread from my back within my belly, my legs, my shoulders and arms... I knew that this stone knew it all, had seen it all, what has happened and what will happen... She was out of time and space and she filled me a little of this "whatever happens to you may be remembered but will not matter"... Interestingly I felt, " that's true, I'm only a human being for a short while then who knows what will become of my psyche, through time and space... whatever happens to me here may be remembered in other lives but will not matter..."

As the crowd grew steadily bigger, I walked away for a 3 hours walk around the village, entered West Kennet Long Barrow, an ancient tomb showing 5 or 6 underground chambers and dating back 5000 years (if I remember well...) and walked through the Sanctuary, a place right along the main road which was a place of celebration. These two archeological sites didn't bring much emotions at the time and I walked off.

Then I fell onto a stone, of which I was told later as I described it, that it was made of flint. It was rather flat and 10 to 15 cm long, maybe 3 or 4 cm thick at its thickest and 1/2 the bottom had been split off, leaving rather sharp edges. Bi-colour, grey-ish all around but shiny dark grey and white-ish where the split had occurred. The most interesting feature was that on the top of the stone stood proud two kind of horns, approximately 6 cm apart and maybe 2 cm high. I stopped instantly, felt all its angles in my palms and I wondered whether it had been carved that way a long time ago or whether it was natural... I liked to think that it had been carved as a tool in ancient times. I was already thinking where I would put it on my altar back at home when I suddenly was short of breath... in front of me stood a small mound of earth and a beautiful circle of oak trees in several rows.

The view was breathtaking. I was in front of perfection, I felt that the most beautiful gift had just been given to me and I began to weep in gratitude... I walked around this circle in complete awe, asked permission to enter. Once inside, the stone with horns then "told" me that her place wasn't in London. I was not to take it back, her place was here in this land of richness and wholeness. She needed to "tell" me this a few times before I accepted and made sure that was the right thing to do. After thanking her for her gift I laid her down at the root of one of the oak tree. I know that a part of me has stayed behind within this stone and is growing roots. I just know that when those roots will be deep enough, it'll be time for the branches to grow - a nice image for growth happening in the unconscious before coming out in the open when the foundations are strong to support life in the outside...

Of course I've been wondering many times since then whether it was the right decision, what will happen to "my" stone when it is discovered by someone else, and maybe exposed in a souvenir shop... I do not like the ideas but deep down I only know it was the right choice - there is however no way I can explain it. And so I won't...

The last thing I want to share tonight is that I walked for 4 hours and never did I feel tired. I'm certainly not rambler-fit these days and the only explanation for me is that the land supported me and fed me with energy all that time.

I will need to go back. After Dahab in Egypt I feel that I've found some kind of home in the Avebury Countryside!!

Crop circle

Yes, the last couple of weeks have been a bit of a roller coaster emotionally, flying real, real high before coming down hard (the positive there is that I haven't crashed!). In both cases it involved revisiting long known emotions. I learnt lots about who I am through what happened but if I had to pick one thing, then it would be that I have been able to pat (not sure of the spelling and don't have a dictionnary nearby...) myself on the back and have compassion. That is very nice indeed.

But here is why I'm babbling in a very long introduction. I had "promised" a good friend of mine to go to his mega-BBQ party today but decided after checking within myself to let him down (not without a strong feeling of guilt) and to tell him the truth (as opposed to make up a crap story to avoid upsetting him). And I made it to Wiltshire instead, to come and walk through crop circles, stone circles and see the chalk white horses that lie around in the hills... Funny enough, I got a text/sms from my friend on Friday morning telling me it was cancelled due to poor weather conditions...

I decided to start with the cop circles as the harvesting season is well advanced and if there was any chance to see some, tomorrow might have been too late... I met Rob and Sarah in the Silent Circle café and they offered me to join them as I was by myself. Very nice of them. And so, lucky as we were, one circle was newly formed yesterday morning and still there.


Image: John Montgomery, Copyright 2007
Both these images come from www.cropcircleconnector.com

One striking thing was that I completely lost track of time whilst inside the circle. I wouldn't have been able to say whether it was 10 minutes or 3h... It was actually a bit more than one, as I saw when I came back to the car.

For some reason I felt compelled to walk in the direction in which the crop were flattenned. As I stood somewhere near the centre of it (there was no way I could be sure of it) I was drawn into looking North-East and "had to" kneel down to pay respect and send gratitude. I then felt my heart open. It was heavy with a stone pushing the boundaries away, making space. The image I got from it was something like a circular stone being rolled away from the entrance of a Roman Tomb, except that the stone was inside the tomb, the heart, and not outside (if it makes any sense...)



Image: John Montgomery, Copyright 2007
Both these images come from www.cropcircleconnector.com

Next, I felt the urge to walk the outside of the circle and as soon as I started, it reminded me of a similar urge that occurred in Carn Euni (near Sancreed in Cornwall) last November. Not only the alleyways were beautiful, but the very shape of the circle got imprinted in my bones, in my breath, in my blood, in my skin, in my holy water... I felt more peaceful and ever more grateful to the crop, to the rain, to the spirits that have allowed this formation to be born.

At this stage, knowing hardly anything about crop circles, I don't mind whether these spirits are human or else. I don't know how these circles are formed and it doesn't really matter to me. I must admit that I'd love them to be NOT man-made, though.

Finally to wrap up a good day, I am staying in the most wonderful B&B. The farm dates back from the early 19th century, it is like a labyrinth in there, and it is surrounded by beautiful horses who come to you and ask for being stroked...

It was obviously meant to be a rich weekend for me! Before I close for the night, I must not forget to thank my friend backpacker/globetrotter without whom I might not have come down here.

Mandala

Une fois n'est pas coutume, je suis rentrée chez moi tôt ce vendredi soir, après avoir passé quelques heures dans les magasins du centre londoniens, à la recherche de.... livres.

Comme d'habitude, j'en ai trouvés, et achetés, plus que ce que j'avais prévu. Mais je me suis tout de même restreinte et n'en ai rapporté que deux!! Pas mal, non?

Celui que je voulais "Eros and pathos - Shades of Love and suffering" (eros et pathos - ombres d'amour et de souffrance) décrit les mécanismes psychologiques et ou inconscients de la relation amoureuse, de la jamousie et qui révèle ce que l'on peut apprendre sur soi lorsque l'on visite des étapes telles que l'erotisme, l'abandon ou la solitude... Ayant parcouru ce livre que l'on m'avait prêté, j'ai fini par le rendre rapidement car je sentais le besoin de surligner, souligner, marquer, en somme de le faire mien...

Celui sur lequel je suis tombée dans cette librairie/caverne d'Ali Baba s'intitule "Power animals - How to connect with your animal spirit guide". Plus axé chamanisme, l'auteur guide le lecteur à découvrir son/ses propres guides spirituels animaux qu'il peut appeler si besoin pour protection, aider, soigner...

Mais mon shopping ne s'est pas arrêté là puisque je me suis réapprovisionnée en feuilles à dessins et en peinture acrylique pour tissus. Je cherche depuis quelques mois un T-shirt avec un Mandala... Ne trouvant pas mon bonheur, je me dis qu'il va falloir que je le fasse moi-même. Bien entendu j'ai commencé par un essai, et fait ce soir un pochoir sur papier




















J'avais mis mes trois couleurs primaires sur ma palette, décidée à faire des essais de couleurs, et puis au moment de plonger le pinceau dans le jaune, j'ai réalisé que JE NE VEUX PAS DE BLEU NI DE VERT. Par contre, foncer vers les rouges alors que je m'éloigne vers l'extérieur, oui, triple oui!! "The gold is in the centre, surrounded and protected by the red of passion and heat, in two successive layers" (l'or est au centre, enveloppé et protégé par le rouge de lapassion et de la chaleur, en deux couches successives)





















Malheureusement (vraiment?), mon pochoir de fortune n'a pas tenu le coup lorsqu'il a fallu le séparer de cette oeuvre... Est-ce cela qu'on appelle l'art éphémère?

Aurai-je jamais le courage de ma lancer sur tissu???

Citation

"Sans émotions, il est impossible de transformer les ténèbres en lumière et l'apathie en mouvement"

C. G. Jung

Citation - 14 août

"Si le problème a une solution, il ne sert à rien de s'inquiéter. Mais s'il n'en a pas, alors s'inquiéter ne change rien"

Proverbe Tibétain

This look

You give me this look but say
it's neither the good place nor the good time
will there ever such things as good time and good place?
so please, please please don't give me this look

Don't, don't, don't give me this look
sending starshape-like sparkles from my heart
pins tearing through muscles all down the legs
weakening the knees I can't stand
I need your support



Or give me this look that
pierces through my skull
steals my intimate secrets
reads my most shameful fantasies
and makes me your Queen

Give me this look but
don't turn away your eyes or I dissolve
you must keep looking and never quit
you must never leave me
you must never leave again

Kicking in tonight

Giving some space to the feeling of longing
not just dismiss it as unimportant
allowing it some time to be expressed
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhhhh....

Tonight I don't want to acknowledge it
"I've dealt with it, it's gone now" goes my left brain
but my heart doesn't buy it
slaughtered as it is by a searing pain

The loss of a loved one is sorrowful
as much as it is a real blessing
but then again at this very minute
don't even try to make me believe this rubbish

Clairette

Once upon a time there was a yurt (or maybe a tippi) and I was invited to come in. It was dark outside and even darker inside but for a fire burning. The place was empty and I waited a little, standing... for someone to come I suppose? That someone came, sat down on the opposite side of the fire and finally offered me to sit down, too.
There were not many words exchanged. What I do remember though is that eventually I noticed in front and on my left hand side a young girl curled up so that she melted with the surroundings, invisible and quiet. I'd say she was 4 or 5 years-old and looking sad, spotty on her face. She seemed that to carry all the sins of the world on her shoulders. After this brief vision, she disappeared from sight under a heavy, thick cloak.
I've met her again and again over the last few years. I forgot about her, then stumbled upon her cloak and her spotty face, then forgot her again... each encounter brought a little bit more awareness from me and a little bit more life from her. So much so that in the last few weeks, I have actually been wanting to sit down with her, under her cloak.

She's told me her name: Clairette.
She's told me bits of her story: she'd been kept under that cloak for years by a blond girl who lived in a tower, who had a wonderful view over the country and yet was not happy. That blond girl's name is Clairon. When the cloak would slip off her head, Clairon would be there to put it back in place.

Clairon is now loosing strength and the cloak slips more and more often, further and further away. The misery on Clairette's face is fading, the spots drying out and resorbing. She's growing as a beautiful young girl. The grip of Clairon's longing for the perfect life, the perfect man, the perfect job, the perfect attitude, the perfect house, the perfect children... is receding. As much as she'd like her times in charge to be as before, those times are becoming shorter and more sparse.

Amour ? non, amourS !

J'avais toujours cru que l'on se DEVAIT de mettre une lettre majuscule à Amour, parce qu'il n'en existe qu'un seul de durable, de valable, de véritable, de sensible.
Et donc j'avais toujours cru et vécu que quand pour une raison ou une autre, cet Amour disparaît, est englouti, asséché, fatigué, détourné, trahi, abandonné, arrêté, c'est la vie entière qui s'écroule.

Je ne crois plus à cela. A partir d'aujourd'hui, je me DOIS d'écrire amourS au pluriel. Parce qu'il est possible d'aimer plusieurs personnes à la fois. Ces amourS sont différents, ils viennent combler des besoins distincts, ils viennent soigner des blessures variées, ils viennent aider à être plus complet, plus entier, plus vrai.

Il y a quelques mois j'ai reçu et accepté l'amour d'un homme, qui n'a rien de romantique. En sa présence je me sens connectée à lui et je me sens connectée à moi. Je le désire physiquement avec pour souhait de prendre et de donner du plaisir. En sa présence, j'ai découvert une nouvelle sensualité, une nouvelle manière de séduire et d'aimer ; j'ai découvert que je suis une être sexuée et que ma sexualité est une part importante de ma vie. Très importante. Bien plus que je ne l'avais imaginé.

Je viens de recevoir, et d'accepter l'amour d'un homme, qui n'a rien de romantique. Grâce à lui, ses yeux attentionés bleus océan posés sur les miens encore trop affairés et son sourire que j'entends me dire "il n'y a présentement personne d'autre au monde de plus important que toi", je me sens connectée au reste du monde. Je le désire physiquement avec pour souhait de fusionner, de ne plus exister qu'à travers lui, de n'être qu'un, de disparaître dans mon actuel paraître. C'est à la fois extraordinairement excitant et terrifiant.

Ce deuxième amour m'a fait peur car il venait remettre en question le premier. Et puis finalement, non. Pas du tout. En acceptant de laisser s'exprimer la déferlante d'émotions qui y sont rattachées, ce deuxième amour n'a fait que renforcer le premier. Mon coeur dans ma poitrine ne cesse de me rappeler que je suis VIVANTE.

To my dear fellow backpacker

I thought our journeys ran parallel
Yours packing in and out endlessly in the open world
Mine immobile yet travelling into the realm of the inner world.
But our paths crossed, in a meeting planned by others long ago I believe.
Our odysseys were not parallel in the end.

I recognised my limits in your soft silver-like presence.
If deciphered in your ocean-like blue eyes an acutely wounded desire to be loved.
Was it yours or did I give you my heavy cloak to wear?
I beheld your beautifully affectionate smile betray a muggy loneliness

difficult to shake off the confines of your fatigued armour.
Was it your weaken hand or mine holding the shield not so high up?

Your intense presence enlightened the last couple of days.
The glitter, shimmer and flicker of our encounter
Broke in through my own safety walls
Laying down in my shakily expecting heart
The most wondrous treasure of all: Love.

Love offered from an unreserved heart of yours borne up your sleeve
Not in the name of romance.
Love embraced from an opened heart of mine in need of being met.
Blessed are you, gorgeous man, for opening the door of exaltation and suffering,
Triggering further alchemical transformations.

Blessed am I for holding my vulnerability in the name of truth.

As you depart for greener pastures up North
The seed of Love you sowed in my heart
I will tend and pass it on.
I cherish the day I was guided to stumble across your blog.

Blind Light

Who? Antony Gormley
What? Blind Light exhibition
Where? Hayward Gallery, London
When? Saturday 4th August, 5pm



I had no idea what to expect. I knew neither the artist's name nor the purpose or the name of the exhibition. I had seen the advertising poster in many corridors in the underground system in my everyday commute -- interesting picture by the way! I wouldn't call it quite disturbing but certainly eye catching at least. Yet not quite interesting enough to find out more about what the whole thing was about. That is until Chris talked about how he'd arrived a little late on Friday and decided to postpone it until Saturday. I think Chris as a friend, backpacking around the world who I met only a few days ago. But that's another story altogether...

But let me cut short my wanders and come back to today. I usually evaluate where I am in the space around me and finding my place around the art objects. Today was different though, as I entered reading the small booklet that I was given at the entrance, half looking around me to locate Chris who'd entered a couple of minutes before me (I had to give up my bag to the clockroom before entering...) and half trying to find out what I was about to discover.

The first thing that striked me was the cold air wrapping me in its thick sheet and the darkness of the large room contrasting with the bright beautiful sunny day that stood outside. Yet moving my eyes across the room they fell on a gigantic dark grey/black metallic structure called the "Space Station"that stood between me and a strong light coming in through a line of narrow, rectangular and high up windows. But this brightness was plain white and would not bring any warmth or life in this room...

At first I didn't think much of it all except for my usual annoyance of cold "air con" in public places and I crossed my arms over my chest to keep the cold away. I moved closer to the space station, trying to uncover its mystery and listen to its story. Giant, composed of rectangular and hollow cubes melded together in an asymetric shape, it called me closer. I felt the urge to inspect it close by, check its hollow inside through the numerous square holes cut in the cubes, observe its irragularities and I imagined a battle raging in its belly... The fear became terror and I saw the space station grow, expand in all directions to a mouth-like shape and in slow motion this ever darker mouth swallowing me, devouring me. At that time I began to feel nauseous and the cold intensified closing in on me and making it look even darker than it was, and increasing the contrast between the strong light coming in through the small windows and the darkness of the structure. I took a step back and leaned casually on the wall a few feet away, trying to recompose myself from this unexpected attack. But all I could touch was loneliness as if Dementors were sucking life out of me (to take an image that many have already in their heads thanks to Harry Potter...). The space station was ferocious, threatening and became a black hole.

I walked away quickly, had a glimpse at the next door room generously lit in a warm yellow lights but the concrete blocks standing there in rows could do nothing to appease the heavy stomach or the tears that were coming up. I therefore sat down for a period of time, turning my back to the inhospitable space station, and tried to reconnect to myself and recover my centre. I did eventually, then got up again making sure I would not look at it again while moving onto the next part of the room, much brighter.

There I started to queue to enter the "blind light box", a 10 to 15m long, square plexiglass box maybe 2 to 3m high. From the outside, I finally understood the photo of the advertising poster as I saw the hand of a person walking inside, utterly lost... Entering the box is like entering a brightly lit cloud the thickness of which I've never seen except maybe through an airplane window. You cannot see more than a foot or two feet away from your nose and get disorientated very quickly. As soon as I entered, calmness entered my breathing and my heart, and I watched into a white nothingness. Each breath took me back a little closer to myself, each step away from the space station... The water on the floor raised to the sole of my feet adding to the feeling of being outside of time and space, arrested in a world of non ordinary reality. I was bodiless, floating around yet with my feet on the ground, silent, present to my aloneness... This feeling reminded me of that I had experienced last year in an opposite situation -- living 3 days in complete darkness: restful and empty but not lonely, a peaceful solitude. The water saturated atmosphere of the box brought life to each cell with which it made contact, and by diffusion and intercellular communication dispersed it to all of them -- it was sacred water, sacred life that made me feel whole, complete, real and new, immobile and present.

Finally, we climbed up a few steps and entered a sunny room filled with "matrices". The French doors opened onto bright terraces where people warmed their bones to the much needed summer sun. A good 10 structures were awaiting us, showing the space were the body was without representing the body itself, as if being drawn in the air. It was a much lighter finish for me, in this bright room filled with air and the "non-bodies" represented exhibiting a sense of freedom yet of being prisoner of their surroundings but not too bothered about it. They could have been drawn out of a circus, jugglers maybe or acrobats, dancers, all rather distorted and in direct contact with the ordinary world but most importantly with the world of the spirits.

If I didn't know the name of this artist until Friday, I certainly will remember him now...

the morning after the night before...

The downside of feeling elated, of flying high always comes eventually...

If until yesterday I felt all powerful, hyper-confident, beautiful, riding the clouds, loveable, surfing the wave, accepting new sides of me that were previously neglected, allowing the overwhelming emotions to pour out of my every cell and loving it all.... well today is a rather different story. After the peak, here comes the trough!

I feel wide opened, chaotic, judgemental, vulnerable, sad, unprotected, exposed, unshielded, defenceless, powerless... I know my inner witch has returned with a vengeance yet I am unable to show her the door. And so I alternatively watch her objectively try to do her work before getting caught in her spider web... and the cycles start again.

At this very minute I am free of the cobweb and I can say that the experience of the weekend was worthwhile and the processing work (and love) has started in my deepest core. In the next I might be overwhelmed and wishing that the weekend had not happened at all...

Exquisite week end

I've had a trully enthralling week end, full of twists and turns and if there was a plot, well, it never unfolded the way you'd expect in a Hollywood movie...

I was producer, director and actress in the movie being made as we went along, yet I didn't have full control of the situation as the lead male character (yet little known to me at that point) had at least as much power as I had in the movie making. I am writing the American word "movie" because I'm talking about Hollywood, but maybe I should be using the British word "film", as I was told that to an extent "film" relates to good art while "movie" contains it all, good and bad (at least that was my understanding of it). And this scenario would most definitely enter the "film" section.

As the producer, I was very much aware of the difficulties that one has to put up with, the moral barriers that cannot be crossed, the collective pressure to go with the flow and keep to wide and crowded avenues, the practical constraints that are there to stay and that cannot be avoided or forgotten, the time ticking away when a scene has to be shot again because it's not quite good enough but you know deep down that nothing better will come out of the actors at that moment...

As the director, I had scribbled down and planned a scenario, thought through the lights and pace of the opening scene, heard in my head the music accompanying the romantic encounter between the two lead characters, imagined the costumes perfectly fitting their period and status in the world, put myself in the shoes of a spectator paying his ticket entrance at the cinema door and coming to watch the finished product with a critical eye...

As the main female character, I was to follow my director's instructions given to him mostly by my producer, yet interacting and adjusting to the other part of the film, the man, without whom there would have been no scenario; I felt free and strong to behave as I wished knowing full well that I would need to report any wrongdoings in the eyes of my director and producer; it was the role of my life, experiencing all possible emotions from exhaltation to boredom, worthlessness, despair, love and excrutiating heart pain, fear and sadness... you name it, I felt it!

Of course, my difficulties, moral barriers, constraints, timing considerations were plain different to those of the male character and his own on site producer/supervisor. It cannot be helped, and negociations were to take place...
Of course, my ideas for a scenario, ambiance, interpretation and cuts were not shared by the male character's own cinema director. It cannot be helped and negociations were to take place...
Of course the realm of my emotions cannot compare to that of the male character and little of it can be said here as I have not much knowledge of it. Feelings that the emotional range experienced by him might not have been as wild as mine, but it is only my side of the story...
Would I have signed in to watch such a story? Yes, triple yes, several times. The making of it was intense, sometimes bringing all persons involved to the limit of insanity as each scene was emotionally charged to the limit.

In the end, the finished product gave a snapshot without a beginning or an end showing the meeting of a man and a woman on a dance floor, their paths crossing again in a big city over the course of a few days before parting at rush hour in an underground station. Plain, simple. Yet not "Before sunrise".

(Disclaimer: I cannot speak for the persons involved with the lead male character and you will have to keep in mind and accept that this view is extremely partial)

Regression and awareness

I miss P.
He doesn't get in touch often enough to my liking.
I think of him at work.
I imagine what I'll say to him when I see him.
Then my friend R. calls.
I tell her that it is hard.
That I miss him.
But that things are great when we meet.
And so it's ok for a few days.
Then I miss him.
I think of him at work.
She talks to me about H.
For a short while I wonder why I complain.
She hungs up.
I decide to write to her. An email. To expand a little more.
Because I haven't said enough on the phone.
I said it hurts.
Then BAM!! A slap across my face!
It hurts not because I miss him.
It hurts because of my personal story/history.
Silence creates longing.
I feel in love.
In love with the longing.
In love with the suffering.
Because then I'm not lonely.
There's the suffering.
It's a blessing.
Or so I thought for many long years.
I feel tired. Exhausted.
I only want to be in bed.
I need to sleep.
I need to forget.
I need to hide.
I need to feel sorry for myself.
So that he'll come as the Prince Charming .
So that he'll love me.

STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!
I would like to hear from P.
Yet I can mother and nurture myself.
I want to stay alive when he doesn't keep in touch.
It hurts and that belongs to me.
I don't send the email to R.