après une journée presque entièrement passée à l'intérieur, me voilà rentrée d'une toute petite promenade le long de la tamise
à deux minutes à pied, je peux ainsi raconter que c'est actuellement marée descendante, et qu'une semaine après l'équinoxe, le coefficient reste gros... ne pouvant m'assoir en raison d'un temps maussade conservant une humidité exemplaire, je me suis apppuyée sur la rembarde et j'ai contemplé cette eau parfois grondante, parfois jaillissante ou menaçante, s'éloigner vers l'est et la mer.
loin de m'apporter la sérénité que j'espérais, j'ai reçu la férocité, le tumulte, et le bouillonnement de cette eau saturée de terre et mi-douce/mi-salée... calée sous Tower Bridge ou presque, j'ai ressenti toute sa lourdeur de faire se rejoindre et de soutenir deux rives opposées, d'être unique et admiré mais au bout du compte d'être isolé et les pieds dans l'eau
mon nouveau chez moi est un peu bruyant, les voisins du dessus mettent leur musique un peu fort, j'entends celui d'à côté pisser, mais qu'importe? j'ai un jardin ensoleillé et la tamise à deux minutes
30 September 2007
quote
There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood tomorrow
Victor Hugo
Victor Hugo
désir sacré
la souffrance
de la petite enfance
remonte à la surface
elle va et vient
de près en loin
et toujours laisse une trace
si la vaguelette sera recouverte la grande marée vient lécher le dos d'un rocher encore inviolé
mon coeur
qui sans cesse avait peur
s'était protégé, barricadé
hermétiquement
on parle d'avant et d'après l'accident
et d'une prison dorée
si la vaguelette est recouverte la grande marée vient frapper à une porte rongée et une serrure rouillée
un jeu d'enfants
au papa et à la maman
comme un passage obligé
deux petits corps nus
qui s'enlacent à vue
sans arrière pensée
si la vaguelette est recouverte la grande marée est venue exposer une honte et un secret jusque là bien gardés
un désir intact
malgré cette attaque
chez des enfants de l'amour
la beauté
de leur découverte sacrée
enfin révélée dans la splendeur du jour
si la vaguelette a été recouverte la grande marée vient rendre sacrées les plages désertées pour des raisons oubliées
de la petite enfance
remonte à la surface
elle va et vient
de près en loin
et toujours laisse une trace
si la vaguelette sera recouverte la grande marée vient lécher le dos d'un rocher encore inviolé
mon coeur
qui sans cesse avait peur
s'était protégé, barricadé
hermétiquement
on parle d'avant et d'après l'accident
et d'une prison dorée
si la vaguelette est recouverte la grande marée vient frapper à une porte rongée et une serrure rouillée
un jeu d'enfants
au papa et à la maman
comme un passage obligé
deux petits corps nus
qui s'enlacent à vue
sans arrière pensée
si la vaguelette est recouverte la grande marée est venue exposer une honte et un secret jusque là bien gardés
un désir intact
malgré cette attaque
chez des enfants de l'amour
la beauté
de leur découverte sacrée
enfin révélée dans la splendeur du jour
si la vaguelette a été recouverte la grande marée vient rendre sacrées les plages désertées pour des raisons oubliées
27 September 2007
newness friendy tornado
The last two days have gone cold and if I needed reminded I feel that I've missed the warmth. My body, skin, insides need some warmth. Summer simply forgot London over these last few months and I feel like going away in a nice and warm place somewhere in the world. Anywhere.
I dream of going to California to dance with Gabrielle Roth but cannot make my mind.
I imagine my skin giving thanks to the sun while lying on the beach in Dahab, Egypt.
I compare flight fares to Majorca or Barbados only to close the websites and get back to Earth.
My clay feet are glued on British soil. Shamanic training in the West country. Dance classes and workshops in London. Maybe this is what I need rather than what I want. Keep my feet on the ground, be earthy, well balanced and centered to sustain the strong winds of transformation that have battered my life for the last few months...
After 3.5 years living in the same flat and experiencing a variety of flatmates, I knew that it was time to move on. On a rainy Monday morning in the middle of November 2006 I just knew. It wasn't time for the how, when, where... but the seed had been planted next to a Cornish sacred well. About 3 months later, a opportunity came up and by the 1st of April, I moved in my very good friend Mick's flat for 6 months while he was backpacking in Central and South America. This brought a life change by itself.
2 weeks later I made an offer to buy a ground floor flat close to the river Thames - after 10 years in the UK and approximately 2 to 3 years during which I knew that my life was to be here, it was sending the world, and mostly my friends and family the tangible signal that my life was in London - for the foreseeable future.
A week after that I was meeting P. and the relationship is a real learning curve for me: learn to respect both what he is in all his qualities and limitations and what I am in all my qualities and limitations, be present to him, me and us, opened and vulnerable, human, woman... It had been a 2 and a half year "gap" between love relationships and the fear factor was very much present... especially as this new relationship did not resemble any I'd had before
At the beginning of June a dance worshop mixed up with strong influence of shamanism ripped off part of my hiding place. I discovered I had no right to lie to myself any longer in one specific department - I am a sexual being and a sensual woman, who likes and needs to be touched and touch others. I am still busy integrating this in my life and going through ups and down in accepting this new reality with no reference model to follow.
Finally (?) the recent entering into the world of shamanism is opening more doors. I have become a child again over the weekend and I am noticing that the rhythms of my steps have changed, that I sometimes feel awkard and broken in a movement I have practiced for nearly 36 years and that could not be more unconsciously done (except maybe breathing). I keep forgetting things and meetings at work and this makes me laugh. My clocks at home (mobile phone, ipod, cooker...) are playing up with me giving me wrong (and all different) times making me late for work. My heart recurrently opens up and his fire spreads to the rest of my chest. If this sensation made me feel extremely vulnerable and terrified of all others just a few days ago, it somehow makes me feel closer to all creations of the world tonight, including human beings. Yet I have no reference point (again!!) to adjust and I have difficulties finding the balance between feeling compassion and fear of carrying someone else's burden. Yet I feel confident that I am learning and a new way will emerge.
I've now moved into this new flat nearly 2 weeks ago. I do not have furniture inside and boxes are still lying around. I feel some pressure for "sorting it out" asap and be settled. I'm pleased I am not surrendering to this pressure as the new space is slowly infusing into me and I discover day after day the way I want to make it mine - I refuse the IKEA/Habitat reference and it is not always easy...
Two days ago, I've found my power place - facing the south pilar of Tower Bridge from the "beach" at low tide. I've found an overwhelming need to receive the steadfastness of these stones, the majesty and proudness of the towers and above all the strength of the bridges legs playing with the coming and going waters of the river. The bridge not only connects both sides of the river it also brings together the earth and the sky, and the elements air, water, earth. And fire makes it shine.
Maybe there's so much happening within and without, there's no need for me to go anywhere in search of newness.
I dream of going to California to dance with Gabrielle Roth but cannot make my mind.
I imagine my skin giving thanks to the sun while lying on the beach in Dahab, Egypt.
I compare flight fares to Majorca or Barbados only to close the websites and get back to Earth.
My clay feet are glued on British soil. Shamanic training in the West country. Dance classes and workshops in London. Maybe this is what I need rather than what I want. Keep my feet on the ground, be earthy, well balanced and centered to sustain the strong winds of transformation that have battered my life for the last few months...
After 3.5 years living in the same flat and experiencing a variety of flatmates, I knew that it was time to move on. On a rainy Monday morning in the middle of November 2006 I just knew. It wasn't time for the how, when, where... but the seed had been planted next to a Cornish sacred well. About 3 months later, a opportunity came up and by the 1st of April, I moved in my very good friend Mick's flat for 6 months while he was backpacking in Central and South America. This brought a life change by itself.
2 weeks later I made an offer to buy a ground floor flat close to the river Thames - after 10 years in the UK and approximately 2 to 3 years during which I knew that my life was to be here, it was sending the world, and mostly my friends and family the tangible signal that my life was in London - for the foreseeable future.
A week after that I was meeting P. and the relationship is a real learning curve for me: learn to respect both what he is in all his qualities and limitations and what I am in all my qualities and limitations, be present to him, me and us, opened and vulnerable, human, woman... It had been a 2 and a half year "gap" between love relationships and the fear factor was very much present... especially as this new relationship did not resemble any I'd had before
At the beginning of June a dance worshop mixed up with strong influence of shamanism ripped off part of my hiding place. I discovered I had no right to lie to myself any longer in one specific department - I am a sexual being and a sensual woman, who likes and needs to be touched and touch others. I am still busy integrating this in my life and going through ups and down in accepting this new reality with no reference model to follow.
Finally (?) the recent entering into the world of shamanism is opening more doors. I have become a child again over the weekend and I am noticing that the rhythms of my steps have changed, that I sometimes feel awkard and broken in a movement I have practiced for nearly 36 years and that could not be more unconsciously done (except maybe breathing). I keep forgetting things and meetings at work and this makes me laugh. My clocks at home (mobile phone, ipod, cooker...) are playing up with me giving me wrong (and all different) times making me late for work. My heart recurrently opens up and his fire spreads to the rest of my chest. If this sensation made me feel extremely vulnerable and terrified of all others just a few days ago, it somehow makes me feel closer to all creations of the world tonight, including human beings. Yet I have no reference point (again!!) to adjust and I have difficulties finding the balance between feeling compassion and fear of carrying someone else's burden. Yet I feel confident that I am learning and a new way will emerge.
I've now moved into this new flat nearly 2 weeks ago. I do not have furniture inside and boxes are still lying around. I feel some pressure for "sorting it out" asap and be settled. I'm pleased I am not surrendering to this pressure as the new space is slowly infusing into me and I discover day after day the way I want to make it mine - I refuse the IKEA/Habitat reference and it is not always easy...
Two days ago, I've found my power place - facing the south pilar of Tower Bridge from the "beach" at low tide. I've found an overwhelming need to receive the steadfastness of these stones, the majesty and proudness of the towers and above all the strength of the bridges legs playing with the coming and going waters of the river. The bridge not only connects both sides of the river it also brings together the earth and the sky, and the elements air, water, earth. And fire makes it shine.
Maybe there's so much happening within and without, there's no need for me to go anywhere in search of newness.
24 September 2007
body - spirit - soul - mind
Not been long in this way of life and I keep meeting more and more interesting people. I still sometimes feel very small when they talk about what they've lived and experienced and still sometimes compare... yet I've noticed how self-confidence has improved and how I can also laugh at that worthless feeling. It is lovely.
Not been long in this way of life yet I have tested/tasted a few different ways in - 5Rhythms, Qi Gong, Tantra, Shamanism, Crano-sacral... all of them radiating from analytical psychology. Of course, there are lots of other ways in that I might try (or not). I used to have high expectations before a session or a workshop, looking for the great, the amazing, the overwhelming... and it had happened most of the time.
I give thanks for these experiences that fulfilled a need.
Yet I have been more and more conscious over the last few months how I could separate entirely the experience from my day-to-day life. On a very practical level, I would leave my phone at home and would cut all possible ties, and travel alone - in order to have time to transform by the time I arrive? I would becomes irritable when people talked about their jobs or their lives back home... Interestingly, I have recently seen how I would have an experience, maybe write about it and then put it in a box on the shelf clearly labelled with a date, a name, and the transformation that took place. Then it was a question of "been there, done that"...
4 months ago or so I went to a 5Rhythms worshop and had consciously decided to not only take my phone with me but to use it. The experience I had wasn't any less important and transforming for it. For the first time, I allowed my day-to-day life to leak and enter the life in parenthesis and vice et versa. It was a very healing experience by itself. The split within getting narrower.
Yesterday I have come back from the first component of a 1-year training in shamanic healing. My day-to-day life penetrated even more this time, spreading to talking to my sister on the phone, sending emails to close friends and talking to P. and even checking with results of the rugby game between France and Ireland (France thrashed Ireland by the way, if you are interested...) Even though I have long known this is a 1-year training, resistances were strong and it is not before the third day that my body and my mind accepted that I would see the circle again and again and again...
I am learning to incorporate the teachings of this training into my dayto-day life because ultimately that is what it is all about - a way of life. I know this is going to be a real challenge but I know I have support from my circle and in particular my dear buddy A.
I give thanks to every person of this circle for making it what it is and I give thanks to all the forces of the Universe that brought us together and made this circle what it is.
Not been long in this way of life yet I have tested/tasted a few different ways in - 5Rhythms, Qi Gong, Tantra, Shamanism, Crano-sacral... all of them radiating from analytical psychology. Of course, there are lots of other ways in that I might try (or not). I used to have high expectations before a session or a workshop, looking for the great, the amazing, the overwhelming... and it had happened most of the time.
I give thanks for these experiences that fulfilled a need.
Yet I have been more and more conscious over the last few months how I could separate entirely the experience from my day-to-day life. On a very practical level, I would leave my phone at home and would cut all possible ties, and travel alone - in order to have time to transform by the time I arrive? I would becomes irritable when people talked about their jobs or their lives back home... Interestingly, I have recently seen how I would have an experience, maybe write about it and then put it in a box on the shelf clearly labelled with a date, a name, and the transformation that took place. Then it was a question of "been there, done that"...
4 months ago or so I went to a 5Rhythms worshop and had consciously decided to not only take my phone with me but to use it. The experience I had wasn't any less important and transforming for it. For the first time, I allowed my day-to-day life to leak and enter the life in parenthesis and vice et versa. It was a very healing experience by itself. The split within getting narrower.
Yesterday I have come back from the first component of a 1-year training in shamanic healing. My day-to-day life penetrated even more this time, spreading to talking to my sister on the phone, sending emails to close friends and talking to P. and even checking with results of the rugby game between France and Ireland (France thrashed Ireland by the way, if you are interested...) Even though I have long known this is a 1-year training, resistances were strong and it is not before the third day that my body and my mind accepted that I would see the circle again and again and again...I am learning to incorporate the teachings of this training into my dayto-day life because ultimately that is what it is all about - a way of life. I know this is going to be a real challenge but I know I have support from my circle and in particular my dear buddy A.
I give thanks to every person of this circle for making it what it is and I give thanks to all the forces of the Universe that brought us together and made this circle what it is.
lost for words...
I went through maybe the most powerful spiritual experience on Friday night. Hear spiritual in a very litteral way, as I was blessed to be touched by the Great Spirit.
And I'm pleased to say that I really don't mind whether this make you smile and being credulous or go away from this page and blog to never come back...
I will not be trying to relate, explain or convince. It only happened. I know it. I physically feel it in my heart since then - a burning glow that sometimes go as far as hurting when it is being ripped open. I feel extremely vulnerable but also I feel a magnificent strength, power, determination growing from within. It is beautiful and beautifully offered. It is now up to me to make it mine, incorporate it in my life and make sure I don't let it leak and waste...
I give thanks to the Great Spirit for being chosen and to the circle who witnessed the experience.
And I'm pleased to say that I really don't mind whether this make you smile and being credulous or go away from this page and blog to never come back...
I will not be trying to relate, explain or convince. It only happened. I know it. I physically feel it in my heart since then - a burning glow that sometimes go as far as hurting when it is being ripped open. I feel extremely vulnerable but also I feel a magnificent strength, power, determination growing from within. It is beautiful and beautifully offered. It is now up to me to make it mine, incorporate it in my life and make sure I don't let it leak and waste...
I give thanks to the Great Spirit for being chosen and to the circle who witnessed the experience.
21 September 2007
autumn
it'll be very quick but i wanted to just mark the day by a few words. today is equinox day. we are entering autumn. the wheel of life continues to turn...
17 September 2007
new home
celebrating
packing
moving
thanking
reorganising
imagining
new beginnings
building
breaking
undoing
measuring
painting
tiling
new beginnings
sowing
nailing
dusting
resting
transforming
allowing
new beginnings
packing
moving
thanking
reorganising
imagining
new beginnings
building
breaking
undoing
measuring
painting
tiling
new beginnings
sowing
nailing
dusting
resting
transforming
allowing
new beginnings
15 September 2007
Yeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssssssss
I am a property owner in London.... I've had a call this morning from my solicitors telling me completion was done and dusted, then one from the estate agent saying I could come and pick up the keys anytime...
I went, got the keys, went to the flat at around 4.30pm. It was very sunny and I started to think about what I'm going to transform to make it my own home.
Then I had some champagne for my friends. I wanted to have a flat warming party just then and there, empty flat to give it some kind of life of its own, some of my and my friends energy... I've had a wonderful time tonight thanks to them. I feel that I can now move and make the necessary transformation. Somehow it's already mine, I've started to own it in some way therefore I can negociate with it: what it wants and doesn't want, what I want and don't want. I guess it's going to take a while before I am settled, before it is the way I want it to be, before I erally feel home??? maybe not...
did I hear well earlier on "is this going to be our room?"
I'll leave the question linger without wanting to know more...
13 September 2007
back home
I thought I'd write about my days in Paris in the last entry. As I didn't, I felt the need to write two entries. The rest of the time there just didn't fit with the experience I've had alongside my grand-mother.
Yet as I don't feel like going on and on, there's one thing that I wanted to say that continues to amaze me, please me, make me feel guilty... As I came off the Eurostar and shortly after that walked on the platform of the northern line to go to work, I felt home... So much more than in Paris (where I've never lived by the way). My heart filled with Love and excitment for just being there.
I have really found my heart in London. The hard work and the patience is also to not leave it behind when I go to France...
Yet as I don't feel like going on and on, there's one thing that I wanted to say that continues to amaze me, please me, make me feel guilty... As I came off the Eurostar and shortly after that walked on the platform of the northern line to go to work, I felt home... So much more than in Paris (where I've never lived by the way). My heart filled with Love and excitment for just being there.
I have really found my heart in London. The hard work and the patience is also to not leave it behind when I go to France...
wonders of old age
Back this morning from 3 days in Paris mixing work and pleasure.
I'd taken my laptop thinking that I would certainly post some entries on this page, but all that happened was that I could not find words. Not worthwhile words. Well at least at the time. Yet I can usually ramble and go on for lines and lines to say not much - like I do now - but it just wouldn't happen there. Also I must say I was quite busy.
I spend most of Monday with my gran' at her nursing home. She was asleep as I arrived but I did give her a light kiss which woke her up. I'll always remember the smile she gave me was the highlight of the day. Her whole face opened up, her question mark-like back straightened in the space of a split second and her lungs inhaled more air all at once than they could remember... She was very present and attentive for approximately 10 minutes before diving again into a world of shadows inaccessible to any human being well and alive. Those 10 minutes had required more energy than she could give and the batteries needed recharging. It seems that the little life left in her is taking the micky out of her and her whole life - everything is given to the body, "that thing" that she had been taught, then taught herself to her children and in particluar her daughters to denigrate, supress, ignore... and worse!
And so I stayed for her mid-afternoon snack but she would not have anything to eat and at least accepted to drink some tea. There again, the effort to bring the cup to er lip would require that she falls asleep - to recover energy? And so time went by til dinner time. Her tray had enough food to give me more than a large lunch and it took her 90 minutes to swallow approximately 15 spoons of soup, a little bowl of salad, a mouthful of cheese, a piece of bread and a peach...
I can't help wondering what is all this spiritual work going on behind the scenes that keep her going. Who are the spirits keeping her in this human world, in human form? What is the purpose for her to be still be here? She's had enough more than once in the last few months and really gave up consciously at least once. Tonight I do not want to wish her to get better, or stay longer... I want to wish her to be as present as possible to whatever is happening to her, in what looks like depression, physical pain, boredom, tiredness, small joys, too! And there are some small joys for her - the fact that one of her 9 children come round twice a day to help her eat and keep her company; the many friends visiting her for short periods of time and reminding her that she's justy had her 44th great-grand child... her face illuminates, her eyes become sharp and witty, proud - surely these are small joys.
We exchanged maybe 30 phrases for the whole 5 hours I stayed with her. I felt peaceful as I left. I know it can sound selfish but it was good for me to have been there with her, for her, but also (mostly?) for me.
I'd taken my laptop thinking that I would certainly post some entries on this page, but all that happened was that I could not find words. Not worthwhile words. Well at least at the time. Yet I can usually ramble and go on for lines and lines to say not much - like I do now - but it just wouldn't happen there. Also I must say I was quite busy.
I spend most of Monday with my gran' at her nursing home. She was asleep as I arrived but I did give her a light kiss which woke her up. I'll always remember the smile she gave me was the highlight of the day. Her whole face opened up, her question mark-like back straightened in the space of a split second and her lungs inhaled more air all at once than they could remember... She was very present and attentive for approximately 10 minutes before diving again into a world of shadows inaccessible to any human being well and alive. Those 10 minutes had required more energy than she could give and the batteries needed recharging. It seems that the little life left in her is taking the micky out of her and her whole life - everything is given to the body, "that thing" that she had been taught, then taught herself to her children and in particluar her daughters to denigrate, supress, ignore... and worse!
And so I stayed for her mid-afternoon snack but she would not have anything to eat and at least accepted to drink some tea. There again, the effort to bring the cup to er lip would require that she falls asleep - to recover energy? And so time went by til dinner time. Her tray had enough food to give me more than a large lunch and it took her 90 minutes to swallow approximately 15 spoons of soup, a little bowl of salad, a mouthful of cheese, a piece of bread and a peach...
I can't help wondering what is all this spiritual work going on behind the scenes that keep her going. Who are the spirits keeping her in this human world, in human form? What is the purpose for her to be still be here? She's had enough more than once in the last few months and really gave up consciously at least once. Tonight I do not want to wish her to get better, or stay longer... I want to wish her to be as present as possible to whatever is happening to her, in what looks like depression, physical pain, boredom, tiredness, small joys, too! And there are some small joys for her - the fact that one of her 9 children come round twice a day to help her eat and keep her company; the many friends visiting her for short periods of time and reminding her that she's justy had her 44th great-grand child... her face illuminates, her eyes become sharp and witty, proud - surely these are small joys.
We exchanged maybe 30 phrases for the whole 5 hours I stayed with her. I felt peaceful as I left. I know it can sound selfish but it was good for me to have been there with her, for her, but also (mostly?) for me.
08 September 2007
Disguise
Hiding places are getting scarse
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
cracks and squeeks
fading colours and falling leaves
my second skin is drying out
Hiding places are getting scarse
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
screams and weeps
broken silences and true rumours
thansformation is happening
Hiding places are getting scarse
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
Glitters and golds
rising sunshine and unexpected rainbows
she's being given some breathing space
Hiding places are getting scarse
the air is warm and bright
smells good
feels thick and smooth
takes the camouflage away
and sometimes it is ok
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
cracks and squeeks
fading colours and falling leaves
my second skin is drying out
Hiding places are getting scarse
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
screams and weeps
broken silences and true rumours
thansformation is happening
Hiding places are getting scarse
too small
or far away
growing old and bare
far too well known...
Glitters and golds
rising sunshine and unexpected rainbows
she's being given some breathing space
Hiding places are getting scarse
the air is warm and bright
smells good
feels thick and smooth
takes the camouflage away
and sometimes it is ok
07 September 2007
rugby world cup 2007
Yes it is happening in France, it has started tonight with the hosts playing Argentina. It was always going to be a difficult game - It's not from me, I'm merely repeating what I've read in the papers in the last two weeks...
I'm just back from the pub where I watched the game - a very poor French side got desservedly beaten 17-12 in a scrappy game where the Argentines were certainlymore agressive and went for it.
I'm not an expert of the game so I won't say more than that, only that France can play much better than what they've showed tonight.
I've got one question though : is the coach Bernard Laporte more interested in his coming position in the French government as Secretary of State for Sports? Maybe I'm being very unfair...
I'm just back from the pub where I watched the game - a very poor French side got desservedly beaten 17-12 in a scrappy game where the Argentines were certainlymore agressive and went for it.
I'm not an expert of the game so I won't say more than that, only that France can play much better than what they've showed tonight.
I've got one question though : is the coach Bernard Laporte more interested in his coming position in the French government as Secretary of State for Sports? Maybe I'm being very unfair...
06 September 2007
twist
Funny how I wanted to explain how I've felt in the last two or three days in relation to my blog like I don't feel attached to it as much as I have been in the last month or so... and something else completely different came up. A short poem, in French, on Love.
Well that's me, too...
Without any idea whether I am in love; whether I love P. the man in my life;
Unable to define or pigeonhole Love; exciting and scary;
Oscillating between flying high and crashes;
I've been told - and I've experienced before - that my truth will show somewhere in the middle. May I be able to see it when it reveals itself to me in its own time.
Well that's me, too...
Without any idea whether I am in love; whether I love P. the man in my life;
Unable to define or pigeonhole Love; exciting and scary;
Oscillating between flying high and crashes;
I've been told - and I've experienced before - that my truth will show somewhere in the middle. May I be able to see it when it reveals itself to me in its own time.
recette maison
Par moment, je me sens en amour
la situation n'avance pas assez vite à mon goût
alors je m'inquiète
compare
calcule
évalue
tous les détails minutieusement.
Le modèle de référence est-il seulement fiable?
Dites-moi seulement
Qui a écrit le mode d'emploi?
Par moment, seulement amoureuse
c'est chouette de prendre le temps de se découvrir
alors je m'épanouis
profite
découvre
offre
des petits tous et des petits riens.
Le modèle de référence est-il fiable?
Dites-moi seulement
Comment écrire le mode d'emploi?
Je vous dis qu'il pas pour moi
Je vous dis que je n'en veux pas
Cet amour je veux l'assaisonner à ma façon
J'imaginerai une nouvelle recette maison
la situation n'avance pas assez vite à mon goût
alors je m'inquiète
compare
calcule
évalue
tous les détails minutieusement.
Le modèle de référence est-il seulement fiable?
Dites-moi seulement
Qui a écrit le mode d'emploi?
Par moment, seulement amoureuse
c'est chouette de prendre le temps de se découvrir
alors je m'épanouis
profite
découvre
offre
des petits tous et des petits riens.
Le modèle de référence est-il fiable?
Dites-moi seulement
Comment écrire le mode d'emploi?
Je vous dis qu'il pas pour moi
Je vous dis que je n'en veux pas
Cet amour je veux l'assaisonner à ma façon
J'imaginerai une nouvelle recette maison
04 September 2007
My mum's dad, bon-papa was the name we used to call him and we use to talk about him, passed away 10 years ago yesterday.
Not difficult to remember as he died 3 days after Diana, Princess of Wales. I'd been in London for a few months and the whole town, the whole nation poured into the capital to bring flowers and grieve her. My very good friend M. had come to visit me that week and I left her alone in London for 24h to go to his funeral in the surburb of Paris.
I remember how I felt teribly guilty to leave her behind.
He was to be buried in Brittany, in a small and lovely cemetery overlooking the bay. He was to be looking at the sea, the Love of his life. The whole family drove the 450 km to Brittany. I didn't so that I could get back to London and my friend.
I remember how I felt terribly guilty to leave him behind.
It took nearly a year before I saw his tomb. Bonne-maman did not want any polished marble stone or anything ready made of the sort. It had to blend with the Earth. It took months before the time and efforts of herself and her children (she's had nine of them...) were rewarded with a gigantic menhir-like stone that sits well with the surroundings. His name and dates of birth and death were simply carved onto the stone without colouring of any sort so that you actually need to look close to find it.
I remember him as a child sailing on his boat or going out to fish shrimps and crabs as the tide is coming in. I remember him polishing, painting, diy-ing this sailing boat A Dieu Vat, possibly the most valuable thing he had. I remember him bent over (and thinking about it now, probably conversing with) his raws of rose trees. I remember him at my parents in the countryside going for walks hours on end. I remember him changing the sheet once a week on his old and cherished barometer. I remember him one new year's eve smiling at me as I sipped a wonderful old-fashionly cooked hot chocolate.
I remember his last few years as he lost his short term memory, as he would ask the same questions again and again without tiring. I remember as he slowly fell on the side of overwhelming anxiety and how that could take him to bursts of anger or rage. I remember visiting him in a highly medicalised nursing home after he'd given up with life - his breathing sounded like something was caught and vibrating into the pipes of the kitchen sink. I remember how I was left by myself with him for just a few minutes and how much I wanted to tell him I loved him. I remember how my throat remained tight shut, my hands in my pockets and my eyes dry when my heart was weeping.
Today and for the last few months, bonne-maman has been declining with no particular disease. There have been times when we thought she'd had enough and was about to join him in the other world. It's been very important for me to listen to my needs, go and see her when I felt like it, spend time with her even without words exchanged. I think that the time of words has passed for us but I want to be there to simply hold her hand in mine. I feel that this is a time of closure, of goodbyes, of putting things to rest, of forgiveness towards her and towards myself. I feel that this is a time of healing that goes far beyond her and me.
If I regret the lost time with bon-papa, I am blessed with the time given with bonne-maman. I feel that when she goes I will not be feeling guilty. Hopefully I'll see her in a few days.
Not difficult to remember as he died 3 days after Diana, Princess of Wales. I'd been in London for a few months and the whole town, the whole nation poured into the capital to bring flowers and grieve her. My very good friend M. had come to visit me that week and I left her alone in London for 24h to go to his funeral in the surburb of Paris.
I remember how I felt teribly guilty to leave her behind.
He was to be buried in Brittany, in a small and lovely cemetery overlooking the bay. He was to be looking at the sea, the Love of his life. The whole family drove the 450 km to Brittany. I didn't so that I could get back to London and my friend.
I remember how I felt terribly guilty to leave him behind.
It took nearly a year before I saw his tomb. Bonne-maman did not want any polished marble stone or anything ready made of the sort. It had to blend with the Earth. It took months before the time and efforts of herself and her children (she's had nine of them...) were rewarded with a gigantic menhir-like stone that sits well with the surroundings. His name and dates of birth and death were simply carved onto the stone without colouring of any sort so that you actually need to look close to find it.
I remember him as a child sailing on his boat or going out to fish shrimps and crabs as the tide is coming in. I remember him polishing, painting, diy-ing this sailing boat A Dieu Vat, possibly the most valuable thing he had. I remember him bent over (and thinking about it now, probably conversing with) his raws of rose trees. I remember him at my parents in the countryside going for walks hours on end. I remember him changing the sheet once a week on his old and cherished barometer. I remember him one new year's eve smiling at me as I sipped a wonderful old-fashionly cooked hot chocolate.
I remember his last few years as he lost his short term memory, as he would ask the same questions again and again without tiring. I remember as he slowly fell on the side of overwhelming anxiety and how that could take him to bursts of anger or rage. I remember visiting him in a highly medicalised nursing home after he'd given up with life - his breathing sounded like something was caught and vibrating into the pipes of the kitchen sink. I remember how I was left by myself with him for just a few minutes and how much I wanted to tell him I loved him. I remember how my throat remained tight shut, my hands in my pockets and my eyes dry when my heart was weeping.
Today and for the last few months, bonne-maman has been declining with no particular disease. There have been times when we thought she'd had enough and was about to join him in the other world. It's been very important for me to listen to my needs, go and see her when I felt like it, spend time with her even without words exchanged. I think that the time of words has passed for us but I want to be there to simply hold her hand in mine. I feel that this is a time of closure, of goodbyes, of putting things to rest, of forgiveness towards her and towards myself. I feel that this is a time of healing that goes far beyond her and me.
If I regret the lost time with bon-papa, I am blessed with the time given with bonne-maman. I feel that when she goes I will not be feeling guilty. Hopefully I'll see her in a few days.
02 September 2007
Marie et Victoire
Les pas lourds et désordonnés s'approchent à une telle vitesse et dans un tel fracas que Victoire peutt sentir le vent du désespoir toucher son coeur depuis l'intérieur de la roulotte. Sa main s'arrête net, la brosse ayant gardé dans ses griffes une large poignée de ses longs cheveux encore mouillés. Le temps est suspendu jusqu'à ce que l'ouragan ne pénètre dans son nid douillet. Il ne faut pas longtemps. La porte s'ouvre dans un fracas assourdissant laissant passer Marie, armée d'une feuille de papaier qu'elle vient coller au visage de Victoire.
"Il m'a menti tout du long, il m'a qu'il ne voulait être avec personne, qu'il ne souhaitait pas démarrer de romance et vlan, trois jours plus tard, il se maque avec la premièr venue! Je le hais, je le hais!"
Victoire a pris le temps de poser sa brosse à cheveux sur la commode, s'approche avec douceur de Marie qui s'est mise à sangloter et lui prend la main, essayant de séparer gentillement les doigts qui sont serrés sur le bout de papier.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est ?" demande Victoire d'une voix apaisante avant de décoder quelques mots entre les sanglots de Marie, "le dernier billet sur son blog". Ca a l'air de marcher comme un déclic, les doigts de Marie s'ouvrent comme par magie, "je l'ai lu au moins 200 fois, je le connais par coeur. Pourquoi il m'a pas dit qu'il voulait pas de moi plutôt que de mentir ? Pourquoi il voulait pas de moi ?" dit-elle dans des sanglots qui redoublent. Victoire attrape le papier que Marie lui tend maintenant, le déchiffone autant qu'elle peut, tout en faisant assoir Marie sur le bord de son lit. Elle s'assoit à ses côtés, lui passe la bras autour des épaules et commence la lecture silencieuse.
"[...] Aussi, j'ai rencontré une fille. On a dansé ensemble, une de ces danses, vous savez, les yeux dans les yeux dès la première note, dès le premier mouvement, comme si on avait déjà dansé ensemble de depuis toujours. C'était tellement bon. Puis elle a tenu mon coeur dans le creux de ses mains et j'avais tout simplement envie de pleurer, là, dans ses bras, mais je me suis retenu, ce n'était ni le lieu ni le moment. On a rendez-vous pour dîner demain soir. Je suis heureux. Alors qu'on parlait après le cours, elle a utilisé ces mots à double sens, j'ai aimé ça, mais je n'ai pas relevé, en tout cas pas à haute voix. Etait-ce voulu de sa part ? [...]"
"C'est tout ? demande Victoire étonnée
- Comment ça c'est tout ? rétorque Marie mi-indignée mi-choquée par cette question. A l'heure où on parle, il doit être en train de se faire beau pour elle et la seule chose à laquelle il doit penser c'est de finir dans son lit.
- Attend, il y a encore quelques heures, il était le plus merveilleux des hommes, gentil , attentif, souriant, patient, curieux, spirituel, à la recherche de lui-même, et d'un coup ces quelques mots suffisent à changer la donne. Je ne comprends pas, Marie, dit Victoire avec la voix chaude de la gentillesse.
- Laisse tomber alors, c'est pas la peine, rétorque Marie sur un ton de reproche en redressant la tête qu'elle avait appuyée sur l'épaule de son amie
- Non, je laisse pas tomber, répond Victoire patiemment. Tu es dévastée et je n'aime pas te voir comme ça, mais peut-être que tu peux m'expliquer ?
- J'ai tout donné à ce mec. Je lui ai ouvert la porte de chez moi, j'ai passé du temps avec lui, je lui ai fait un petit déjeuner, laissé accès libre à mon ordinateur. J'ai tout fait pour qu'il se sente chez lui, à l'aise, et c'est comme ça qu'il me remercie! La prochaine fois il peut aller se faire voir ailleurs! D'ailleurs, il n'y aura pas de prochaine fois. Ca va bien de se faire prendre pour une conne, une fois suffit!"
Les larmes ont quitté les joues de Marie et laissé la place à des pommettes rosies, des pupilles dilatées et la machoire serrée par la colère. Le dos raidit, elle arrache la feuille de papier des mains de Victoire, et ajoute, "Si tu peux pas comprendre ça, je sais pas pourquoi je suis là" sur un ton sans appel, puis se lève, prête à partir. Victoire ne pipe mot. Elle la connaît sa Marie depuis le temps, rien ne sert d'envenimer la situation, elle reviendra d'elle-même. Sur le pas de la porte encore ouverte, Marie se retourne, "et tu dis rien? tu t'en fous, c'est ça?" sur un ton de reproche.
"Non, je ne m'en fous pas et tu le sais très bien. Et tu sais aussi très bien que dans cet état là tu n'écoutes pas ce que je te dis, alors je préfère me taire, dit Victoire, toujours aussi calme, alors qu'elle pense tout bas "Je sais pas quoi te dire ma vieille, je réfléchis". "Tu veux pas venir te rassoir ?
- Non tu m'emmerdes à toujours jouer le bon samaritain, toujours calme, jamais gagnée par les émotions, comme si rien n'avait d'importance. Je sais pas pourquoi je suis venue, vraiment! dit Marie, en posant la main sur la poignée de la porte, pête à quitter la roulotte où elle est venue tellement de fois se réfugier et chercher un peu de chaleur humaine. Le chaleur de la poignée est comme un électrochoc, elle la lâche instantanément et donne un coup de pied dans la porte avec une telle violence que celle-ci rebondit et vient se claquer en faisant trembler la roulotte.
"L'ouragan vient de passer", pense Victoire. Bouche-bée, Marie reste immobile, incapable de rien, l'esprit vide.
"Tu veux pas venir te rassoir ? redemande Victoire toujours avec la même voix douce et apaisante.
Marie reste figée, silencieuse, absente elle n'a pas entendu Victoire qui se lève, lui passe un bras autour des épaules, la guide gentillement vers sa chambre et l'invite à se rassoir sur le bord de son lit, "Ne bouge pas, je vais te faire une tisane comme tu l'aimes, bien chaude", dit-elle en chuchotant dans le creux de son oreille, comme si Marie était malade. Elle s'éloigne vers la cuisine, et gardant un silence religieux remplit la bouilloire, attrape deux tasses dans le placard à sa droite juste au-dessus de l'évier et sans avoir besoin de faire un pas sort deux sachets de tisane de fenouil dans le placard à petit-déjeuner. Après avoir versé l'eau bouillante sur les sachets, elle ajoute une cuillérée à café de miel et retrouve Marie dans la position exacte dans laquelle elle l'a laissé. "Ca à l'air d'être sérieux cette fois", pense-t-elle. Des larmes viennent s'écraser sur les genoux de Marie, qui ne fais rien pour les sècher ni les cacher. "S'en rend-elle seulement compte", se demande Victoire qui vient se rassoir à ses côtés, "tiens, du fenouil avec du miel. Attends un peu avant de boire, c'est bouillant pour l'instant", dis-elle.
"Je lui parle comme si elle avait 4 ans, pense-t-elle, alors qu'elle en a 23. Remarque, là tout de suite, elle a certainement pas 23 ans. Qu'est-ce qu'elle imaginait, qu'est-ce qu'elle attendait de ce mec? Oui il était canon, oui, il la regardait avec un sourire qui pouvait lui laisser penser qu'il souhaitait plus que simplement un canapé dans le salon, mais d'après Marie, il avait été très clair aussi, il ne souhaitait rien de plus. Alors quoi, Marie, ça faisait des jours et des jours que tu en parlait, que tu étais super excitée, mais tu ne l'as vu quelques jours et savais que tu ne le reverrais pas, ou en tout cas pas de si tôt. Qu'est-ce qui est allé se mettre dans ta petite tête. Des fois, j'te jure, Marie, faudrais quand même que tu aies la tête sur les épaules..." Ses pensées sont alors stoppées par les sanglots bruyants de Marie. La vie refait surface et la douleur la submerge. Elle s'allonge sur le lit dans la position du foetus. "Enfin, ça sort", pensa Victoire en s'allongeant derrière Marie et en la tenant dans ses bras comme une mère tiendrait son bébé. "Pleure, ma belle, pleure tout ton saôul, ne te retiens surtout pas", chuchota-t-elle à l'oreille.
"Il m'a menti tout du long, il m'a qu'il ne voulait être avec personne, qu'il ne souhaitait pas démarrer de romance et vlan, trois jours plus tard, il se maque avec la premièr venue! Je le hais, je le hais!"
Victoire a pris le temps de poser sa brosse à cheveux sur la commode, s'approche avec douceur de Marie qui s'est mise à sangloter et lui prend la main, essayant de séparer gentillement les doigts qui sont serrés sur le bout de papier.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est ?" demande Victoire d'une voix apaisante avant de décoder quelques mots entre les sanglots de Marie, "le dernier billet sur son blog". Ca a l'air de marcher comme un déclic, les doigts de Marie s'ouvrent comme par magie, "je l'ai lu au moins 200 fois, je le connais par coeur. Pourquoi il m'a pas dit qu'il voulait pas de moi plutôt que de mentir ? Pourquoi il voulait pas de moi ?" dit-elle dans des sanglots qui redoublent. Victoire attrape le papier que Marie lui tend maintenant, le déchiffone autant qu'elle peut, tout en faisant assoir Marie sur le bord de son lit. Elle s'assoit à ses côtés, lui passe la bras autour des épaules et commence la lecture silencieuse.
"[...] Aussi, j'ai rencontré une fille. On a dansé ensemble, une de ces danses, vous savez, les yeux dans les yeux dès la première note, dès le premier mouvement, comme si on avait déjà dansé ensemble de depuis toujours. C'était tellement bon. Puis elle a tenu mon coeur dans le creux de ses mains et j'avais tout simplement envie de pleurer, là, dans ses bras, mais je me suis retenu, ce n'était ni le lieu ni le moment. On a rendez-vous pour dîner demain soir. Je suis heureux. Alors qu'on parlait après le cours, elle a utilisé ces mots à double sens, j'ai aimé ça, mais je n'ai pas relevé, en tout cas pas à haute voix. Etait-ce voulu de sa part ? [...]"
"C'est tout ? demande Victoire étonnée
- Comment ça c'est tout ? rétorque Marie mi-indignée mi-choquée par cette question. A l'heure où on parle, il doit être en train de se faire beau pour elle et la seule chose à laquelle il doit penser c'est de finir dans son lit.
- Attend, il y a encore quelques heures, il était le plus merveilleux des hommes, gentil , attentif, souriant, patient, curieux, spirituel, à la recherche de lui-même, et d'un coup ces quelques mots suffisent à changer la donne. Je ne comprends pas, Marie, dit Victoire avec la voix chaude de la gentillesse.
- Laisse tomber alors, c'est pas la peine, rétorque Marie sur un ton de reproche en redressant la tête qu'elle avait appuyée sur l'épaule de son amie
- Non, je laisse pas tomber, répond Victoire patiemment. Tu es dévastée et je n'aime pas te voir comme ça, mais peut-être que tu peux m'expliquer ?
- J'ai tout donné à ce mec. Je lui ai ouvert la porte de chez moi, j'ai passé du temps avec lui, je lui ai fait un petit déjeuner, laissé accès libre à mon ordinateur. J'ai tout fait pour qu'il se sente chez lui, à l'aise, et c'est comme ça qu'il me remercie! La prochaine fois il peut aller se faire voir ailleurs! D'ailleurs, il n'y aura pas de prochaine fois. Ca va bien de se faire prendre pour une conne, une fois suffit!"
Les larmes ont quitté les joues de Marie et laissé la place à des pommettes rosies, des pupilles dilatées et la machoire serrée par la colère. Le dos raidit, elle arrache la feuille de papier des mains de Victoire, et ajoute, "Si tu peux pas comprendre ça, je sais pas pourquoi je suis là" sur un ton sans appel, puis se lève, prête à partir. Victoire ne pipe mot. Elle la connaît sa Marie depuis le temps, rien ne sert d'envenimer la situation, elle reviendra d'elle-même. Sur le pas de la porte encore ouverte, Marie se retourne, "et tu dis rien? tu t'en fous, c'est ça?" sur un ton de reproche.
"Non, je ne m'en fous pas et tu le sais très bien. Et tu sais aussi très bien que dans cet état là tu n'écoutes pas ce que je te dis, alors je préfère me taire, dit Victoire, toujours aussi calme, alors qu'elle pense tout bas "Je sais pas quoi te dire ma vieille, je réfléchis". "Tu veux pas venir te rassoir ?
- Non tu m'emmerdes à toujours jouer le bon samaritain, toujours calme, jamais gagnée par les émotions, comme si rien n'avait d'importance. Je sais pas pourquoi je suis venue, vraiment! dit Marie, en posant la main sur la poignée de la porte, pête à quitter la roulotte où elle est venue tellement de fois se réfugier et chercher un peu de chaleur humaine. Le chaleur de la poignée est comme un électrochoc, elle la lâche instantanément et donne un coup de pied dans la porte avec une telle violence que celle-ci rebondit et vient se claquer en faisant trembler la roulotte.
"L'ouragan vient de passer", pense Victoire. Bouche-bée, Marie reste immobile, incapable de rien, l'esprit vide.
"Tu veux pas venir te rassoir ? redemande Victoire toujours avec la même voix douce et apaisante.
Marie reste figée, silencieuse, absente elle n'a pas entendu Victoire qui se lève, lui passe un bras autour des épaules, la guide gentillement vers sa chambre et l'invite à se rassoir sur le bord de son lit, "Ne bouge pas, je vais te faire une tisane comme tu l'aimes, bien chaude", dit-elle en chuchotant dans le creux de son oreille, comme si Marie était malade. Elle s'éloigne vers la cuisine, et gardant un silence religieux remplit la bouilloire, attrape deux tasses dans le placard à sa droite juste au-dessus de l'évier et sans avoir besoin de faire un pas sort deux sachets de tisane de fenouil dans le placard à petit-déjeuner. Après avoir versé l'eau bouillante sur les sachets, elle ajoute une cuillérée à café de miel et retrouve Marie dans la position exacte dans laquelle elle l'a laissé. "Ca à l'air d'être sérieux cette fois", pense-t-elle. Des larmes viennent s'écraser sur les genoux de Marie, qui ne fais rien pour les sècher ni les cacher. "S'en rend-elle seulement compte", se demande Victoire qui vient se rassoir à ses côtés, "tiens, du fenouil avec du miel. Attends un peu avant de boire, c'est bouillant pour l'instant", dis-elle.
"Je lui parle comme si elle avait 4 ans, pense-t-elle, alors qu'elle en a 23. Remarque, là tout de suite, elle a certainement pas 23 ans. Qu'est-ce qu'elle imaginait, qu'est-ce qu'elle attendait de ce mec? Oui il était canon, oui, il la regardait avec un sourire qui pouvait lui laisser penser qu'il souhaitait plus que simplement un canapé dans le salon, mais d'après Marie, il avait été très clair aussi, il ne souhaitait rien de plus. Alors quoi, Marie, ça faisait des jours et des jours que tu en parlait, que tu étais super excitée, mais tu ne l'as vu quelques jours et savais que tu ne le reverrais pas, ou en tout cas pas de si tôt. Qu'est-ce qui est allé se mettre dans ta petite tête. Des fois, j'te jure, Marie, faudrais quand même que tu aies la tête sur les épaules..." Ses pensées sont alors stoppées par les sanglots bruyants de Marie. La vie refait surface et la douleur la submerge. Elle s'allonge sur le lit dans la position du foetus. "Enfin, ça sort", pensa Victoire en s'allongeant derrière Marie et en la tenant dans ses bras comme une mère tiendrait son bébé. "Pleure, ma belle, pleure tout ton saôul, ne te retiens surtout pas", chuchota-t-elle à l'oreille.
More mandala
I was thinking about it for a while - being home and designing a new mandala. I enjoyed making the first one so much that I felt making another. Somehow though it is as if the time chooses me rather than the other way around. And Friday it was ripe I suppose - I spread all the treasured content of my "making things" boxes, put the music on from my computer so I wouldn't have to change CDs and off I started...
I was long, complicated, I made mistakes, I had to start again but I could see it come to life. I liked going through each step, stop, watching, waiting for the next shape to be given for me to do - some I refused as I didn't like them.
Can I say I'm proud? Yes I can and I will -- I'm very proud of what I've done and I like it very much. And, I'll be able to re-use the canvas I made as this time I used thin cardboard rather than paper. How sweet...
If you want to see the first one I made a few weeks back, here it is.
I was long, complicated, I made mistakes, I had to start again but I could see it come to life. I liked going through each step, stop, watching, waiting for the next shape to be given for me to do - some I refused as I didn't like them.
Can I say I'm proud? Yes I can and I will -- I'm very proud of what I've done and I like it very much. And, I'll be able to re-use the canvas I made as this time I used thin cardboard rather than paper. How sweet...
If you want to see the first one I made a few weeks back, here it is.
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