silence

not that it is how I feel these days... silence on the world wide web for me for the last three days though. not a word either written or read on anyone else's journey... an eternity!

the thickness of my own journey these days is such that I can't seem to find the words to explain it or share it. Every single details seems of the utmost importance so how on Earth could I share them all? Each day is a revolution in itself, a new discovery (when not more than one), a learning curve, a real excitment mixed up with fear/terror sometimes...

good night/good day, depending on where you are on Mother Earth.

blessings to all and each of you

growing up is dying a little

it's been a week of ups and downs, not too high up and never really deep down but exhausting noneless.

Yet when I'm asked "how are you?" or "how's life treating you?" I don't really know how to answer that. I don't have words. I'm kind of mixed up, confused. A voice within, I believe she's Clairette, is joyful and thankful for all the changes of the last 3 weeks and is basically happy. Another feels like weeping (Clairon!) and makes my heart sink as if a victim of what is happening and in need of help and support. I oscillate between those two (and there might be more, too) and I know that neither of them is right. It doesn't sound like the truth in either case. So what???

I want answers, NOW!!! (Clairon)
Or do I? (Clairette)

I've played Clairon for most of my life and Clairette has only come in very recently. Have I already outgrown the character? What/who is going to come next? I don't know and I don't know how long it will take before i do.

tonight I feel that I may be losing control on "how I want my life to be run". I do not claim that I know the answers because clearly I don't. I accept that others have different opinions and priorities and that it doesn't necessarily serve me. Interestingly it doesn't necessarily desserve me either. I see that I can be patient, present, paying attention to the now... not always so easy to live, though

Still, I've had this week the nicest dream I've ever had since I started recording them night after night for the last 5 years. Peace, freedom, fertile field... there is some positive in the "confusion"

Allez les bleus!!

Beating the kiwis at rugby tonight felt like winning the final and be world champions... except that there are another two games to go before that, maybe...


But what a game!! my friend text me all the way from NZ saying there's going to be a day of mourning down under... Had we lost again this team of amazing strength, quality and above all playing beautiful rugby, I'd still have been ok. France had scored a try (the second was the winning one) and had certainly not looked out of depth!

Thanks to those guys who works their socks off on the pitch, believed in themselves when most of us didn't and pulled up a fantastic performance on the day. Let's hope they do the same against England next week to erase a sad memory of being beaten last time around in a wet and windy day, also in the semis...

Allez les bleus!

à moi...

une chambre, un salon, une cuisine et une salle de bain minuscule... et voilà, je viens de vous faire visiter mon nouveau chez moi. Mon chez moi, à moi...

j'y ai déposé mes cartons il y a maintenant 3 semaines, et ce n'est qu'hier que j'ai commencé à vouloir en faire mon chez moi, à moi...

Cet appartement, je l'ai voulu, j'en avais rêvé depuis longtemps, mais maintenant que c'est fait, je ne suis pas prête. Je dois des remerciements et une aide financière non négligeable à Mick et à mes parents, mais cet appartement m'appartient. à moi...

Ma vie en est toute chamboulée. Je me sens faire des bonds en avant ayant au préalable chaussé les bottes de sept lieux tout en étant tirée vers le passé, à revisiter des douleurs "ancestrales". Au milieu de cela, je ne peux être qu'un témoin et observer ce script sur lequel je n'ai pas la mainmise alors même qu'il s'agit de ma vie. à moi...



Quand je reste dans le présent les blessures du passé semblent bien lointaines et les peurs d'un avenir incertain n'ont pas de prises. Alors je m'appartiens, à moi...

Une paix intérieure s'installe, mon coeur s'emplit d'amour que je peux donner autour de moi consciemment. On me l'a dit maintes et maintes fois, j'ai un coeur gros comme ça. Et ce coeur, il est à moi...

Aimer et être aimée

Le temps est venu...
... de reconnaître et d'accepter l'amour que l'on m'a donné et que l'on me donne plutôt que de me lamenter sur l'amour ideal que j'aurais voulu recevoir

It is now time...
... to look at the love I received rather than go on and on about the one - the ideal one - that I wasn't given and that I thought I deserved

Le temps est venu...
... d'apprendre a aimer de façon consciente et de stopper mes extraordinaires réserves de se vider en raison d'une fuite

It is now time...
... to send love and compassion consciously rather than let my great reserves depleting unconsciously as if unaware of a leak

another Monday
another dance
another edge
another discovery

new steps
new flowing
new breathing
new opening

send blessings
give thanks
receive love
heal the hearts

réflexions sensations

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

quote

There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood tomorrow
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

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.

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.

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.

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...

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

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...

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...

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.

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

Citation

Le savoir-vivre est la somme des interdits qui jalonnent la vie d'un être civilisé, c'est à dire coincé entre les règles du savoir-naître et celles du savoir-mourir.

Pierre Desproges

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...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.