Awakening Path

At the age of 7 I had wonderful dreams. Lots of light, sweet and comforting voices, heavenly music that I have been chasing since then. Future realities have been revealed to me. Extraterrestrial wonders were shown to me, which I found very beautiful and good.

The kindness of my celestial hosts has nothing to arouse concern. Unsuspecting, I listen to their lessons. Litanies of facts and centuries are patiently brought up to me, which I immediately adopted. Later, around my 12 years, the mist begins to cover these luminous pages, five happy years dedicated to the golden legend.

First round

It was then that I started to heal the wounds. It was enough for me to pass my hand over a wound for the skin to regenerate. I once repaired the broken arm of my friend Claude S.

We don’t forget anything. Everything I have lived is mine forever. Wonders like nightmares are engramed somewhere in my subtle body, which will remain out of my consciousness until awakening. I recently discovered that I was awake from birth, but at 12 I fell asleep.

I woke up and I saw that everyone was still asleep. So I went back to sleep. (Leonardo Da Vinci)

It took years for my memory to come back to me. This hidden part of my life sometimes sparkled, at random from an emotion, from an encounter. Flashes without link or coherence. But traces anyway. The 30 years that followed allowed me to save time and money. At 42 I was introduced to the mysteries of Isis. My recap was over.

In fact it never is. As transparent as the past can become by dint of regressions, deep trances and questing for visions, there are always forgotten facts hidden in the folds of time. We never stopped exploring. The inner journey lasts a lifetime, even longer, and that sucks.

Those who have the misfortune to start too late will race against time. Lost in advance. What old man can say without laughing: “I know myself, I have uncovered all my secrets, I have explored all my interior provinces, I am free from myself and I love myself“? Still out of reach at 70.

Second round

Children are thirsty for love and wonders. By finding the child I was and still am, I gained years of life. Thanks to the fourth love of my life – how lucky I am !! – here I am quadra instead of septua. Thanks to you. I was about to slide the second foot into the grave, thanks to you I removed the first. Fairy you are!

Note that I had already worked on the question. Remembering, visiting the different basements, cleaning the attic, wiping the tanks, washing the floors and ceilings, I was waiting for you for the paint work and further embellishments. You gave me so much, and this is just the beginning, I know it. I feel it.

Despite the great age difference, I often take you for my eldest – as the maturity of women overwhelms the puerility of guys. The child I used to be is now partying with the one I become again. Is it the same me? Why not ? What reason to doubt it?

Third round

Never two without three. The third round is free. Offered by the house. Here are some words from the great Charlie. I love it.

Humor helps us survive and stay sane. (Charlie Chaplin)

Yep. Eden Saga also helps you survive. And to stay sane. Yes indeed. That’s the way it is.

In the third round, you have to pick up the tarot cards, to shuffle the cards and arrange your cards in a new order.

Ifever we had to redo it ? I will start again. Same old story. You won’t ? Rewind the film. Watch the forgotten sequences. Keep grateful and raise the dead. Do not bulge the torso. Keep a low profile. Make yourself tiny. Pray to be forgotten. A happy life is a hidden life. Far from the sound, far from the fury.

My child, my sister,
Think of the pleasure
To go there to live together
To love at leisure,
To love and to die
In a country that fits you
Where the wet sun dries
From these blurred skies
Filling my mind with the charms
So mysterious
Of your treacherous
Eyes shining through their tears.
There’s but order and beauty,
Pleasure, calm and luxury.
(Charles Baudelaire, prince of poets)

Seven-year-old poet, I walk the Milky Way. In my hood full to the brim, I am gathering the gold powder left by the princely comets. Magic reindeer pull my sleigh. Santa Klaus, center closed, no cola, I am wearing no red American soda color, I am all green dressed like a wisp. Target skin and green hat. Like a lettuce. Let us go.

At the age of seven, he wrote novels, about life
From the great desert, where delighted Liberty shines,
Forests, suns, shores, savannas! – He was helping himself
Illustrated newspapers where, red, he looked
Spaniards laugh and Italians.
When the brown, mad eye in Indian dresses came,
– Eight years old – the daughter of the workers next door,
The little brutal, and that she had jumped,
In a corner, on her back, shaking her braids,
And that he was under her, he bit her buttocks,
Because she never wore pants;
– And by her bruised fists and heels,
Went the flavors of his skin in his room.
(Arthur Rimbaud, The seven-year-old poets)

A three-year-old boy sees thousands of colors of which adults have no idea. A little girl of the same age sees millions. If you absolutely want to reincarnate, choose to be a woman. A flame. A banner. Announce the color. Be proud of your breasts. Take your boat, strip your bow, my young Parque of the FARC, my Joan of Arc who sparks in your bark, I love you to die. Do love me to live.

Light! … Or you, death! But the quickest takes me! …
My heart beats ! my heart beats ! My breast is burning and training!
Ah! that it swells, swells and tightens, this hard
Very sweet captive witness of my azure networks …
Hard in me … but so sweet with an infinite mouth! …

Dear nascent ghosts whose thirst is united to me,
Desires! Clear faces! … And you, beautiful fruits of love,
Have the gods formed this maternal outline for me

And these sinuous edges, these folds and these chalices,
So that life embraces an altar of delights,
Where mixing the strange soul with the eternal returns,
The semen, the milk, the blood still flow?
(Paul Valéry, La Jeune Parque)

valery-baudelaire-rimbaud-688po

Live to see. Die to know.

Today came to me this motto, which I adopt because it tells me well. Precise as a Swiss watch. What ? Having searched so much, lived so much, tried so much, is that all I found? Looks like. So much effort during so many years to get there? Yes. The answer is yes. To the two questions. I am far from having seen everything, I must live another moment. Another month, another year. A decade. Or two ? Knowledge is my quest, it will always remain so. The truth, whatever it is, I wouldn’t have in this life.

Live to see. A glance in passing, or a strong, fixed, interminable look, a look without blinking, without deviating from your axis. A look that wants to see. Or then a fleeting wink, so this is life? And exit! Off to new adventures ! We can bet for one, for the other, for what we want, the truth will always be pushed back to us. You never reach the foot of the rainbow. These are the humble limits of the human condition.

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
Ralph Waldo Emerson