Be Passing

 

Jesus said: be passers-by. (source)gospel according to Thomas Go forward, go backwards or sideways, but always go. Don’t take the plunge. Don’t settle in. Run away from immobility. Passing through is not a fashion, not a desire, but a real way of life. From this eternal movement, draw the essential: your quality of passing makes you a precious being. You are now the one through which we move on.

The Door of the Elsewhere

To pass is to let the wind run through you. To let life penetrate you, cross you, use you to reach the Elsewhere. Through you, beings can pass. Those who come from below, those who come from elsewhere, those who desperately need to reach this plan. You will do them the short way. Isn’t that the best service to give them? So many people are closed doors. Impassable walls. They are sentenced to life in prison. Hell to death. Do not imitate them. You will find paradise by offering it to passers-by. Let them pass. Let them laugh. Let them get drunk, discover the other side of the mirror. To help them, break the ice.

For about twenty years, I was an initiator. A deep-sea cleaner. I trained my visitors to dive to the depths of themselves. They appreciated it. How did I do it? Few have understood it, yet they have experienced it. To become a passer-by, to offer this safe passage to this immensity in there, it is necessary and sufficient to make a vacuum. Great spring cleaning, summer watering, winter polishing and autumn leaching. Empty head, open heart. Everything goes through the heart. If it is closed, you bump into it, you trip, you hurt yourself. You stumble. You stumble, you go your way.

Empty head, open with two shutters the portal of the Elsewhere. Stern father who loses his glasses, perseveres. Willingly or forcefully, insists. We’ll be grateful for your help.

 

Doorway

You will be the door that leads each one to another path, to another morning, to another destiny. Another reason to go and live further. I borrow these last words from my favourite bard, Glenmor. I used to add a link to Youtube, to make you discover beautiful music. Since Google took over the web’s jukebox, these links are lost. I had to take most of it out, because instead of taking you to ear heaven, they’re giving you a dry crap error 404 not found. Thanks Google. World of shit. Another reason to move on.

Don’t keep your house closed. Breathe. Do the right thing and let it happen. Complete your hegira. Without a sigh, smile. They want to come in? Let it through. Offer the tea to the guests. They need help, they need a cure, they don’t know that the only healing that matters is in them. You repeat it, you grumble, you fart, you sad arpeggite of the heavenly magister, have a weighty hand, turn your jacket, flee incests, the stinking male plague, song of manifest gestures, there are laws for that, lawyers, the turnip goes.

 

Don’t be without

Not without courage, not without sharing, not without shore, not without storm, not without face, not without wise body, not without outrage, not without savage, not without carnage, not without hostage, not without waxing, be not wise.

Unparalleled rival

Without equal, without stand, without treat, without rival, without oval, without oral, without anal, without annals, without global, without natal, without sandal, without spiral, without mind. Life is what you unpack. Life is what you devastate. Life is what you swallow.

Overall work

April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.

June, she’ll change her tune,
In restless walks she’ll prowl the night;
July, she will fly
And give no warning to her flight.

August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September I’ll remember
A love once new has now grown old.

Hell of a pace

… that of nothingness

Ball violins

In the Hohenzollern district
Between the Saar and the barracks
Like the flowers of alfalfa
Lola’s breasts were blooming

She had a swallow’s heart
On the couch in the brothel
I was just lying next to her
In the hiccups of pianola

Is this how men live
And their kisses in the distance follow them

Louis Aragon

 

When it hurts

Think of something else. Look at life in pink. Give up prose. For no reason or cause. Lie down. No dope and no dose. Don’t be gloomy. Be gay if you dare.

Be the animal

He went to cry famine
To the ant his neighbor,
Begging her to lend him
Some grain to survive
Until the new spring.
I’ll pay you, he says,
Next summer, word of animal,
Interest and principal.

Jean de La Fontaine

Non cerebral

Mental end

Nothing’s fatal

It could have been just
A moment almost
For death to arrive
But a naked hand
Came and took my hand
So I could survive.

Louis Aragon

 

 

All is but

There is a light at the end of every tunnel … we just have to pray this is not a train. (Woody Allen)

A brutal lot

The Poet has albatross’ wings
Haunting the storm and the lightning
Down on the ground with the booing,
His giant wings keep from walking.

Charles Baudelaire

 

All that is pure is undrinkable.
Paul Claudel