Just a little longer, you’ll see me. Just a little longer, you won’t see me anymore. A very pretty word attributed to Jesus. I have little merit to attribute to myself: word of Jesus who didn’t exist. He is not the inventor, nor am I either. At my age, the merit of such a prophecy is very small.
I too, at 30, saw myself close to death. Forty-five years later, I still live. I was wrong in the great widths and Jesus saw right.
Announce his imminent death at the age I am? Sad banality. So why say it? For your sake, dear hesitants. To help you think. Many of you are beating around the bush, refusing to grow, keeping your light under the bushel, exposing only your rubble. The world needs your awakening as much as you need it.
I have this power to help, I use it all the time. It is urgent and it purges. My word would be an ultimatum. It could just be a simple decision-making tool. No self-pity on my part, I have passed the age. Although I can change my age as my shirt.
Now this young old-timer is making the wake-up siren scream. You want the world to change? So change first. Lead by example.
Those who know do not speak and those who speak do not know. The wise teaches by his actions and not by his words.
What would I complain about? My life so full, luck at every step, love to the end. Why this bed of roses without thorns? What do I know? The Parques looked away when they signed my destiny. Blessed are they. What a treat! Misfortune did not fail, nor did I lack the strength to face it. I loved so much, so little given, I received everything, what did I give back?
True sages are those who give what they have, without malice and without secrecy.
The count is right. Too right. I did not offer my body for the bishopric surrender. But I gave, go. Without regret. I did everything I wanted to do as a child. I can go away happy.
Dying for ideas excellent idea
I almost died for not having it
All those who had it heavy crowd
Screaming to death have fallen on me.
(Georges Brassens)
A life devoted to selfish pleasures brings weariness, disgust, depression, death of the body — the soul does not recover. The temptation comes to end this disgust, this suffering, this daily crucifixion.
Life is a lost good
When we haven’t lived
As we would have liked
(Mihaï Eminescu)
Any suicide forces the soul to take a new body. Without going through the between two lives, the soul is incarnated right away in a similar body, in comparable circumstances, with an equivalent destiny.
The suicide relives the same trials, until he manages to overcome his weakness. Strength comes to him with light. Finally he breaks the infernal circle, the cycle dies out, the soul is on its way to new adventures.
I was told this when I was a kid, I admit I never found any personal past lives that verified this hypothesis. I believed in it for a long time, a part of me still does.
From early childhood, I knew that death is only a little heartbreak — especially for those who remain to mourn the deceased. Beyond the threshold, through the ultimate gate, it continues. No change. The gate is not ultimate. The threshold is not.
It continues in the same fashion, unanswered questions, post-existential emptiness, if the Post Office exists in heaven. It continues the same? What do I know? I’ve been there. I come back. The other side has a lot of old friends. Nietzsche, Flornoy, Castaneda, Jung, Devictor, Aïnama, Heraclitus, Plato, Coquelle, Tesla, Loulou, Papa. Inconsolable debt of lonesome beings.
Let us help this tearful torpor which does not please me. Let us return to our sheep: the little time I have left to prowl among you. Take the opportunity to realize your wildest dream, meet the fool. The fool I am, and proud to be. Yes, proud and without ego. It can be. I do. Proud of the job well done. Cost of yesterday’s work.
Certainly I have received so much help! From here, from up there, besides, we do not know where. These gifts so cool, the timeline, the astral! The awakening of birth that I have kept so far. The innocence of the impure. The purity of the guilty. Illusions perhaps, better in any case than those of the stoned. Those of the submissive. Sheep.
I shoot myself endlessly. I end up in one shot, I cost to the goal. I kick the ass. I aspire to the eternal, I soar in the vastness that allocates me its wings. Lend me its zeal. For it I give an infinite thank you.
Why meet me? Because it’s possible. If we had to do everything possible! Yes, I think we should. Because it’s better to have remorse than regret. Isn’t it better to feel remorse for what we’ve done than to regret what we didn’t dare to do?
And then I don’t have a lot of time. Okay, but urgency doesn’t mean everything. It doesn’t explain anything. My donations do the rest. I have received the power to heal, to relieve, to enlighten, to thin, to strengthen, to lighten, to weigh down, to mitigate, to transform, to forgive, to exonerate, to rebalance, to awaken. I also received many powers that I have not discovered and that will go away with my breath.
I am the one who is, very soon I will be the one who is no longer. I transmit the dark equation of the Devil, I put it in light and music, I open the first six chakras, I allow the unconditional fusion of the Tower, the awakening to the Self. I give forgetfulness of the difficult ego ending.
If you come to me, you the undecided one, who turns and turns all around my turne, you the muse in cothurnes, you the nocturnal awakening, I am there for a little time. I wait for you. If at last you are ready, whether you are far or near, survive. You remember. The bird that does not return. Tiny luck open like a rose offered. A cubic centimeter to pick in flight.
1965 The Portal in open
Cultural Revolution – China, Demonstrations against the Vietnam War – United States
May 68 – France, the first revolutions of youth travel the world
1970 The Passers-by
Young people play non-stop records, folk pop rock music invades the world.
Widespread refusal of standardized behavior and civic disobedience.
1975 The first wave
Sporadic appearances of baba-cools backpackers in search of unusual, exotic
and illuminations. The young people of the world are in India, Morocco and Canada.
1980 The Indigo Children
Never seen: appearance of new auras. Birth of the first children with indigo aura.
Development of communities of inactive young people practicing free love.
1990 Cristal
Birth of the first crystal children. In the West, the new planetary spirituality
is spreading among young adults in developed countries.
1995 Indigo Teens
Indigo children enter adolescence. The new spirituality
gains ground. False gurus abound and make recipe.
2000 Crystal Prophets
The crystal teenagers will get into the dance. They are clairvoyant, enthusiastic
and full of gifts.
2010 The prophecy of the Rainbow
The American Indians are reincarnated little by little in all races, all the countries.
2020 Point of the day
The day rises in the most wounded hearts. The pre-apocalyptic climate
promotes the blossoming of pure hearts, followers of unconditional love.
2025 Death of remorse
Here we are. The revolution of Mai68 failed, we were born too early.
As a new wave of hippies warms our hearts,
neo-Nazis are on the verge of power in the home.
No pasaràn! Long live the resentment of rappers!
Yes, you precisely. You have recognized yourself, I speak of you. I have here everything necessary to allow you a decisive awakening. Everyone needs a drastic change, I don’t like politics, but you have to listen to your gut. It is still important for you to listen to your body. In its own way it speaks to you constantly. Know how to hear it. Learn to understand it. Awakening, it knows. The first six chakras in you are well opened. Turn little mills.
But the fontanel still blocks. The head is not the body. Wanting to rule everything, it chokes you and you whine. The road is not so long as you think. Stop whining and fearing. Every turn is enough for his queen. And you can win the game. Apply here.
A little time, a little space, a little bit of life between two infinite deaths. Do not compare yourself to them, which crush you with their duration. What are we? Giants on their knees. Oaths untied. Emptiness between atoms. Infinity lurks, ignore it. If it cries, give it the breast as the mother feeds her infant.
You are nothing, make a reason. Your pride is not seasonal. Your present is homeless. Your horse staggers and falls. Your Sabbath gives shelter. Your misfortune takes five. Your rabbi cuts his payots. Your body plays dead. Everything is fine on board. The teeth on the bit, your horse falls asleep. She still reels.
Your flying horse is losing altitude. Pegasus loves certainties, he embodies Celtic DNA. Buraq is afraid of emptiness, in his greedy craving, he sits near the druid, in his lucid dream.
We come from the Celts. Greece is a mirage. Egypt was wiser. Rome took its toll. India has an army of savages on its shores. Our past has come a long way. Our future belongs to us.
For the warrior
Of the Ancient Land
With the stone alleys
With the paths of great wind
Where we often hear
Like the ancestors
The echo of prayers
So moving and poignant
The old graveyard
Has spitting him up
He drinks this beer
Monks brewed at the convent
With a proud look
On the moving waves
That ancient sailor
Eternal survivor
In his cottage
Give you in a dream
The awakening of light
That opens by raising
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