My Goblins


A joyful elf dances in my heart. He steals my sadness. He furnishes my solitude. He paints with champagne the grey hours when I doubt. He supports me in my trials : his jokes tear a smile off my face or make me laugh, according to his talent. And depending on the timing. Who is he? Where is he from? I really don’t know. But I love him as I love myself.


A real crowd

But it doesn’t surprise me. Before I molted, there were a lot of elves in me. I knew them well. Their voices mingled inside like a long hubbub, sometimes punctuated with shrieks, sometimes buzzing like a bee, keeping company. Everyone had their own character, all the voices were different. I knew them so well that I had given them names. Or did they tell me?

Arminthe, Syrenn, Lordy, Marx, Dude, Hello, Mon Poteau, Ma Quiche and Mac Chiche, Justin, Fessard, Lingot and a good dozen goblins who were the background.  In this way, a whole family, which I have never seen, froze in me. I could hear only their voices in my head and in my body. The ones I named have become real friends. Delightful distraction for the loner I was and still am.

How could I forget them? They each took on their role with their stance, constancy, circumstance. Syrenn sounded like a factory siren. Lordy thought he was a little mylord. Marx had the same beard as Karl and the same delusion as Groucho.

Dude had only this word in his mouth, just like Mon Poteau: I thought for a long time that he was the same as the previous one. He denied me one day by jumping on my head. I almost died of stupor: for the first time a leprechaun came out of me!

Hello gave me this greeting at least twenty times a day. If I forgot to answer him once, he would shout in an overactive voice: Hey draftee? No more greetings?

My Quiche and Mac Chiche, inseparable twins, were always late. Funny as all, they moved in a mirror, synchronous, set like a score. I wonder where their name comes from? From themselves, I guess.

When his friends disappeared, Justin always remained faithful to the post. When I was surprised not to hear them again, I said: Ho the elves? How many are you? And he answered: Juste un!!!Just one!!! Lingot whom I saluted with a Hello Bébert! Each time he said: Bébert Lingot!Lost in translation

I always found them with pleasure. Especially at the beginning of their stay. Thanks to them, I was never alone. Because of them, I became too numerous.



Much to my chagrin, I had to get rid of this cumbersome poultry-yard of volatile spirits. I sowed them from right to left as I wandered. Without particular remorse. My tranquillity was at this price. The more I inhaled their stirrings, the more I longed for serenity. Which meant away from my elves and their continual hustle and bustle.

And since they left, all my voices have been silent. Their vices have been my virtue and my right — you know that? The inner silence lasted for years…



A few decades ago, two korrigans took up residence in the back seat of my old Ford. Two nameless korrigans. Nothing to do with my elves. They didn’t leave their post in the back and show up when I had a passenger. Shy korrigans with strangers, but not with me!

I heard them bickering. Sometimes they kept silent and I forgot until they were there. Other times — rarely — they were interested in me. The floodgates rained hard. They were funny! Even in their wickedness, the humor of the situation made me scream with a great inner laughter.

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


But beware! Especially not to show my hilarity! I did it at the beginning, I bit the things of life. This shit can pinch you really hard, or bite you. That proves it’s real. My inner elves never got that far.

Whether they are mockers or clumsy, never make fun of the korrigans! Their pranks could prove cruel. These did not deviate from the general rule of their brotherhood. When they felt like it, they made derogatory comments about how I drive. Annoyed, I suggest they get behind the wheel. What a stupid idea! They jump on my shoulders like two monkeys.

“Yes!” they cried. “Let us drive! We want to drive!”

They each pull me by one arm, the car zigzags dangerously. Pale, I am tense on the controls. By pitching, they will eventually send us into the background. Still happy, the road is deserted. Somehow, I stop on the sidelines. More fear than harm. That’s the price with korrigans.

This has happened quite often in the two years I’ve been hauling my stowaways. When they disappeared, I didn’t notice. Did they take refuge in one of the many magical sites where I was going to walk? They may have taken refuge in my body. I am a welcoming person, as all spirits will tell you.



The dance of the heart

My two korrigans have grown my inner cohort. Impossible to know. Korrigans never answer questions. Elves do. But most of the time they answer bullshit. But not mine.

It must be said that instead of my cluttered crowd there is only one left. He is happy, his smile is contagious. A cheerful leprechaun dances in my heart and gives me his good humor.

There was a crowd of elves in me, there’s only one left. He’s settled in my heart that’s been beating harder since he’s been there. He dances in the light. He dances and I start dancing like him.

A joyful elf dances in my heart. He paints my life with all colors and gives me his deep joy. He does not speak, does not annoy me with his grimaces, does not pull my beard. He is quiet, serene, his dance is my meditation. We live together. I’m in his rhythm. I don’t want him to leave me.


The lost lighter

When did it happen? I think I know. A strange incident struck me recently. I have a regular plastic lighter, a case rather. Let’s say he owns me. I can only use him. He accompanies me everywhere. If I forget him somewhere, I have him sent to me by mail. And as long as he is away, I am no longer at peace.

The other day, I thought he was lost. I turned my little house upside down, searched everywhere, even the weirdest places, like the fridge or the toolbox. My distraction is legendary, I know it. The search lasted two hours. However, it was impossible to find this lighter. Tired of war, I’m going to sit in my chair. And there, what do I see, sitting on the table in front of me, clearly? My lighter!

My lost lighter came back! I passed this table twenty times, I turned over the objects that were on it and could hide this lighter, if it had been there all the time I could not have missed! My friend who had helped me with the research would have seen it, too. In her puzzled face, I can see that she had nothing to do with it. A leprechaun!

The shot is signed, it is a prankster who played me this beautiful trick. My happy elf wanted to succeed his entrance. I say bravo. Well done.




Thanks to the cheerful elf, I am out of stress. Without the slightest worry. The daily failures don’t do anything to me anymore. They are rare. But they come, we feel them pass. They never arrive alone, they break in a tight row. They’re doing everything they can to get into the sweaty serenity I’m in. And it breaks morale. Suddenly I feel bad.

What to do? Hairy troubles don’t go away alone. Will my elf do anything? He helps me with his dance and his help is immense. But are body signals, family worries, mechanical problems, computer bugs within his reach? He does not know them and would not understand anything about them. These ties are not his. To each his train.

My elves of old ran away from the embarrassment. What will happen to this one? At the first trouble, he goes away. No matter how much I look, he is no longer there. Sweetly, my joy is drowning. 


Dance Over?

For ten days I had a cheerful elf dancing in my heart. If I woke up at night, my elf danced without respite. But his dance is over. I long for him. Will he come today? Recklessness is over.

The Shaivist believe that Shiva’s dance makes him happy. By his enjoyment, he’s creating the world. If he stops, the universe will disappear at once. Beloved Shiva, be fair, don’t come up soon, take your time, we’re all counting on you!

My goblin will return. He loves me so much! When he comes out of trouble, he will come. My heart is his lover. His joy is a magnet. He will surely come. He can dance long without anything disturbing. My elf is an angel.

When he finally leaves, when his beloved dance ends, when his joy is gone, what will happen to me?



That’s it, here he is again, and my joy accompanies him. He dances more beautifully and I love him, I love him so. My troubles are over thanks to the love of my dearest friend. Now we’re three.

My death is postponed. Take five, my heart, it’s not for tonight. My joy as a banner, I can sleep easy.



The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.
G. K. Chesterton