Night Flight

We flew all night, on the woods and on the factories, on the wars and the windows, on the earth and on the stars, on the weather, on the sails, on the wind that straddles the wave, on the moon in hat slap and on its reflection in the puddles.

My friends, I tell you, we can fly on the ground, fly on the sea, fly in the open space far from the stars and away from the noise. Our powers are like space: without limit, without noise, without constraint. The astral is a world even larger than the universe, which is nevertheless of good size. Quantum physics tends to prove that by the precise point where I stand is jostling an infinity of worlds, charged with a crowd of people, a crowd of lives, desires, heroic or vile actions, poignant sacrifices or abject crimes, love too, love. And we do not know anything about it.

We know very little. And the stronger things we dream of, the truer part of unknown we catch, at once is forgotten. How can be fixed the least pillar in this shaky world? Ready to crumble down. Will it be while I live?

You are conscious, you are awake or you will be, take your share of the common destiny. I beg you, do not isolate yourself in the disdain of humans. The little ones especially deserve your attention and care. They need all. They need you. Not to guide them — their guide is in their hearts. They need you to reassure them when they doubt, to question them when doubt is no longer there.

I cleaned the kundalini channel with all the care I could. The tower of the arcanum XVI is clean yet, the canal is operational. Wide open, gaping with a beautiful diameter, it is still growing. Ready to welcome the waves of energy that mobilize the life of this site, listening to those who suffer, those who hesitate, who gropes in the dark, dazzled to find an island off the coast. Hope, an island of light and peace. He keeps silent.

I would like everyone to rest for a moment in the blue shadow of the tall palms of time. I give them shelter in the oasis that the Dream maintains just beside the world.

You too, my friend, you fly all night long, every holy night. You are not the goat of Mr Seguin. So in the morning, the wolf will not eat you. Remember, you took me by the hand, you propelled me into the stars and you let me down. I loved every moment of this crazy trip. I waited a long time for the one that would make me relive those moments. She came in the evening of my life. She opened for me the palace of wonders. Since then, I watch.

I lived on the day of wonder
You and me, do you remember
And I did cross the wall of years
Full of miracles in my ears
Our universe is no longer
I lived on the day of wonder
(Louis Aragon)

We had flown all night. It was before. Ireland, beautiful lover, the moor and the forests, the lakes of Connemara, Dublin dirty old town that I love, the castles that fall apart, the dreams that fall into ruins,

… death, death, death, always recommenced.
(George Brassens, after Paul Valéry)

And then the Channel, the fast Normandy flies under our jetplane bodies, launched like missiles towards the towers of Chartres. We flew all night. Above the cathedral, the dawn is rising. We must try to live. (Paul Valéry) You showed me that very night we can stay in astral with our physical body. You showed me how to move in the other astral, the one of Castaneda, that astral I did not know yet. Since then, my beloved came and continued my training. She made me live amazing grace and wonder.

There are so many habitable multiverse in the speedy hollow of a single atom. There are so many possible destinies that take the least of your actions. A single misstep and you rock elsewhere, away from yours, far from everything. The great stranger has laid you bare, stripped of you. You must invent ways through the void that drowns you. The king is drinking. You will live.

I think of all of you who come to see me in the astral, the huge crowd of night passengers I try to identify, one after the other, one after you. I hear you, I wait for you, looking through a glass onion. Someday you will pass my door, the wind will blow you in as a good companion.

I’m waiting for you my good ones. All night your visits continue. I watch you live, you watch my flight. In a stopped while we hang out. May the lesson serve us. The pure moment extends into the growing darkness. And the morning destiny passes a sponge on it. When you wake up, everything disappears.

I dedicate this space
to perennial feelings
to passing memories
to repeating refrains
some of them annoy us
some are but tiresome drags
those fleeting adventures
like a wind in the face
like a disgusting trace
glancing an icy eye
a cold wind passing by
fiercely blows out the scene
fool blizzard daring storm
Here stands before the gap
the author lunatic
his head blocked in the trap
his life is no picnic
he is poor every time
has neither gift nor class
this jester has to pass

Conspire me, boo me, kill me, you have all the rights. Remember, however, that life has only one time, that beyond the moment old age is lurking. Your death is waiting. Ignoring it is tempting. It is approaching yet. Death is at the turning point. Wherever you look, do not let your guard down. Day and night your death follows you like a shadow. It lives its  secret live. Discreet, it’s watching you. It’s about. Follow its advice. Live every day as the last.

You will be sad as a willow
When the God who follows you ever
Will tell you, hand on the shoulder
“Go up and see if I’m there”
So, from heaven and earth
You will have to mourn
Is it still standing the oak
Or the fir tree of your coffin?
(source)after Georges Brassens

We must remember that we always fly. All the life. Every night. Astral travel is what helps us to live. Our unconscious feasting, he gathers mountains of strong memories, heroic struggles, romantically loving loves, fairy tales and dragons, princesses weeping perched in a tower and a handsome knight who comes to deliver her, this pure knight whom you have been waiting for in vain for thirty years. We must remember that we have forgotten everything. The reminder is the awakening. But it is also forgetting. All that depends on who.

We always fly. One day, we remember it. The other world comes.

We always fly. On the woods and on the factories, on the wars and the shop windows, on the earth and on the stars, on the weather, on the sails, on the wandering wind, on the moon riding on the wave and on its reflection in puddles.

We always fly.