Thousand Gates


I woke up in a helicopter – or what looks like a helicopter. The time to resume my senses, I uttered a cry: there was nobody at the controls! I did not know that this type of machine could be equipped with an autopilot, I rushed to the pilot’s seat.

But I stopped before touching anything: I remembered just in time that I did not have the slightest notion of flying, or any idea of ​​what to do to steer this aircraft. Too many dials, too many controls, joysticks, switches, no touch, too much danger. The aircraft is hovering. Automatic piloting? Does it exist in a helicopter? Looks good … The engine makes no noise. A glance at the rotor and gulp! The blades do not turn! The first stupor passed, I reassure myself: the helicopter is in the air. It is motionless and the landscape scrolls around.

It’s night. We fly very high in the sky, I did not know that such a machine could climb so high. Under my feet I see the earth scroll, my dear planet. Judging by the lights, this is my time. I’m back home, goodbye Multifold. This whole story will have been a bad dream. Since I have nothing else to do, I searched the cabin and the luggage compartment door. Empty. The camera is totally empty, I’m alone aboard, Henoch played me one of the turns of pig which he is specialist. Now the earth is scrolling over my head! I did not feel the device turn around, in fact I do not perceive any movement.

I have already taken a helicopter twice. It’s not a lot, all right, but it struck me, I remember perfectly all my feelings. A helicopter, it moves. That one no. The landscape moves around, but not the machine.

Immobilis in mobile.

Still in motion. This is exactly what happens. Everything moves, everything is transformed, everything changes faster and faster. I have already circled the Earth three times at very high altitude, or average, or very low, depending on the moment. I run at a bewildering speed, or rather the landscape scrolls, I am fixed. Immobilis in mobile. I do not hear anything. I do not feel any acceleration, slowing, ear pain, or any of the symptoms experienced while flying. It looks like a dream, yet everything seems very real. Except the helicopter in his motionless flight. I’m afraid I rejoiced too quickly, it still feels the Multipli full nose. I’m freaking out. The world is happening without me. I am no longer an actor of my own life that escapes me, but the spectator of myself. 

Again at night, again during the day. The hours spin with the landscape. I fly in a razor-wave above the Sea of ​​Iroise. It’s beautiful as a Thalassa documentary. When I say that I fly, I arrange a little. I should say: Sea of ​​Iroise flies under my cabin. Here, here is the island of Ouessant, and then Molène … So I fly to the east. It’s good to know. A while ago I was sailing north, and yet I did not feel a change of course. A handsome two-master, with all sails sailed, sails alone on a sea of ​​oil! There are idiots everywhere. Wait to see? It is no longer the Iroise Sea, it looks like a tropical sea. Not a bit of wind, hence the engine. No ? The Lesser Antilles! While sailing full east, I just passed without transition from the tip Brittany to the Gulf of Mexico! Find the mistake !!

All of a sudden, an idea comes to me. If the landscape was just a movie? At Epcott Center-Orlando-Florida, as at the Futuroscope in Poitiers, I attended shows of this kind. I saw a flight of innumerable butterflies all around, above, below, in front of, behind, and on the sides. Sitting in my chair, I felt like a butterfly among the butterflies. Who says that here is not the same? To be clear, I want to open the door. She looks screwed to the cockpit. I insist. Useless, nothing moves. Discouraged, I drop into the pilot’s seat. And there, pschhhhhh! the door opens, fading backwards in a soft pneumatic sound. I can not believe it.

Outside, no sea, no sky, no sailboats or stars. A Moorish living room, ottomans in motley morocco, a powerful smell of hemp and herbs, it smells like shisha! No doubt, Enoch is not far away. Wing edge! I did not care what in this flight simulator?

– What about me ? What do I do in the Multipli, you tell me? Enoch ennares. Blocked here for lives, I steal snippets of existence from parading passersby. I feed on their adventures, their confusions and their follies, failing to investigate mine. Molay is holding me to the calf, he won’t loosen his fangs. Fucking folded time!

The big crystal dome

Can not answer. The Arab living room disappeared with the chicha and the patriarch. I am in the wild. The savanna extends as far as the eye can see. Harassed, I walk towards a transparent structure far to the south. I have to walk for days so much I’m thirsty and so much I stagger. My goal is this big crystal dome that dominates a blue mountain range at the end of the horizon. So far I will never reach it. Since a crazy time, I keep my eyes glued to the ground to avoid walking on a moccasin. I fear the deadly serpents that swarm in the grass. I am exhausted, at the end of my life, naze from home naze, good to throw. What I do. I flank myself on the floor with the snakes. But instead of collapsing into the savannah as I expected, I wallow on a trampoline that has just emerged. Damn crazy! Hop-hop-hop, it’ll bounce back.

Above me, at a vertiginous height, the crystal of the dome. And all around, same thing. How did I get there? Especially do not ask me.

Standing up two steps away, hieratic and cold, Master Jacques stares at me. I have two words to tell him, to that one.

– Speak, Xavier. I’m listening.
– Where is my friend Enoch? Why do you keep us prisoners?
– Who told you that you were? Old Enoch? But what does he know about? Enoch is free of his movements, as you are.
– I can hardly believe it!
– There you are, you build your prison. The world looks like what you believe. Change your beliefs, your world will change. Remember the door of the helicopter. You thought she was locked, she was. You gave up, she opened. Things derive their existence from the faith you have in them. Believe without believing, that’s the story.

A circular glance convinces me that he is right. I’m at home, in Brittany, square in my chair. And it does not surprise me more than that. Jacques no longer wears a white tunic or chainmail. It is in marine sweater, local color. If he is no longer bearded, I am. I’m 69, no bullshit anymore. I expect more or less dedicated gag: I dreamed all that, nothing is true, I never moved from the corner of my fireplace.

– Nobody will force you to be taken in. You have indeed experienced all this, you have been the witness and actor of all these adventures and still you will live many others. This is your place, that is your role. Storyteller are you, storyteller you will stay. You have been visiting many times, meeting many great men and women, loving many of them. You have been granted to excess, you received more than is reasonable. You know it, I know it too, but if the Living Almighty is generous to you, do not complain about it. He could change His mind. Look at this library. Examine it with great attention.

I know it, this library is mine! To be polite, I take a volume. Hey? I do not know this cover. WHAT? The secret book of Enoch! And this one: Rama’s ship! And there, there, there! Memoirs of the Infra-World! The treasure of Iseut! Gilgamesh’s trip! It is fabulous ! Febrile, I leaf through one, then another. Christs and prophets! The reign of snakes! The queens of the world! Never read! So many secret books to dive into, lots of sagas to transcribe! Here it is, my delirium! Now I am dreaming!
– Messire Jacques! Where do these wonderful works come from? What are they doing in my library?

For Goddess sake! The room is empty. It seems that the Knight had never existed. Enoch left me the feverish or careful notes he accumulated in these precious volumes over a thousand lives, over a hundred thousand adventures. What a gift for a storyteller! And what a treat I promise you, friends readers! The saga of Enoch ends thus, not like a falling theater curtain, but like a thousand wide opening doors. I promise you to live enough to tell them all. Be blessed, my brothers and sisters in truth. May the Living protect you, with all my love.


Every man carries within him, unconsciously, the memory of ancient civilizations. Similarly, the rock is a fragment of the memory of the world. 
Carl Jung