When the present becomes the past

Looking at a picture of you, I realize you are now part of my past. I wished it for so long, I didn’t actually think it would happen. But it did. And now I’m free. I look at you with sweetness in my eyes. It’s so much healthier. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but if I do, I know we can finally start it all.

Dimanche

Un dimanche comme je les aime, à ne pas travailler, mais presque. À faire des pas de souris pour l’avenir, tout en prenant le temps de savourer ce jour de congé.

Aujourd’hui, je lis Juggle! Rethink Work, Reclaim Your Life, de Ian Sanders.

Bon dimanche à tous!

Quand

Quand le temps aura effacé toute trace de moi, vivrai-je encore dans quelques souvenirs?

Quand les miroirs ne reflèteront plus mon image, aurai-je encore une âme?

Quand je ne serai plus que poussière d’étoile, brillerai-je encore faiblement?

The novice and the wanderer

“The soul world always awaits the novice and the wanderer.”

Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves, La Selva Subterránea, p.422

Butterflies

Love your fear and jump anyway.

Piratage

Je viens de lire un billet de Stephanie Booth sur le piratage qu’il me semble important de “faire passer”. En effet, on parle beaucoup de piratage, mais peu d’entre nous savent vraiment de quoi il s’agit, et encore moins ce qui est vrai et ce qui est faux. Cet article et les liens qu’il contient sont un bon moyen s’en apprendre davantage sur la notion de piratage, à l’heure de la création de la loi française Hadopi et autres actions similaires.

Blood

Have you ever noticed that blood has completely opposite meanings?

A large amount of blood coming out of a wound means danger. A large amount of blood coming out of a vagina is perfectly normal.

A woman who doesn’t want to get pregnant and starts bleeding is relieved. A woman who is pregnant and starts bleeding is worried.

Its presence means death and its absence means life. Its absence means death and its presence means life.

Si…

Si Atlas abandonnait, que se passerait-il?

The Three Gold Hairs

“Once, when it was deepest night, the sort of night wehn the land is black and the trees seem like gnarled hands against the dark blue sky, it was on exactly this kind of night that a lone old man staggered through the forest. Though boughs scratched his face, half-blinding his eyes, he held out a tiny lantern before him. Therein the candle burned lower and lower.
The old man was a sight to behold with his long yellow hair, cracked yellow teeth, and curved amber fingernails. His back was rounded like a bag of flour, and so ancient was he that his skin hung in furbelows from chin, arms, and hips.
The old one progressed through the forest by grasping a sapling and pulling his body forward, grasping another sapling, and pulling himself forward, and with this rowing motion and by the small breath left in him, he made his way through the forest.
Every bone in his feet pained like fire.The owls in the trees screeched right along with his joints as he propelled himself forward in the dark. Way off in the distance, there was a tiny flickering light, a cottage, a fire, a home, a place of rest, and he labored toward that little light. Just as he reached the door, he was so tired, so exhausted, the tiny light in his little lantern died, and the old man fell through the door and collapsed.
Inside was an old woman sitting before a beautiful roaring fire, and now she hurried to his side, gathered him into her arms, and carried him to the fire. She held him in her arms as a mother holds her child.
She sat and rocked him in her rocking chair. There they were, the poor frail old man, just a sack of bones, and the strong old woman rocking him back and forth saying, “There, there. There, there. There, there.”
And she rocked him all through the night, and by the time it was not yet morning but almost, he had grown much younger, he was now a beautiful young man with golden hair and long strong limbs. And still she rocked him. “There, there. There, there. There, there.”
An as morning approached even more closely, the young man had turned into a very small and very beautiful child with golden hair plaited like wheat.
Just at the moment of dawn, the old woman plucked three hairs very quickly from the child’s beautiful head and threw them to the tiles. They sounded like this: Tiiiiiing! Tiiiiiiing! Tiiiiiing!
And the little child in her arms crawled down from her lap and ran to the door. Looking back at the old woman for a moment, he gave her a dazzling smile, then turned and flew up into the sky to become the brilliant morning sun.”

Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves, Chapter 10: Clear Water: Nourishing the Creative Life

La question

Je suis un peu nerveuse aujourd’hui et j’ai du mal à me concentrer.
Tout à l’heure, je vais poser une question dont la réponse pourrait avoir des conséquences certaines sur ma vie.
(Non, je ne vais pas demander à quelqu’un de m’épouser et je ne vais pas avoir de bébé.)

Depuis quelques jours, je me demande s’il est possible de trop savoir. Entre secrets et informations qui devrait rester cachées, il est parfois difficile de trouver un équilibre.

Souvent, on cherche des réponses pour être soulagés instantanément. Mais il y a aussi des réponses qui font mal avant de faire du bien. Et il y a la volonté d’aller vers le mal, l’instabilité, le changement, le tremblement des bases qu’on a accumulées pendant longtemps, pour pouvoir se libérer. Cette volonté prend tellement d’énergie et de courage…Je suis fière de moi, je dois bien le dire. Même si aujourd’hui, franchement, j’espère entendre la réponse que je veux, celle qui occasionnera peu de bouleversements.

Si je reçois l’autre réponse? J’affronterai la réalité, ce n’est pas maintenant que je vais reculer.