At the fold exactly
 between the old and the new world.
 That people transform themselves
 in self-knowledge,
 the inner struggle,
 personal experience.

 That guides are fully committed,
 that they maintain the tradition in their 
current fights,
 only beings, leaders, masters 
fertilize 
our future traces,
 that they promote by humility, patience 
and 
confidence our ideals of tomorrow.

 What happens to the healers
 able to decompartmentalize our strata 
constitutive,
 to purge our being of the legacies that weigh us down,
 to strengthen the body base
 for psychological to dimensions 
spiritual
 join our deep somatic layers.
 What happens to the intercessors
 the simple ones
 the called ones who call
 those who do not prove but testify
 those who recognize and cultivate our 
ignorance
 the sovereign alchemists who do not give up 
not their work.

 Let the necessary novelty become wind 
standing
 the breath and the light carrying the person 
human
 on the way to self-growth
 on the way to the heart
 where it all begins.



 292

Lying down on the shore, at nightfall 
day, in the oil of the colors of the spirit, the 
along stone cairns, erect harps, from 
tall figures appeared. Filtering the wind, 
the cry of a bird emanated from the decoctions 
marines. Without confusion, men 
found the plowing of yesteryear and the sunny grass.  
They were ten ; ten alive among the 
Invisible and the Absent, ten animated living 
of the firm conviction to set off soon 
out of the fish locks towards the improbable 
end of the day.

 There was the patroller there, philosopher, 
the teacher, the father, the Godfather, the consort, 
the priest, the poet, the attendant and the 
psychologist.
 We, good men, are made in 
complexity of the plurality of functions. 
And these ten prescient figures are at 
decline for a better time. 
Let’s not cast our shadows and our 
vulnerability, let's be humble, let's be the fabric 
of the new deal, that of 
youths and maidens than a sky 
of trolling assumes towards the idyll many 
and many times offered to those wearing their 
native light.
 So be it and may we 
continue our task.

 The patroller 
 At the limits of consciousness, where the 
things are thought out of the day 
still he is this researcher man, 
the sentry in imbalance on the
edge of the cliff elsewhere.
 He roams the land like fire 
follet 
from one instance to another as we wipe 
dust on a window sill.
 He is the reporter of excesses and 
other evasions from the established order.
 He sees what there is to do at the edges 
illusion.
 Constantly traversing the fringe of the 
territory where is done and undone leave it 
appear agreed songs, he gives back 
account of the impact of arrows on the 
normality on the market target by 
these gray times.
 Tear on tear, he walks from 
great distances, in ear to be, on 
equidistance of the first visible blood and 
beauty that dries up the springs 
dark.

 Philosopher
 In the valley of the creations of the mind, 
halfway, this one cuts and recuts 
meaning 
words and concepts.
 He listens with a flick of thought 
the clashes and procrastination of language.
 He brushes aside the 
repetitions to submit them to criticism.
 He always advances at the wrong time of this 
which was done in the past.
 He is the eternal worried about good use 
words 
and concepts.
 He delves into the complexity of 
instincts, uses and statements 
to build the landmark proposal 
if only temporarily.
 It is the guarantor of the vertigo of 
history by its vigilance to express 
the truth accurately, simplicity and 
relevance.
 In the jumble of words pushed 
forward, complexity moves him and 
stimulates.

 The teacher.
 Monsieur " I know everything " operates in 
the muted clarity of the libraries and 
museums. 
He pretends to ignore the "learned ignorance" 
as evoked by Nicolas de Cues.
 He piles up menus made of 
life, the documents, thoughts,
the experiences and then the 
Decrypt, make them digestible,
classify them, give them colors 
lighter in order to make them 
visible to everyone.
 He is the affirmed master of all 
knowledge that incongruity or 
prolixity does not scare .
 He noses, investigation, accumulates and does not 
never throw;
 His head is an Ali-Baba cave ; 
plus 
there are and the better.
 If it encloses the verb by grammar 
as a man of power that he is, he can 
too 
free the words from the chains and summon 
spontaneity, this dangerous 
subversive power.

 The father.
 He has children, students, disciples 
and assumes its role diligently in 
the greatest respect for the other.
 Its roadmap is drawn ; he is 
devotes for the good of his loved ones and also 
for him because in return it assures him calm 
and serenity.
 He feeds on the gratitude that he receives 
enjoins, him the pygmallion, the provider 
of life.
 Then late, his strength dwindling, 
he hopes that his small and young shoots 
of yesteryear won't forget it, that what he 
gave them either a credit for the future, 
and that they will help him to have an old age 
happy.
 Long before he was the son or the pupil of a 
model that he still praises to 
small doses when alone in the after party 
from a meeting everything trembles and deforms 
around him in the weightlessness of a 
summer evening, harvest in, corps 
exhausted, full stomach.
 The son, the pupil, the disciple, all 
depending on the transmission is a figure
of reflection for the father engaging him better 
to know each other and to apprehend the future with detachment.
 The father, given, delivered to himself by the 
emotional and social ties that press him 
tries to perpetuate the perishable. It is 
between submission to order and this momentum 
devastating life that pushes him to deny his 
obligations agreed to grow in 
expansion of this drive for eternity that seems 
infinite and makes him light the fires on the 
hill to bring it to incandescent.

 The Godfather.
 His hat is summery, his pockets 
deep and her gaze hidden by glasses 
black.
 He watches over his property, things and people, 
he is responsible for protecting. It is 
the lord who keeps his 
obliged, his serfs.
 As soon as the bait takes, that the fish is 
shod, he mills with enthusiasm because there is his justification to exist.
 He does not like to lose and by dint of 
imposed persuasion increases earnings.
 He likes to be honored and sparingly 
unfolds in appropriate curvatures before 
to enter the arena of the tenants of 
the wealth.
 It is the socialite who has the business sense 
and find its balance in giving 
giving on condition of giving less than 
the other.
 He is the lighthouse in the storm of fears 
which promises salvation for seafarers in 
distress.
 He threatens and scares, a unique fear, 
the one he demands.
 He lays freedom under a mattress of feigned respectability.
 He exploits his cattle, him the calculator 
ephemeral things but nevertheless 
ringing and stumbling.

 The consort.
 He forms a couple with a unique person 
that life made him meet.
 It assumes security and protection towards 
this one.
 It accesses the polarities agreed in 
meeting for the purpose of exceeding 
self.
 He goes ahead ; and if it is not 
the case he ends the relationship.
 The confrontation with the other, this fake 
mirror 
of himself who summons him to vigilance 
and discernment can in the best 
cases allow it to avoid blocking 
in the fascination of thea difference and pose 
this in-between of the caring encounter, 
avoiding unnecessary repetitions, for 
to insist vigorously on discovery 
each time surprising from the land of truths 
alive, of those who cannot be reduced 
to a formula.
 He does not translate the secret for the other 
for follow-up. To each his stopovers in this 
adventure where light nourishes us.

 The priest.
 He officiates.
 Guarantor of the mysteries, these secrets that 
gather a group of men around 
founding principles, in a place 
consecrated, he carries the big message to his 
flocks.
 He is the initiate, the receiver / receptacle 
of a principle made of light and shadow, 
reflection of a cosmos larger than him at 
protection purposes, help and 
support.
 He intercedes, rule souls and 
thoughts and a little bodies towards the exit 
of life which despite suffering, 
trials and death orient our 
vitality towards the counter-hope of a 
end of suffering, of accepted tests 
that serve to grow on our way and 
make life after death eternal 
and happy.
 Sometimes he can also conduct his 
"parishioners" from contemptions to truths 
revealed to the throes of unconditional acceptance without empathy.

 the poet.
 The risk all of the understanding.
  He beats the countryside with his nose in the wind, his 
perceptual senses open to extract 
the essential elements in the pearls of 
morning dew of the world.
 Il cueille et recueille les fruits ultimes 
emotion, of thought and spirit, 
was, flush with what's there.
 In a state of meditative trance he traces 
a new path in the maquis of its 
thoughts steeped in habit, from 
prerequisite, cultural clues;
 Man of the past and present, man of 
culture and feelings, man engaged in 
daily life, he carries his work in
imbalance between the understood solvency and
the chasms of unreason.
 The poet is alone and his wandering is 
comparable to the clarity of the glowworm 
lighting up an eggshell.
 He pays his attention, her stare, towards 
the edges of the deep forest with wrinkles 
carnivorous , when the wind blows 
Suddenly prances through the foliage 
gathering mists, clearings, noises
stealth, hoarse cries of animals in one
armful that makes convictions shudder 
the most tenacious.
 Il fuit les ragots bien-pensants et ne 
is established only at a good distance from the darkness 
spirit.
 It's our time but always with 
a cubit elsewhere.
 He sings, danse, rattle, keep quiet and write 
until death ensues for the 
renewal of all things, for christmas, 
so that behind the appearance points the 
flavor of a forbidden fruit.
 The poet knows he is not mad when 
he meets the one who looks like him.

 The attendant.
 Life put it there. 
 In place and time of the dance of the gametes 
he hatched all wrinkled, lost, brutalized 
by the injunction of birth for 
to hear oneself say that there was to assume, 
Nevertheless.
 Not chosen ... and yet responsible !
 He put one foot down and then another to 
in its successful verticality connect the 
sky and the earth.
 He moves forward without asking any questions 
in 
the great void of non-response.
 Straight ahead, the path is full 
of trials he faces without 
that the instructions for use be listed in the 
basting.
 He does what there is to do, he obeys.
 Full of repressed libertarian desires, 
it is sometimes completed in the cradle 
of dawn while the light obliges him 
to manifest.
 His task seems thankless. Never again 
will not hold back the dead leaves 
asking that I fall. Right in his 
boots he waits for the carrying / wearing wind 
which will make it come true.
 It is the marker of a path  
where no one knows what happens past 
the horizon.

 The psychologist.
 The observer / observing the comings and goings 
from the psyche, emotions and 
blade.
 He is the craftsman of his body and 
his mind.
 The accompanying person 
personal path, of self-growth.
 He is the arranger of the vagaries of life 
on 
a mixed that allows to be alive and 
aware of the road traveled.
 From body to soul without letting go of its 
environment it traverses the immensity of 
our interior landscape, reflection of the world 
outside.
 He crunches the silence at intervals 
uneven and receives lingerie 
soiled.
 He visualizes the breath in perspective 
retained so as not to disturb anything of the precious 
balance which there in front of him oscillates 
lopsided between romance and oblivion 
of variety.
 It offers experiments in 
clear and secret glades in the 
deep in the forest so that the tree, 
the union of the top and the bottom, the injury 
between heaven and earth, either the referent 
of a necessary peace for our 
quarrelsome humanity, in perpetual 
distrust and that nothing can lead 
to its loss.



 291

 Brown twine
 hooked
 gift package for the kelp lover
 undefined at immediate passage
 light catcher
 offered offering
 packed
 out of words
 question asked
 way of being in evaporation of the visible
 connivance between the eternal and the fleeting
 a ray of joy
 without obstacle in the way
 testimony to the limits
 of the barren and of grace
 without statement
 by a game of seaweed
 provide oneself in Babel
 vibrations
 pillars supporting the invisible temple
 altar marked with a cross
 almond of the poem
 key to real life .

 And if the mist lifts
 I will tear it up
 for a little presence in the world .



 290

 Seaside talk   
 that the sky alters with its changing moods   
 nose to nose   
 take action   
 to help life   
 without invading the other   
 using sand from the clepsydra   
 without denying the trials   
 step by step    
 between consenting persons   
 without blandness or addition   
 according to the zephyr .  
 

 Once, once   
 at the end of absolute wandering   
 basin of consented illusions   
 where the intimate becomes elegant   
 I dreamed   
 by putting my gaze back at the tip of a parasol   
 to plunge into the unthought abyss of the solitary quest .   

 Taken from nausea   
 I was put in the presence   
 of what was there   
 and without rejoicing I summoned the real   
 in the splinters of wood torn from the tides .  
 
 I confessed my concern   
 to have slipped poetry   
 between language and fullness .   

 I offered my wound    
 to the salt of memory   
 without meaning    
 permeated by the violence and cruelty of our time.

 End of the episode,   
 I laid down my arms   
 towels wiped oily lips   
 I admired the Roman virgins   
 break the speech   
 and proposed the vertigo of the gaps   
 where to hold the thought .   



 289

 By the seaside
 gazing at the setting sun
 the little guys from Oléron .

 Without speechless fingers
 just posed there
 the rolled pebbles of the ocean .

 Stand guard
 the motionless lookouts
 difficult speech . 

 fiery presence
 companions of the waves
 to the ebb and flow of created things .

 Get married at the bottom of the mound
 the fang of the white pebbles
 to the mossy caress of the waters .

 Was, fate parades
 harshness and immobility
 like a secret lamp .

 A bright terminal light
 gathers salamander eyes
 of the accomplished horizon .

 washed, buried, rolled, posed
 they are bare-handed
 the lantern of the dead .

 On the big night
 in postponement position
 the eye closes its lids .

 No tears
 pile the hickey from the spray
 pigments the sword of the eternal .

 Skillfully orchestrated
 vertical drop made
 the gong of the nights rings out .

 There in joy and pain
 the gray reeds quiver
 hailing some kindness in the long run .

 In the heap
 a horibilis takes us away from the stones
 the squeal of the seagull .

 flame made ashes
 without faces
 the lamps flicker .

 For everything to start again
 bound but free guardians
 to reach the glory of the stars .

 'Cause there will be a sky
 before the tireless patience
 riddled with wildflowers .

 " My brothers, my sisters,
 let's not get lost
 in dark bickering .

 Let's nest in the cairn
 Memory sea ​​spray
 so that tomorrow
 an essential fever seizes us
 seaweed chew
 at nightfall .

 My soul
 my night
 my wife
 in this summer to cross
 between the little men of Oléron
 gazing at the setting sun
 by the seaside
 let the blue shark tooth
 to its abyss
 full of cowbells
 to bring us together
 in the land where no one is born or dies ."



 288

 curl
 they get angry
 soft sand ideas .

 panic
 at dusk
 the weary scents .

 climb ditches
 the nimble hand of remonstrances
 omnipresence of unfinished situations .

 Sliding doors to match
 in the doorway
 the song of the steppes weaves the complaint .

 Collected dirt
 good weighing and unbreakable duo
 arms stretch out .

 messy hair
 the simulacrum of discord
 wake up the strays .

 Don't tear
 shrubby corpses
 this could be your childhood .

 Minuet danced
 in the light of the semaphore
 it's the same skin as mine .

 Encased in bistre ink
 the romance of lost souls
 takes a last look .

 hot breath
 of an incandescent demiurge
 to the infinite song of the super-strings .

 And the Master spoke
 tonic and benevolent
 on the cathedral square .

 " Let's be connected to life
 in the mystery itself
 flows the initiation that brings us together .

  let's be the way
 forced acceptances
 at the hour of the tocsin .

  Let's be the surrender
 supreme truths
 we the passengers of the shadow .

  Let's take off the lapel of the jacket
 the won charms
 at the crossroads of incongruities .

  Let's be the swell and the chop
 sea ​​trips
 intending to feed .

 Don't reject the stranger
 the strangled of misery
 that our era is cornering at the start .

 Let's find under the cobblestones
 the sand timeline
 of unfailing happiness .

 Let's learn, understand,
 let's walk, let's build together
 the meaning of things and values .

  Let's open
 in the surf of happiness
 to the world of letting go ."



 287