All posts by Gael GERARD

Year 2014, October 2014

Around

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 egg shells
 more or less flexible
 let the tide drop
 door to door
 staring eyes .

 In the pool of colors
 the mirliton of things said
 grazes with a fork
 the contained order of the brokenness of the spirit  .

 It is evenings
 brighter than others
 where the child hopes
 don't go through that again  .

 The breath of ancient animals ,
 these precambrian marine reptiles ,
 when brains were light feathers ,
 long before men were ,
 but that sun and moon assembled
 for some benchmarks deposited
 before the end of the story  .


 212
Year 2014, September 2014

you are alone, you are naked

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   And so it is ,
 because it was not easy
 to forget the rags
 of the child built in obedience
 and formatted adult
 summoned to bend the collar
 before the yoke of social know-how .

 You lived
 you have traveled the world
 you have experienced pain
 and muteIt's
 without always being born to yourself  .

 The mimicry that made you survive
 is just a hiding place
 facing the ultimate test ,
 is just a cache
 before the drive to perpetuate the species ,
 is just a wrap
 by forcing feelings to evacuate unhappiness ,
 is just a mask
 for not being able to breathe the scent of a new age   
 is just a finger wash 
 for not being able to manipulate knowledge ,
 is just a trip
 for your desires for unfulfilled spaces ,
 is just a hoax
 for making choices
 without further supporting the creative paradox
 imposed march
 dawn towards transdisciplinarity  .

 You are frozen
 you are fossilized
 and the desert wind
 sifting through its particles
 removes carnal protections
 vibrating skeleton
 deliver to the void  
 the first song of origins  .

 There are dried up corpses
 with mysterious graphics
 that the adventurer meets
 and crunches on the travel diary ,
  small ink stains 
 sharp and whitened features
 between the tracks
 from a time elsewhere
 of another consciousness .

 It's parentheses
 staging
 de rhodomontades
 guardianship
 where no longer to belong
 object of convenience
 when there is so much to do
 we  
 subjects of the kingdom 
 in conquest of our humanity  .

 Just a gesture
 just a song to embrace the universe
 for signs of life
 unite water and fire
 under the arch of solitudes  .

 To be in spark of being
 the thrill of bites
 without the mind relaxing ,
 to be
 out of chaos
 the wonder
 we redheads ants delivered
 in the haste of our daily occupations ,
 to be absolutely responsible  .

 Then before the hoof
 does not raise the dust of a white path
 knowing how to put an end to illusions ,
 be playful
 fleeting memories
 just right ,
 be breathless
 out of breath
 and come
 waiting for us
 the light of the depths of the ages
 to the precipitate of known things
 homeless
 looking up
 assumed verticality
 the smile on the lips
 gratifying with full acceptance
 these things
 these shards
 these mists
 that no shoddy enchanter can detect  .
 Rest at the sea to caress the shore
 under a trolling sky ,
 to contemplate once again
 our chance to be mystery  
 so that it is ,
 to do 
 to undo
 along the green path
 the spool of wood ,
 jagged
 twisted elastic
 piece of dry soap
 de-sulfured match ,
 advance on the disjoint floor
 abandoned seamstress pins
 at the corner of an igneous smile .

 what is there ,
 this unexpected ,
 in a very intense way ,
 it's life before death ,
 ours
 the one who carries me ,
 impregnates me and animates me  .

 This life there ,
 eternity  .


 211
Year 2014, September 2014

Singular scope

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 Up the wall
 Hot schist picture rail
 Soft Eyed Face Glow
 with a white beard
 that the voice makes vibrate  .

 Scale of Life
 fall of the first reptile
 that the wind blows away from the path
 to pirate bugs  .

 foghorn
 during the breath of the beast
 going up the valley .

 Stamped indentation
 Avogadro's number
 whose open jacket reveals
 the heart surrounded by myrrh  .

 Smooth flight
 angels above
 chestnut and holm oak
 pillars of my house  .

 Verticalized thinking
 out of the impulsive wave
 rough scents
 fingerprints exchanged .

 just yourself
 in whom the other
 spare the tradition  .

 Sagacity
 at the risk of being
 just this reversal
 at the dawn of the day beginning .


 210
Year 2014, September 2014

Toutes celles et ceux qui s’avancent

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 All those   
 who come forward   
 coming out of the forest   
 on the edge of things said .  
    
 À celles et ceux   
 tormented by disjointed thoughts   
 the fragments of a past   
 that we can't forget .  
      
 To those   
 which by sleeve effect   
 show themselves at the windows   
 haranguing the crowd of nameless  .  
      
 It happened to me   
 gathering my luggage   
 just before leaving   
 to immobilize time  .    
   
 It happened to me   
 under the shade of a tree   
 thrown by the moon   
 to fear the cold of novelties  .  
      
 I could blow into the conch   
 and no longer holding back my desires   
 join with a heel   
 the mood of the flowery meadows  .   
     
 Then come back   
 towards those   
 customary adventures   
 join the crowd   
 top hearts   
 bar code thoughts   
 of the daily journey  .  

       
 208
Year 2014, August 2014

the desire for mystical fusion follows the disorder

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   As Herodotus said in second century BC : ” … In truth, to the very first time, Chaos was born, the Gaping Abyss, and then Gaia, Earth, … and Eros “.

The Mystical is daughter of Chaos .

The disorder, it's the rejection of illusion and appearance, and this is where the difference shines between the mystical and the profane .

You have to be strong to refuse the comfort of illusion and put away the “me” in the oblivion of the derisory . It takes strength to persevere in loneliness and silence, in the dark maze of years passing years, worn by only self-confidence .

But what is the motivation of the one who renounces the ease of appearances ?  It is, where is she, inhabited by a thirst for the absolute .

But where does he comes this thirst “mystique” ?  Where does this element come from?, this event, from where will germinate this incredible and improbable approach emerging from bottom of the bottom of oneself ?

We will talk about “predestination”, d’ “insight”, from “Grace”, from “hazard”, d’ “occasion”, from “meet”, from “trigger” due to an extreme situation, exceptional or traumatic . But this is not enough because if the seed sown by a hand exterior is required, you also need fertile soil to collect the seed inside .

Will they be men and women carrying this treasure, carriers of these predispositions, of these gifts, of these chances and these educations which will be favored ? The question remains and will remain so . There is no set answer, because there will be no answer for those who do not ask the question . It begins through the art of questioning, or rather by the art of astonishment, and even of wonder, because whoever is surprised by nothing will not be able to question anything that is .

Would there be favorable moments for this meeting ? The story, anthropology, to sociology, psychology, psychoanalysis gives us clues ; Those are during the most troubled times, the most chaotic, most uncertain, than the Mystic has its best moments .

But this process hatching of the Mystique only lasts a short time . Past the time of the mess, spent this time ignorance ; we may be heading for a certain “unawareness”, that is to say towards another ignorance where two stages await us, both disjoint and complementary : taking into account of the origin of things emerging from illusion – to be taken without contempt – , and reaching another level of consciousness, to let go, of transdisciplinarity, of maturity, opening outside established standards .

Some, blandly, will follow the advice of environmental propriety, while that others, assiduously, take the steep path, surrendering completely and without special procedures for this “crazy” quest, in order tolook andto see .

So there will be just to be led to the Mystery beyond all name in refusing to associate with it the affirmative formula of this Ultimate , by refusing to associate the ultimate key to any problem .

So shall we, of knowledge in true feelings, to who we are . We, good little things in such a big world, but also hologramic figures of this big All . We , the“Managers”, the “beggars”, the “heart hooks” of the basic answer .

206

Year 2014, August 2014

Contemplate the flower without picking it

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 Present time , the present is an offering, a present .
 Learn to dare and know how to receive .
 See without looking .
 Hear without listening .
 Smell without sniffing .
 Taste without ruminating .
 Feel without touching .
 Understand without thinking .
 Knowing without knowing more .
 Handle the shovel without exhausting the sea .
 Live fully in the present .
 Live totally in the present .
 It's not about recklessness .
 Nor is it about predicting the future.
 It is not a question of accumulating protections against all these fears that we invent .
 It is a question of developing in each present strengths and resources
 that will allow us to face what will happen .
 It's about enriching the present .
 It's about letting confidence arise ,
 It's about contemplating the flower without picking it .
 It's about entering into resonance with what we distrust .
 Resonance demands peace .
 And even more peace of heart and soul .
 Any resonance is impossible without the inner tumult .
 Start by making the mind available for the real ,
 and ban the question : " what can i take ? "
 to replace it with : " What did he give me ? "


 205
Year 2014, July 2014

shout on the moor

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 Yell :
 "Go the fight to the go" at "Champagne" ,
 this dog that no one had educated
 to knock down the cows
 where they had to graze . 

 It was raining .

 Immobile ,
 sitting on a flat stone ,
 wrapped in rubber cape ,
 with every raindrop hitting the hood ,
 were responding to fine drips of water .
 I felt the mystery of being " was " ;
 what I will name later
 " the heart of passing time " .

 In the roofless shelter ,
 adorned with large blue gray stones ,
 I was the wind ,
 who in bursts ,
 scratched my face .

 I opened and closed my eyes ;
 to discover the full and the untied
 in the half-enclosure of my body .

 I lick the wet around my lips .

 Hands safe ,
 I was all around me ,
 without me touching it .

 I knew that Grandfather would come and get me
 to bring in the cows .

 And yet I wasn't expecting it .

 I looked elsewhere .

 I had no time .

 I was learning not to want this to happen .

 And that Grandfather emerges !
 It was good . 


 204
Year 2014, July 2014

Oblique dream

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 Last stones ,
 childhood butterflies ,
 the leafless branches of the ash tree
 will no longer raise the dust from the path .

 The ladybug will be freed from the bulb box   
 for sharp grass
 take flight ,
 its black wings under the red chitin with black dots
 rustling against my cheek .

 At the end of the stick ,
 lift dry dung
 and discover worms and insects
 in their work of decomposition
 with for king ,
 the black beetle .

 Flip the stone ,
 it's seeing the dark enclosure
 from the pressure from within ,
 it's meeting in solitude
 with the eye of the heart .

 There are stones ,
 on the pasture ,
 posed over time .
 It is my freedom
 to place them where I see fit ,
 more just in the path of the horsemen.    


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