At three, reversedlonely enough never to becette avancée de couleurs à contre courant de l'énergie muette .The true healer never bothers with the sources of his giftIt is, it will behe is of all agesveilleur de l'autreadepte de la différencefence runnerhis magnetic hand rests on the heart of the one who asksand everything radiatesde par la flèche si légère dans cette mainfermehe is the calligrapher of faith .Right here,I acquire, I becomeand to go about it I misunderstandto be infinitely aloneto remember the Trinitarian originsto detect white water tablesà écrire l'inentamé sur les yeux clos de l'aiméto the divine wind he dwells .Right here, no one is in the mood to berien que de la grenaille au fond du puitsjust allow off appearanceto the breath of becoming a trace,living trace of shadows and lightsso that at dawnlift the veil of the bridepass the gates of oblivionand snow hatches the space of our nightsdare the step of threea free courta beginning.
(painting by Elianthe Dautais)192
Écrire comme si on disparaissaitin this wearstone to stoneoù construire l'impact de la brûlurelooking at dead words .Accumulation du verbiagewithout shocking the contingencies .Seamless, crease-free indifferenceflooding with lightwhat the other offers ,what our flesh skingives food to our dark skin .Threat ,sparks between mud and drunkenness ;to tremblein total allegiance to friendship,without abundance or forgetting ,reach the other sidejoy and sadness mixedon the obsidian jointof what remains ,towards the precious resultwhere vanities excludedsmash on the body of writing .189
Enigma of the Great Silence in quantum random posture resolutely our , in this possibility of calling the infinitely current , infinitely everywhere , the infinitely non-existent , in support of the respect due to this Nature yes free , yes fragile , so monstrously violated , by the work of the biblical serpent fit for his evil role to break down asymmetries for the purpose of destruction .
there are nights where adorning himself with the sparks of a meeting tree shatter the clouds of inconsistency with the sword of perfect understanding and perform at the edge of universal intelligence the ample harvests of wonder .
Furthermore, They passedwithout omitting the true values.They looked for, they foundthe seed of the similar.Don't be afraid of the narrative in its simplicity,be in cahoots with the unspeakable.In front of the treasureils se hâtent et lui crient leurs attentes.The frame would unravelwithout preparation, sans repentance.At lunch, new songsthe world belongs to us.A long history of allianceentre le fonds et la forme.Superstitions have little substancewithout the disgust of knowledgeMourning, sadness, oblivion a field devastated by flooding.Dire faussement du mal de l'autrepuis s'en aller à reculons.It's simple, it's clear, it's concrete,the true pastures of your heart.Tar drippingsare the tears of past storms.My hand, d'un reflux acidenever will judge.Consequentlyall reminiscence is a destructive work.The bags of ashes openedà bon port.Ta voix s'est fait entendremirror voice of my face.Ta voix planait sur les eaux,a donation to collect.Your voice,fragile plant rootstock.My voice, my angel,behind the curls of your laughter.If death digs the field of desolationelle ouvre en même temps celui de la communion .communion of souls loving and loving.186
ball of dreams mystery cults glitter amputated twirling .
Foucault's pendulum on the heads of the faithful crowned with laurel and carrying the cistus.
ikebana storm lights at the end of wrought iron rods rattling of the assembly crystalline songs ocean encounters the flow of the waves repels the dust granting oneself one last weigh-in sepulchral souls under the pinned picture rails in these times of romance with myriads of insects arise from the chests of oblivion at the Young Body Olympics knowing how to make their flexibility to seekers of secrets .
my eternal soul so ready already from the source of origins .
With little wing strokes sometimes resting on a forked tail the muzzles agreed. Camped on their hooves the heavy body they puffed out their chests. Soiled by mucus exchanged their mouths fed deep grins. The wings stirred the light for some passing confusion blowing away the dust of angels. The larva and the bull calf believed in life their ostensibly fragrant ooze. Bloodshot eyes giggled with greed paws and hooves rattling a bourrée. " come animal and whisper in my ear that the time has come. What extend these conflicts to the world of entrants would make it possible to sign the absence of origins. Than from one chip jump to another chip jump the rise of knowledge would stain the paten with blood. " Wasn't this dance to life and death would be on the rise we the coming melody stars.
Since you no longer cause me grief and the memory I have of you is dissolving in the ordeal I am going through, I would be grateful if you would recognize my new dispositions transcribed on this wall conducive to the relief of my wounds..
The raised finger against the raspberry cup of hope is the
pole of delicacy ahead. I advanced and this race led me to the
term of ignorance for now, loins girded with strength, scrutinize
with my peers, as the universe race, the silence of the earth
who trembles.
Through the disasters causing so much drought and flooding
I made my way through the devastated forests where without fainting I
inscribes the greenness of my path under the auspices of the flame of compassion
crowned with the thousand candles of contemplation.
From now on I will no longer tear the veils of the union that
bind to His reign ; and rising early I would scatter flowers and
poetry the gaping wounds of suffering to accede to this invitation of
break through the framework of ordinary life and discover behind the holy icon of
the attention become infinite wisdom the tender love so crisp of Your name
radiating under the white-lipped bite of the resurrection.
There are cups with small white dots on a background of blood that the
generosity cannot reach. Also to rise and tender the dawn before the sun
of Your greatness can only support this inflexible effort to be born beyond our
mindless activities that daily push us to deny our true
nature and miss the target.
Ignited by extreme force I entered the hallway of our
meet. Reason had gone in haste to replace the
groans of the extreme weakness of the man in a skin tunic by the cry of
the grilled flesh of annihilation. Was, I knew how to fold my wings to enter
breaking into the holy of holies, vast consular room devoted to the
return of the prodigal son.
I do not know if the edifice will not be shaken and if we can
hold back our tears during the final session with the taste of eternal life when at the
nightfall we will finally caress the gentle hand of the mise en abyme, that
who tenderly but firmly, and from all eternity, will call us to
complete our work.
Once free I can then consent to the mysterious contact
with the beings in white tunics coming from the noisy crowd that the joy
communication makes one exult at the prospect of granting the precious
favors of our heart finally anchored to the elevation of the soul to the emptiness of spaces
infinite.
Do not Cry. Raise your gaze to the high foliage. Be
in cahoots with the weather. Don't ignore the land you came from. Closed
the door after me. Keep walking. Looked. It could be that you
meet the Other to pass the baton to at the crossroads by chance
in the smile of the sorrowless.
The Spirit is what begets, transform, implement ideas. He is the contribution exterior from which we do not know where it comes from, and which can even come from within.
The Real is the set of all "things" that exist ; he is the thing which contains and binds and implements all these things. He is the pieced kit and that works.
There is no real without an idea since what is real must have a form : pure formlessness is nothingness. L'information is at the point of complexification of the contact with matter a kind of drive subliminal from elsewhere and which yet weighs. The Real is therefore Spirit ; the Real is a Mind that thinks of ideas, including the idea of substance by which ideas are incarnated in things for the particular consciousnesses which participate in this Spirit.
Here in the photo, there are things that seem to exist, but who for really to exist, that is to say, to provide for outside - ex-istere - and show off, use the Idea, complex compound gathering the observer, son intention and the camera tool. So the scene takes shape with the Spirit landed by the active solicitation of the inventor visual artist. And that's how we can talk real. A real, composed of matter or substance or thing, of Solicit Idea and of the Spirit.
From Real to Spirit there is only one step conducive to a change in the level of conscience, to stimulation of the reason for being there, in agreement not duel, to take one more step.
