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
