That happened during the journey of initiations. One day, while time was in the storm, we perceived through the course of the clouds this sign propitiatory, this anvil that came out of the depths of heaven .
When the deaf shaking ran through the mountain, we were then thrown to the ground stony face down, paralyzed, waiting for the end of this anger of which the effects were to reverberate deep within us .
After a while out of dimension, when I turned around and the surprisingly clear sky showed no signs of storm, you were there, my brother, immobile, the clothes waving in the light morning wind, the quivering beard and the look soft focused on the valley of origins .
The air was pure. The smell of fresh flowers rose. Without looking at each other we took our baggage to continue the ascent .
It was ___ ago a few centuries. We were then old enough to be truly conscious men of our responsibilities and the task assigned to us. We were crossed by the destiny which manifested itself by this unspeakable force and inflexible which inexorably engaged us on a path of knowledge and of wisdom, on the way to the great Mystery. This was the meaning to give to our life .
Remember that night when the howling wind accompanied by gusts of cold rain made break and lay down the trees behind us. The earth was in a rage. if deep ravines were dug in front of us that we were obliged to implore providence to confidently continue to move forward in us by handing over to greater than us. We had to grow out of this ordeal .
Remember the calm time of our walks through the fields where we sing loudly the intense joy of simply being alive filled us with carelessness and fullness. There was lightness all around us and hand in hand we took a long walk around the family home, beyond the blondes wheat fields dotted with blueberries, waving daisies and poppies under a light breeze to reveal the moving forms of the beast that moved by bending the ears then rustling. A shiver ran through us and it was good .
The weather was brisk this morning. Dressed in your used school apron that we brought out for the vacation, you descended the solid stone steps from the doorstep to, finding your stick, go and trace on the beaten earth of the road these signs which left me speechless. You were the guide that showed me the way .
Remember this narrow passage that we took to get out of the vent of temptations. He was dark in this dirty scullery full of dangers but we never fell into the hole filled with water. The place concealed only the barrel of wine from the grandfather and on straws a few pieces of cheese protected by heavy linen tea towels .
Remember this winter walk in the high country where, by the roads deformed by ice and snow, the adventure awaited us. Wrapped up under the parkas and beanies, the cold air entering the canvas cabin of the vehicle pierced by a large gash that an open umbrella covered, bumps and skids made us cry out for victory. Stopped in the forest we encountered the painful nail from throwing the snowballs against the caravanserai of our past .
We won't see no more slow caravans, shimmering and fragrant with the sweat of camels and spices. We will no longer hear the cry of men guiding their mounts recalcitrant towards an elsewhere that we did not suspect. Comes back to me from this desert of the origins the vision of the burning breath of the sands raised by the simoun and this outstretched hand, brown and cracked from the wise old man who emerged from nowhere that opened to reveal the treasure, this hard fruit, black and wrinkled found along the path lined with thistles and thorns .
don't stay today that the quite normal bush of the accompaniment of our children … Take ! On the square they have erected the marquee of passion … we will wait for the continuation of the great book of transformations .
Right now, there didn't have any, you lost brother .
Remember that to enter the corridor of births scared us so much. You, holding your stick and I chanting some magic formulas that were to help us pass to the other side, new. There was no second chance. Nothing but the scattered blocks of stone from the ebb of thought that the time for procrastination oriented towards having and security .
The heavens have open. Water cataracts have swept away the traces of our history. Children sages who possessed the gift of providing for themselves by the imagination in this country distant extraordinary adventures, we have now stopped singing our origins. And sometimes when the storm roars, in front of the fireplace crackling, we are then left with the gesture of stirring up the ashes of the past, for, to the crossroads of emotion and sincerity, say true, just say what is .
The call of our mother, we won't hear it anymore. She who invited us to taste it in front a bowl of hot banania milk to chew on with your teeth the large slices of bread brown bread puffed up with redcurrant and blackcurrant jam ; large slices of bread that our grandfather had cut in the pie which he never forgot to sign of a cross when for the first time he carried the knife there. The clide of garden wood will no longer stay closed to prevent chickens from going frolic in the middle of the plantations. We won't have to pick the parsley at the last moment to garnish the salad with grated carrots and eggs Mimosa .
As for the water wells that had to be drawn from the fountain in these heavy zinc buckets on the ascent, sometimes when the wind tells me, I hear the Old woman laugh .
do you remember ? Just to harmonize the morning song of the birds with the bells from the church brings out this sour taste of having been so close to you, my brother .
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