Autumn projects its contrasts. The day was warm, soft for the onlookers who, despite the virus, opened their mouths wide to the sun. As I had to pick up my prescriptions at the pharmacy, I decided to walk there and then do some early errands. I don’t go out much, so I took the opportunity to break in my new boots. I’m used to listening to the urban environment as it is. This time I opted for my headphones and ethereal melodies. As for my eyes, blinded by the sounds, they only regained consciousness when crossing the streets, judging the dangerousness of passers-by, and, like a cat, they sometimes fixed themselves on contrasts of colors.
The season is fertile. Deliquescence joins the sad philosophy of what circulates in my veins. Every day, I repeat it only too often, or maybe not enough, in the end, every day, so I let the world pierce the opaque curtain of my soul. This is a strange phenomenology to keep one’s thoughts silent to allow the beautiful cacophony of forms.
Eight kilometers later, I was back home, my feet a little sore all the same. Fortunately, the new boots didn’t make me suffer. I took a shower, lay down on the bed to relax, and fell into an early vacation sleep. I dreamed for two and a half hours. I don’t understand the cramps I often get in my legs and feet since they are muscular, although newly veined with age-related meanderings. My body is ossifying. I also feel contrasts in me.
If I were a monk in Tibet, would I have all these sensations ? If I fainted within the hour, what would happen to the long luggage I had gathered ? Who could offer me his answers while keeping them to himself ? Do we communicate ? Are we alone, or are we so absurdly merged that we don’t realize it ?
Why is it so beautiful and inaccessible, good and evil ? My brain, like an old circuit, is saturated. During the night, the rain of dreams will wash it away so that I can walk there again. This is the act of living.