Eyes closed

I sleep a lot. It’s probably because of the fall, the vacations, the accumulated fatigue, the skin colored with vernacular craters, aging, the end of a world, mine or ours.

I am often immobile. It’s probably for the same reasons and also because I don’t know what to do now. There are those days and nights when I have the feeling that I have walked around the garden. Everything I could do or accomplish has been done. There are no more flowers to pick; my footsteps have taken me through landscapes and journeys. That, underneath them, the Earth remains the same.

My boat undulates on a silent ocean. With my eyes closed, I auscultate the stars pressed against the zodiacal canvas of my eyelids. Perhaps I, too, am a star that illuminates the empty sky of reality, a firefly looking for a companion and risking everything, even being devoured, to accomplish its mission of being a link in the chain.

Time, it is said, is not an arrow but a direction. It stretches if it becomes too severe, runs out of breath if we pay no attention to anything. Now all I have to do is wait until the stars decide to leave their retrograde positions? What do I have to live? To understand?

Isn’t it useless to ask these questions because it doesn’t bring any butter on our bread? Am I condemned to live only on food? To pretend? To wait, with closed doors, for the rise of an ultimate or possible sun?

My closed eyes are the spectacle of a day that belongs only to me. My eyes open, are like moons that seek to move the tides.

I sleep a lot, I wake up so little. Still, it is good to write it down.




  • Normand Sénéchal

    Normand Sénéchal 2020/10/07 13:27 0

    En plein dans le mille me reconnais dans ce questionnement, tu as mis de bien plus beaux mots que je ne l'aurais pu...
    On traverse un temps d'introspection et ta plume rend la tienne universelle.
    ET les photos choisies et manipulées de la sorte sont oeuvre en soi.