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Five minutes sitting in silence

It is a con­stant strug­gle to real­ize that life brings death in return. Real­i­ty is as mer­ci­less as a mys­tery. We bend or break into it while philoso­phers drown in their own blood of words, prophets believe as hard as their bones that what is not what should be, artists and clowns put on their crutch­es and oth­ers, sim­ple peo­ple or grad­u­ates of know-how, mar­vel more than enough at the good wis­dom of what seems nor­mal to them to undertake.

Liv­ing takes courage. First, you have to lie to your­self, live with this crime. Then you have to make it a song, an art. It is not only the human con­di­tion, but the con­di­tion of every being that seems to move. Hap­py are things that erode more slow­ly than we do ?

Is it real­ly a glo­ry to know that you are mor­tal ? Is it real­ly noble to pre­tend that noth­ing is hap­pen­ing ? What’s the point if you don’t under­stand any­thing ? Espe­cial­ly why per­sist in killing your neigh­bor ? Are we not in the same boat thrown into an ocean of ignorance ?

Some­times I think that we are very bad actors pre­tend­ing to be suc­cess­ful when, in front of us, the room is eter­nal­ly emp­ty. I also tell myself that it is pre­ten­tious to want to com­pli­cate life when we have trou­ble under­stand­ing it. Where are we going ?

Would our intu­ition be the right one ? Our nat­u­ral­ly unstop­pable log­ic ? Is there any­thing else beyond that ? But beyond what exact­ly ? Of our ridicu­lous con­scious­ness in its indi­vid­u­al­i­ty or of this infi­nite uni­verse to explain and explore ?

Five min­utes sit­ting in silence, breath­ing, and cer­tain­ties fray before me. A strange peace emerges in this mur­mur­ing cave of my thoughts, a peace that does not make me hap­py because hap­pi­ness is a dec­o­ra­tion, that does not make me unhap­py because mis­for­tune is only the shad­ow of light, a ver­tig­i­nous peace that I am unable to define. It sounds very good that way. But why ?

I can’t con­clude that it’s use­less. I am sur­prised. There you go. Still filled with won­der and fear. Who am I ?

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