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I'm moving forward.

Modifié le : 2019/07/30

I’m cer­tain­ly mov­ing for­ward. I am less sure of this when I arrive at night and go to bed. If I close my eyes too quick­ly, my body and heart fight for the last moments of con­scious­ness. I prob­a­bly over­ate tonight, and the stom­ach is already start­ing to go wrong. I don’t want to com­plain, there’s no rea­son. Bud­dhists say that we are what we think. And these thoughts are embod­ied in actions and circumstances.

All this to say that I am final­ly mak­ing progress only by feel­ing, with­out think­ing about it, just by doing it. My silence is prob­a­bly worth more than all the gold of my expec­ta­tions. I act, I close my eyes, I dive. Noth­ing hap­pens right away, as if my actions were seeds ready to jump to heav­en, yet held back by an end­less cold sea­son. I move for­ward and keep listening.

On the one hand, work seems to be resum­ing, on the oth­er hand, debts are accu­mu­lat­ing. In the court­yard, a friend of mine, a writer, offered to review Les Mailles san­guines. On the gar­den side, the mys­tery edi­tor, whose name I can’t reveal, does­n’t give any sign of life. I will prob­a­bly have to make deci­sions soon­er or lat­er, but this is not the time yet, not the sea­son. When there is spring, I will judge the soil and the garden.

In the mean­time, I move for­ward, live. Like a melody that you have to master.

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