The weather is still grey and peaceful. We would probably like more sunshine and even more calm, yet we are satisfied with it. Walking around every morning like this does me a lot of good. An analytical mind could contradict me by asking me to prove this point. I won’t do it, because I wouldn’t know what to say to him.
However, I know that every moment mechanically runs out of breath; I understand that one does not wait for the other, that there is fluidity, walks, I know that time could be a direction and that our minds are convinced of it to the bone.
There is no more deadly than immobility, more vinegar than certainty. To maintain in oneself the dense dance of sensations, to ride with the same lightness happiness and misfortunes, to imitate the life that does not remain in place, to hum even in silence the ritornello of our astonishment.
I don’t know where life takes me because it invariably undoes in front of me. I look at what she leaves behind and try to imagine what her future might be like. It’s a waste of time.
Blessed are those who are continually metamorphosing, if only in spirit, for the kingdom of discovery belongs to them.