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Light as a prayer

The sur­prise is always the same. I go about my busi­ness, I wave at things, and the sun, sud­den­ly, spreads its pres­ence over every­day objects. Then noth­ing looks like any­thing any­more. The knead­ing board becomes a col­li­sion cham­ber where the sto­ry of the atoms is played out, resem­bling an old super­no­va being agglom­er­at­ed into a new earth where, one day, a lit­tle Jesus-Mahomet will come to announce some­thing new.

Soap bub­bles become pri­mor­dial broth, and mat­ter on oth­er objects is slag aban­doned to their inactivity.

Light, the gen­er­a­tor of all inspi­ra­tions and reli­gions, how­ev­er, for­bids me to draw any con­clu­sions. It is rather a serene game, a hon­ey­moon with ram­blings, a prayer of hal­lu­ci­na­tions. It unites with­out under­stand­ing any­thing, with­out explain­ing any­thing, it gives itself and nourishes.

It’s not sur­pris­ing that I like the dance of plan­ets and neb­u­lae so much, because the for­mer is order, the lat­ter is chaos, before which one can only close one’s mouth and hypothe­ses. Name it as you wish, with a low­er or upper case let­ter. Know how to look at it with new eyes with­out blind­ing your­self. Igno­rance seems to be our only answer ; our quest is our only knowledge.

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