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Our fire

I was par­tic­u­lar­ly sick for a month. First of all, a par­tial sore throat that made me lose two kilos so much I could­n’t swal­low any­thing. Then, two weeks lat­er, mys­te­ri­ous ris­es in fever approach­ing forty degrees, pre­ced­ed by tremors that blocked my kid­neys. The appetite also dis­ap­peared. My doc­tor lives there with asymp­to­matic flu. A lit­tle over two more kilos lost, but the appetite has since returned with­out me being able to swal­low large amounts of food.

My boss found me dis­tant for a month. He under­stands that I’ve been sick, but his feel­ing went beyond that. I reas­sured him. If there is a dis­tance, it may be in my desire for fru­gal­i­ty and sim­plic­i­ty. My sky is not wrong. He had warned me of this Sat­urn­ian return that every­one is around fifty-eight, fifty-nine years old.

Time pass­es, there is no point in run­ning, but in walk­ing at the right time. I got myself a med­i­ta­tion appli­ca­tion. If my brain knows all the Zen and non-zen prin­ci­ples of mind­ful­ness, it is not nec­es­sar­i­ly able to impose them on itself. My body, which is also his, remind­ed him of this. There is no point in think­ing if you don’t breathe properly.

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