The Buddha's smile without a smile

Modifié le : 2019/08/08

I dreamed again. These days, it seems that my brain absorbs a lot of data, and since it is slow to digest, it stirs them up overnight. When I woke up this morn­ing, first of all, the very sad smile of a Bud­dha that my mind dili­gent­ly corrected.

So I still dreamed, so I again manip­u­lat­ed real­i­ty. And now I only think of this Bud­dha who under­stood that you should­n’t be sad with­out being hilar­i­ous. Neu­tral­i­ty always tastes bet­ter because it resists illu­sions, but still lets the heart speak.

Which brings me to Fri­day. My friends on the ground floor, and I lis­tened to a report on a Pacif­ic island strug­gling for sur­vival. On the one hand, there were those old men who stuck to their tra­di­tions, which had been proven time and again, but which were also painful­ly test­ed, scorned and above all chal­lenged. On the oth­er hand, there were their sons who were deter­mined to make a dif­fer­ence by, for exam­ple, installing engines on their boats so that they could fish fur­ther away since the fish no longer come close to the coast. It must be said that in a rel­a­tive­ly young past, whales used to come to wan­der around their island and the old peo­ple, with their oars and har­poons alone, man­aged to feed the vil­lage. These small peo­ple, the lama­holots, live on an ungrate­ful island (Lamalera), but their tenac­i­ty, very human, has firm­ly anchored them on this land. Their ances­tors have long wan­dered from island to island, and they, for a few gen­er­a­tions, had final­ly found the pre­car­i­ous bal­ance of a peo­ple with a sim­ple life.

Now the old peo­ple are sad because their har­poons are no longer catch­ing any­thing, main­ly since the inhab­i­tants of the oth­er islands fished brazen­ly with dyna­mite, which scared and killed all the fish. But the young peo­ple, with their rudi­men­ta­ry engines, remain con­fi­dent, espe­cial­ly since the blasters have been pun­ished. Fish, on the oth­er hand, no longer have con­fi­dence and they have to catch some­thing else : dol­phins, rays and oth­er frag­ile fish.

Noth­ing can be tak­en for grant­ed, since the region is also des­tined to become a pro­tect­ed eco­log­i­cal zone (as we can imag­ine, it was the peo­ple of the North, in their large cities and uni­ver­si­ties, who decid­ed to do so, furi­ous and wor­ried to see the dol­phins thus hunt­ed and the rays dec­i­mat­ed, even if the few inhab­i­tants only take what they need from the ocean to feed them­selves. It seems that this is already too much for the ecosys­tem of the place.

That is why, among oth­er things, — I am not yet say­ing every­thing about my life — my Bud­dha has dif­fi­cul­ty remain­ing impas­sive. My Bud­dha is pout­ing, one might say. Real­i­ty always seems to pre­fer demons to good inten­tions. It is nec­es­sary to fight con­tin­u­al­ly, patient­ly solid­i­fy the dam threat­ened by the too strong spray.

Which brings me to this oth­er report, seen a few weeks ago of a man and his cab­in, locat­ed on a sand­bank and that the sea threat­ens to engulf at the time of the high tides…

But I’ll stop here. The sto­ries are end­less. I seem to see all of them by lift­ing the cor­ner of my lips a lit­tle, by not sulk­ing my plea­sure of liv­ing and observing.