The rain of time | Guy Verville
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The rain of time

Modifié le : 2019/07/20

Time does not stop. It is empty at the moment and full at the same time. Empty because it does not seem to indicate the direction of my life, full because, obviously, without my making an effort, without me being able, in any case, to fight against this fact, time is running out between my fingers.

This is not new. Everyone knows that.

Summer is good, sunny, sometimes a little too hot, but it knows how to quench its thirst with his sporadic rains. Spiders are valiant in decorating half-opened windows with their webs.

I am empty and full, too, like this river time, this wind time, this breath time. Empty since the brain is looking for answers, full because the future is abundant of promises. Still empty, since I have few resources, full all the same because, in the end, it doesn’t matter.

I empty my desk, I sold my computer, I gave, with a big pinch in my heart, my 27” monitor, I still have some equipment left that I would have to dispose of. A few announcements on Kijiji will do the trick. I will give this, I will give that. I will empty the room so that I can finally finish it. I would also like to clean and empty my website a little bit because I don’t really take pictures, I’m no longer self-employed. It would be better to erase the slate, erase that sand mandala.

I also empty my schedules, somewhat. I decided not to go back to singing at Ganymède’s this season. I need to empty this to fill my voice differently. My singing teacher wants me to be a tenor, so I empty my baritone voice to fill it, to discover the one, higher, of the tenor. “You’re 55 years old, but now you have to sing like a young first because that’s what to be tenor is all about,” Vincent added. Well, let it be! Let’s play the young-first uncle.

I have nothing to lose, nothing to empty, nothing to fill, everything is transferred in the purest style of stills.

I should soon receive my revised manuscript. The novel will be published on October 30 if all goes well. My sky chart agrees with all of this and that’s good. I am happy all the same, even if sleep is often difficult.

My doctor called me. My sugar level is rising. My body is filling up. There’ll always be things to empty. Anyway, that’s how time feeds its world.

And then I met my parents at Dominique’s birthday, who turn 50. There’s only one left in the family under that bar. I regretted that I couldn’t talk more to my mother and father. There were too many people there. I don’t have a car, I don’t have too many resources, while the time for them is running out as fast as mine. I found them certainly lively, alert, but still a little older. My tenderness towards them only doubles. They probably blame me, through their silence, for the fact that I do not visit them more. When we want, we can… but it is true that, when we cannot, there is no point in wanting too much. Everything will have its season.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m unconsciously afraid of this passing time, but it’s really happening too fast. I often feel like an impostor with my fine words. At the very least, I am learning to empty my brain of that pride that is of little use. I empty, but in vain, I know it, because it is fortunately filled immediately, like a thirsty land drinking the rain of time.

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