Titanic

Josephine is now aboard her very own Titanic, a tall ship of extra-terrestrial dimensions, heading at full speed for the looming iceberg on the horizon. Sailing high and low through the diffident waves, no one aboard knows the real meaning of the coming iceberg, lost as they all are in the sea fog... No one ever knows the real meaning of any experience. Experiences exist only to be renacted ad infinitum. No one knows what this iceberg is made of. It could be real ice, it could be only the ghost of a non-existing ice-wall, a figment of their collective mind. It could well be that Josephine very own Titanic will sail through with resounding success... And that it was all vain fears. But it could also be the final crash, the ultimate encounter. It could be that it wont be sink or swim.
Only sink.

Longing

The sum of our longing gathers in our flesh like an immense ball of unexploded fireworks, full of all the shimmering colours that never were, of all the sparks that never resonated, of all the joy that never was.
We build delicate sandcastles on the shore of our desire, thinking they will last for ever but knowing too well that the next tide will soon wash them over.
Yet all the devotion, the care and attention we invest in these elaborate structures of sublime material, all the hopes and abundance of wishes and the frantic energies dedicated to the beauty of the instant, to the fragility of that grandest of folly - not even reflecting close the depths of our feeling...
The sea retires, the sand is left empty, and our longing , intact.

Les montagnes russes

Josephine has gone away on a journey. Usually a fastidious traveller, always knowing exactly the where , how and why, she was for that one journey , totally unprepared.
For this new exploration in Terra Incognita, no plans, no maps, no booking, no resting place.. Just a permanent , relentless track to follow. The scenery was stunning. Nothing that Josephine has ever seen before. Wild, exotic, lush, colorful, varied, always a breathtaking sight on the horizon. But no easy walk.
And in no time, Josephine was in Montagnes russes. The peaks as high as the clouds, the depths, as dark and profound as an abyss. The middle ground would have been a potential paradise but Josephine never set foot on it.
Then, surging from nowhere, rushed past her hordes of wild, savage but beautiful horses, galloping at full speed and in danger of crushing Josephine over. All muscles and pure force, they were a sight to behold. The noise of their stamping hooves was defeaning, and as quick as lightning, gone.
Then, the solitude and the beauty of the place. A paradise in the making.
As she travelled further, utterly caught in the speed and intensity of this most unusual journey, Josephine suddenly stopped.
Ahead, a precipice. Will she have to fall or to put wings on ?
She is on the edge.

Dawn again ?

The Is-land is in trouble. A dark, oppressive night has descended on it, and all the fish have jumped out of the sea, all fretting on the beach, gasping for air, literally dying of asphyxia.
Josephine is nowhere to be found and the sheer weight of the ocean is threatening to engulf the whole tiny island.
Will the island survive the long dark night and will, in the small hours, all the fish disappear into the waves again, a new sun rising and Josephine again walking towards the shore, scanning the watery horizon for a glass bottle ?
Will dawn ever break again ?

Twin peaks

Twin peaks,is there any more melancholic accents ? So perfectly suited to certain moods..The longing and the absence, the departed, the cold, snow and gloom...Josephine walks alone in the mountains, the wind roaring, night falling and the immense solitude of the icy space...There is no looking back, 'les jeux sont faits, rien ne va plus !' Josephine had placed her bet and lost. Everything. Nothing to retain, not a memory, not a story. Walk and ascend towards the ultimate peak of desolation, walk and ascend towards your ultimate goal : death. alone in the snow.
That is how the story ends.
Bonsoir Mesdames, Bonsoir, Messieurs, This is it.

The invisible twin

When you walk down the street, what is your invisible twin doing ?
When you lie down in bed at night, sleeping, where is your invisible twin travelling ?
When you do your everyday job and concentrate, what is your invisible twin free to explore ?
When you take your very last breath on earth, will your invisible twin come and take your hand to see you off to other grounds ?
When do we ever get an answer ?
This is the glass-room planet. All sealed, a locked-room in infinity.
Or is our mind the locked-room ?
What if we were to find the little golden Door inside our brain, to release the universe, to let all the cosmos flowing in...
We are so built upside-down, always looking at the wrong side of the telescope. Seeing everything small when it should be vast.
But one day maybe we will break the glass walls of the planet, and start to really communicate, and start singing as wild angels in a divine choir...

Second chance.

Jour d'automne sur l'Etat d'Ame. Melancholy and regrets as ever. Josephine sits outside her little blue house on the island and pensively watches the empty sea. There never is anything on the horizon, no tall boats with singing bands of sailors in colorful outfits, no wild surfers, no stranded Robinson. Nothing but the lonely horizon of the grey sea. All Josephine can do is think, dream, ponder and long for.
What if we were given a second chance ? What if the laws of the universe were suddenly reversed and we could start again ?
There is a book with precisely that story : 'the strange life of Osokin' by Ouspensky. The hero is miraculously given a second chance to rectify his love story gone wrong. (It's always about love obviously, what else would we want to go over again and mend ? Exams ? jobs ? shopping lists ?)
So the hero revisits his story and would you believe it ? Does exactly the same mistakes again ! In spite of all the previous knowledge and the acquired experience of the first run ! No, nothing to be done, he falls in the trap again...Maybe that is precisely why we don't get a second chance, because we would simply waste the universe's Time. To make a second chance worth it, we would have the tall order of becoming an entirely different character.
To change our patterns rather than our circumstances.

I am a minefield for myself, there is nowhere safe to tread.
Can a Deus ex Machina get me out ?
No second chance and no Deus Ex Machina.

The grey, empty horizon.
Will Josephine ever escape, the great, perfect, sublime escape ?
Josephine dort et pleure.

In pursuit of happiness

'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desesperation' said Thoreau in Walden. This is a hard phrase to face. Are we ever certain not to be part of that critical mass ?
Thoreau went to spend a year by a pond, in the forests of Massachusetts, to contemplate his own destiny. Was he any wiser after that ? At least, he learned basic survival skills without having to go through military training.
Walt Whitman walked across the United States, singing 'the Body Electric'. Did he get any fitter in the process ? He certainly got to bed a few companions on the way.
Ludwig II built his castles in the clouds of Bavaria and became prisoner of his own creation. He loved many, all in vain , was never understood and drowned in his own lake. Elisabeth was waiting on the other side, ready to help him escape. Did he know that ? How could he drown in such shallow waters, Ludwig, the swan-king ?
The Lohengrin of my dreams.
So much efforts, so much torments and turmoil, so many hopes and aspirations. You would think it's not even the result that matters most, but rather the permanent, mad, obstinate, violent pursuit of dreams and happiness, the tension towards the goal, l'elan plutot que le but, le desir plutot que la satisfaction.
Ultimately, it's all castles in the air.
And we bounce back on earth.

Or does anyone get to stay up-there, in seventh heaven?