Contact

I just saw that Horizon program #strangesignals
Again, as many times before I am very amused by the way humans look for 'life in the Universe'. They use all the tools in their power and those tools, no denying, are very powerful, but from the beginning of times they seem to overlook the One and Only tool that matters here to connect to anything at all: your brain. Or should I say your mind?
They use everything but the One thing that could really help: The brain. But of course not the brain we use in our daily life, for the thousand menial functions it does. No I'm talking about let's say, the deep brain, with its thousands unknown and undiscovered possibilities. If some miraculous 'god' has created Life and then its crowning glory the Brain, who secretes Intelligence, isn't it there the clue, right at the source, that Humans should have looked from the start? A radiating intelligence that have untouched potential because, as they say, ours is a  'technological' civilisation and  everything has been used as a tool. Blinded by the ingeniosity of our magnificent tools we've simply overlooked the gift of consciousness right from the beginning. And I for one, believe that if we ever make 'contact' whatever that contact might be with another Intelligence, it might not be through tools however sophisticated they seem to us (but really paltry in the scale of things we're dealing with) but through the only truly sophisticated tool we possess: our brain. Because it is not just a tool. It is the answer too.
So for now, let's humanity struggle with painstakingly handling the wrong side of the binoculars. Like pitiful 2D creatures trying to figure out where they are but cannot because the extra dimension they need is simply beyond their grasp.
Perhaps one day, in a different civilisation, less technological, more human, more wholesome, more sensible, a bright spark might suggest using the only thing we have at our disposal that could work: Consciousness. Mind, Spirit. Brainwave...whatever it is called...

The Duke of Burgundy

The Duke roams in my brain, enchanted, delighted by his realm. The music pours from the sky, unlimited, dramatic, overpowering. Death has lost its bite and Infinity reigns for the Duke. His forests and rivers, his woods and manors, under the foliage stand still, beyond time's reach. And within the realm, love, love, love of the greatest kind, the purest love conceived in the Universe: my love for you.
Is it another planet? a parallel universe? is it real, unreal? Questions die on the threshold and beauty rises under my feet. Animals abound and trees, trees everywhere...The flow of nature bounds with our soul and body, we fly, we stream, we dream, we love caress and kiss and the wind pervades our limbs, do we exist, love burns and consumes and screams. There are no limits but joy and ecstasy.
The Duke knows the dance so well, the dance of old times, the dance of the beginnings, when the Earth was empty. Empty and intact. The dance of the planets around, of the stars below and above. The dance of my loneliness, waiting, waiting for you. Only the rain can bring you round, only the rain. And it never rains.
Sometimes, the Duke loses his realm and he cries, alone in a deep, deep coffin of abandon. How do you find the realm again? Life is an exile. Life is a lost path in the night, a long sentence for uncommitted crimes. My brain explodes in agony of wait. The Earth is a prison and a cruel mirror. Everything is here yet untouchable, unreachable. Life is longing and hoping.
But sometimes too, the Duke arises and welcomes the return of the realm. And the realm is Beauty. Who does not believe in Beauty is a damned soul. There is no god but Beauty. The blind cannot see, the deaf cannot hear, the dumb do not understand. Beauty is a secret, a key, a password. Beatrice. From the early days to now to ever. Showing the way. For Dante yes, and for me. I never betrayed. Beauty is the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. And perhaps the most rarefied of all truths. The world was created for us to see and love and be in awe. How far removed we have become, no need to say.
And today again the Duke errs in the kingdom. He might be the last soul remaining but he has a long life, an eternity to offer. Long live the Duke.

Cut off

My brain is fading. I feel it. It is being attacked on a daily basis minute by minute. Living in London means living outside oneself.  The request of the outside world  is constant and intense. It kills all brain power. I can never follow through a thought. I can never keep a mood or even find a mood. You are always required to act and react. And your soul fades away. My connection with beyond has nearly gone. The walls of communication have thicken so that I cannot hear what is beyond. The Earth has also sealed itself on itself. All satellites looking in on the planet. The Earth is locked in a permanent, toxic selfie. The blanket noise prevents reception from outer space. I need to retreat deep and far, but feel unable. Is that why on a larger level everything seems to go badly wrong? We are cut off from any deep cosmic radiation? Am I talking rubbish? Why does it feel that way though?...The planet is not locked in a room. It evolves in space and space should be open. But we managed to layered it with junk, debris and satellites and stuff. If you block your windows with junk, the light does not shine through. It could be what is happening to us and why everything is so bathed in gloom nowadays.

Patti Smith: Horses.

I saw Patti Smith in concerts about 4, 5 times before, but last Friday at The Roundhouse was an unique, special experience. Perhaps it is because she replayed the whole Horses album and that this album means so much to me? Horses, along with Ziggy Stardust and Lou Reed's Berlin, was the very music of my teenage years. Symbol of my despair, rage and powerlessness. Before Horses, I was a child. After, I became a teenager. It broke the safe bubble of my childhood. I awoke to the real world, funny enough, through the torn and ethereal rifts of Horses. So, this is a music I can never listen to objectively. It is loaded with emotions, from despair to exhilaration. It is the very music of my deep past and eternal youth.
So it was quite something seeing Patti Smith singing again as she sang in Paris, in 76 or 79?  I don't remember, I was just about 15 and in awe of her. What I mostly remember from that long past concert is how chaotic it all was. Utter chaos in the audience, we were standing close to the stage but in a perpetual motion from the sheer pressure of the crowd and on stage, it seems it was just as shambolic. The music was screechy and inaudible really, from the sheer loudness. I only remember chaos all over. After, I waited a very long time hoping to see her at the exit door but the wait was too long and I gave-up after about 45 mn. Would my life have been any different if I'd met her then in person? At the time, we were only 2, 3 people waiting outside, it would have been possible to make a connection. But, as most things in my life, because of my idiocy or lack of perseverance, it didn't happen.
But we met again, perhaps 15 years ago, before a concert at Sheperd's Bush. It was a friendly, brief encounter, with a few other fangirls around and she was happy to sign her book 'Early Works' with a large 'Power to the people', and chat. Though, by then, life had dulled me and I had nothing special anymore to share with her.
At the Roundhouse, again, I bumped into her alone in her lodge, before the concert, by chance. She was on the phone and hastily agreed to sign my copy of her last book the MTrain, but waved me off after to carry on her phone call. I heard saying 'sorry, there was 'someone' ..' So someone disappeared and greatly enjoyed her amazing performance on stage. She has something of the shaman and can raise an audience to a near-sacred level when everyone feels something 'is happening' She has this powerful, wonderful, amazingly positive energy that can send everyone spiralling into happiness. She must have such deep wonder and respect for Life that she is able to pass on a similar near-sacred emotion to people in the audience. Someone said the concert was 'biblical' Yes there is, (bizarrely because it is all far away from 'religion!) but there is a sense of a biblical, sacred moment going on. She has that force, that aura, that voice.
It was odd to make the link with my old self of 15 yrs old, to know I still was that very person today and for ever. It was a deep and moving experience as if Time, roughless Time, for once had been conquered and the dots joined, no more distance nor separation, it was all there, in a nugget, in fabulous Horses galoping wild for Eternity.

Thank You, Patti Smith, for that.

The Clowns

The biggest joke of the Universe on the human race is to make them believe that their time and space are set in stone, invariable and eternal. Hence letting them invent gods and religions with unshakable creeds and devotions. What a farce for imbeciles.  Religious cunts need a bit of space-travel to get Relativity into their little brain cells. We are nothing but  tiny thinking piece of flesh thrown away on a dancing planet, turning round in circles around a deadly fire, the sun, that most idiots here, of course, worship as the source of life, when there is no other source of life than Water.
What a sad lot, what clowns, these 'humans' some zombies, some robots, most dumber than animals, most more pathetic than the dust under their feet. But what devastation they've unleashed on the most beautiful world created. What hate and brutality.
It is difficult to feel of the same race and from my earlier years, I have felt no affinities, no understanding. Usually we call  people unsympathetic to the human race 'psychopath' but in my case I believe the opposite. That I am born within a race of psychopaths, with only a few, too rare exceptions, and that the big majority is totally lacking in empathy and sensibility. Ego, vanity, vainness, perversion, cruelty, manipulation, bare pride, stupid pride, yes all that abounds around. But fineness, perception, sensitivity, receptivity, originality, kindness, beauty, strikingly lack. Thanks god for artists, poets, musicians, writers, creators. Otherwise what kind of lowly order of hell would this be?
It is more and more painful and depressing, I am convinced, for sensitive souls to exist nowadays. The horizon has considerably darken, the future pregnant with death and disorder. We loathe and despise each other more and more because our collective spirit is dying and the bare bones of horror start to show.
Gurdjieff was right. Someone at some point played a terrifying joke on humans, implanting them with a 'kundabuffer': an implement that make them see and experience everything upside down. Yes indeed. And unless you are granted the privilege, or strive for truth in some way, to undo it, nothing can be done: you are and will remain an idiot, a clown taking shadows for reality...

Neanderthals uber alles.

Passer sur le monde avec la grace d'un vol d'oiseau, leger, subtil, gracieux, ephemere.
Le monde se meurt doucement et les idiots s'amusent, les cons se rejouissent et se multiplient.
Le monde se meurt doucement, lamente-le, il ne reviendra pas.
Ses fleuves, ses rivieres et sources secretes, se tarissent et ne recouleront pas.
Ses bêtes, belles, fieres et tendres, torturees, chassees, devorees, cricifixiees, elles ne revivront pas.
Les pas de l'enfant, trop tot celui d'un tyrant, etouffe la terre sous sa botte de con.
Les derniers penseurs sont deja morts. Ils ne reviendront pas.
Une race pas meme nee, a ete avortee.
Et maintenent,
Neanderthals uber alles.

Anecdotal

After about five days of solitude at home, my mind is so quiet, so peaceful that I feel I hardly exist anymore. Or rather the smoothness of existing tends towards disappearance. Perhaps this is exactly why human beings love so much conflicts, problems and adversity. They take the agitation, the intensity for a proof of existence. And may be it is. I love, have always loved, the lightness of being, so yes, perhaps there isn't much 'life' to be found in something light, something hardly here at all. Does a stone exist more than a feather? Or is movement more alive than stillness? all debatable. And not important. The problems of the world are not light nor on the move. There are made of hate and blood, here to stay. And that, is irremediable. Funny enough there is the French word 'diable' (devil) in 'irremediable. The devil resides indeed in what cannot be solved. Like the thirst for blood and conflicts in the human heart.
What we need is a threat from space, from aliens yes, to understand that here on Earth, there is only one life, one planet. Or are the aliens already here and we just don't know it? Are they the source of all this madness, the  lust for killing and all the rest? Would they be wishing us the worse from time immemorial and somehow, driving us blindly right there? I might have read one or two conspiracies too many but when you consider the extant of belief in 'God', a bearded spaceman overhanging in heaven, there is little to discourage us contemplating an alternate version as a possible explanation for all our ills.... Keeping an opening mind to all and everything...

Je pleure d'attendre

There are planets for every dream, for every transgression and devotion...Our world is not alone, it is only hidden, separated. Crack the code, break the wall and you fly free. The march of your desires and hopes is  on. Death is a door, a transformation. 'Rien ne se perd, rien ne se cree,  tout se transforme' Ascend the mountain, feel the wind, deploy your wings and take off. The infinite is waiting and la-bas, la-bas, elle attend...Take her hand, elle attend, Le vol d'antant, le vol des grands silences, le vol dans l'au-dela, il commence...Il est lent mais puissant. Il t'emporte et tu ne reviens pas, tu es  parti, pas de revenant. The hour of my death is the time of my delivrance. en partance. 'Qu'il vienne, qu'il vienne le temps dont on s'eprenne'. Je pleure d'attendre.
La pluie sur moi, larmes du ciel, la pluie qui me parle de toi, l'eau-memoire ou tout est ecrit, la pluie de l'amour du temps, rain of tears from the departed, la pluie du temps, qui nous attend.
Quand il pleut, tu es la. Quand il pleut, je suis avec toi.

As pollen rising in the air

Les apres-midis lents et tranquilles, loin du monde, pleins d'oubli, de replis, et de melancolie... Des apres-midis ou l'on oublie pourquoi on vit...Dehors, le vent gris, le froid et l'ennui. Dedans, la musique, les chats, et le vide. Ma vie peserait si peu dans une balance.  Peut-on me dire pourquoi je vis? je ne l'ai jamais su. ou ne m'en rappelle plus. 'The lightness of being' Oui je suis nee le jour de St Leger, curieusement. Une fatalite. Ma vie est si legere qu'un jour, un seul soufle de petit evenement me fera envoler...J'ai soigneusement travaille a cette legerete. Pas de responsabilite, minimum de liens, familiaux et amicaux. Surtout pas d'enfants et de liens pesants: what was once called in a novel  'the unbearable lightness of being'. Only for me that is the only bearable way of being. Any other way is a delusion. Sad or cheerful, still a delusion. The one and only thing that would have matter, that I cannot even name, has not happened. So be it. Melancholy is my name.  A name that wont be remembered. A name as light as pollen rising in the air...

From the island

Where is the island? under water? up in the clouds? Josephine lives there, all alone. Has been for centuries. Never get old, never gets reborn. She's eternal. She is my soul. The one I cannot reach and rejoice in. Desolation is her name. Living abandonned from all and everyone, in a cold limbo of grey hope and soft despair. And you wonder why I love the North, Nordic Noir, winter and solitude...All our souls have abodes, landscape and atmosphere. This is my soul. A lost island in a parallel universe of grey fog, cold clouds, and unforgiving ocean. No one is welcome. No one ever comes anyway.
Josephine has rituals. Like visiting the shore every morning at dawn. A bottle might have strayed there. With a message. A content. A connection. So far the shore has never given any. Just sands, rocks, and drift wood. Shells and birds corpses. Empty handed and empty hearted, Josephine goes back to the house. And wait some more. Sometimes tears come to my soul. I am Josephine's envoy here. But not a very good one. I have failed her. I have failed my life.

To miss

To miss one's own life like you miss a target. The arrow is just gone off course. It was off course before it was thrown. The dice were trunked. The parcour was slippery and made to get you down. Or was it? Should I have been the archer AND the arrow at the same time ? The road And the runner all at once? Was I both all along ?
Are we total and unique master of our destiny, question never answered.
The Island beckons. I cannot wait to go back.
There, all is dark and silent. Nothing moves. The nights are long and cold. There is no hope. And that is the best thing of all.

Minuit

Lumiere douce de la bougie, gathering shadows and raising ghosts. Ton nom est Minuit et je m'appelle l'Ennui. Nous valsons bien ensemble dans le grand palais du Neant. Que le Temps est long ici, et courte la nuit. Je m'ennuies. Tu me seduis. Et puis...pfuit. La poudre entre mes doigts. Plus rien ne me reste de toi. Shadows and ghosts. Il est minuit. Et l'heure d'apres minuit n'existe pas. C'est l'heure noire des songes malheureux, des departs d'amoureux, des larmes au grand creux. Tu ne reviendras pas. Ma main reste froide, la bougie se calcine, la chambre retrecie, mangee d'ombres et de pleurs. Tu ne reviendras pas.
Treize heures sonnent au clocher du neant. Mais il n'y a pas de porte qui s'ouvre, pas de jardin merveilleux, pas d'univers heureux. Tu ne reviendras pas.

Fate

Fate is a gruesome beast that we cannot begin to understand. It feeds on our tears, on our despair and spite-out innomable horrors, that we then have to face. Sometimes we are led to believe that Fate is kind to us and indulges us with treasures and happiness. Beware. It is only a mask for more torments to come. Nobody escapes the icy grip of Fate. And I feel it creeping closer. We do not grasp any of its workings and mechanism. How could we ? The flea on the elephant's back will never know the whole story. Neither will we. Hence the need of so many for 'religion' 'religiere', etre relie a quelque chose, being bound to something in fear of otherwise falling into a bottomless void. religion is the easy rope of reassurance. Interesting up to a point but definitely not an explanation for the non-religiously inclined. So. What else than a terrible sense of helplessness and bewilderment in face of Fate when it comes raging into your quiet existence ?
If you still have time before it happens, sharpen the diamond of your mind, brighten its multi-faceted awareness, thank life for being here, with no other demand and desire than to exist and to breathe and to smile. The stars are constantly raining on us. Yet we remain impermeable to them. The Universe calls on us and we are not hearing.
Not God, not religion. But gratitude. A duty to happiness. And kindness. And a thirst for beauty. Always and everywhere.

Berlin

Mmm. Another city -after Venice- so very much talked about...But for me Berlin always was special. I guess it all started many many years ago, when still a teenager, I listened, stunned to the Lou Reed eponymous LP 'Berlin'. At first I did not hear anything. Literally. Then...an epiphanic moment. I totally 'lived' in this odd, eerie music. After that , there was only one logical move : to go to the place itself. As everything in my life, it took some years to realise. But I got there. Crazily as an 'au-pair' the worst sort of activity possible. I stayed from November to April, in a city gripped by a fierce winter, covered by snow and ice. I was quite unprepared, in trainers only, and had driven my car all accross France and Germany, through the Eastern part too of course, to get there. I had slept one night in Darmstadt and then got frantically anxious about having to stop along the long motorway across East Germany, as the Military all along were watching the traffic. It was Strictly Verbotten to even stop. The Eastern side made me paranoid. During the 6 months I stayed, I refused to go and visit East Berlin, because of all the Polizei and Military watching constantly from above the Wall, far too threatening and venimous. I thought if I went in I would never come back. And very posibly I would not have... Berlin was then a completely eerie city of new buildings, very few old ones still standing but mostly everywhere, wastelands...It was sad and magic and I fell under an odd influence that was to last a lifetime. Nollendorf Platz Palace was then in full regalia of extravagant characters and costumes at night. It was a grand period for Berlin and caught in the difficulties of my situation, I did not appreciate it enough. I was overwhelmed, as am still, by the language, faintly understanding it but never able to utter a word. No change there. I remember one day walking in a derelict street of Kreutzberg that came to an abrupt end on the Wall. I remember the white crosses spread all along that damned wall, commemorating the lost lives of the people trying to escape. How could I have wished to visit that work-of-evil-regime seeing its results well enough ? I was too young to play tourist, and if I vaguely regret not having witnessed first-hand the communist side of Berlin, I still can understand why I did not. My brief life in Berlin was intense, fascinating and beyond me. Maybe the invisible 'angst' of the past was still very much in the air and affected me unknowingly. After a car crash and quasi-breakdown, putting a sudden end to my torturous situation as an 'au-pair', I fled the poor woman and her two hellish boys. Not very nice but it was a fight or fly case and I could only escape to survive. End of my first time in Berlin, but only the beginning of what is really an odd long love affair with a city. Unrequited love of course as usual.
Now Berlin, as a glorious phoenix, is rising again from its nearly-forgotten ashes. Its hideous history, as the one of all Germany, is, mercifully, starting to really fade away with waves of tremendously lovely new generations. I always feel they have made a pact of all being so extra-lovely to atone for their grand-parents sins...But more likely, they are all genuinely lovely.
Now, I really wish I'd never escaped that time long ago, but braved the odds and had the guts to start a new life, that today I could still enjoy.
Now, I can only go again and again, as a tourist, humiliating, instead of simply being : Ein Berliner.

Fury

We are all but grains of sand on the shore awaiting for the fury of the ocean to take us. We are all so minuscule, fragile and helpless in the face of the Earth and its magnitude, its power on us. Who, amidst such devastation can still hold a gun and shoot ? What maniac stlll think of harming and killing when our Only thought and care always, should be of helping each other across such terrifying journey ?
Today was again, and too often nowadays, a terrible reminder of the fragility, of the brievity of our lives on the planet, a planet that we often forget, has the last word on our destiny.
RIP Japan and every places affected.

Venice

What could one say about Venice that has not been said a thousand times over already ? Well note to self only : I have been to Venice, been there, done it. There is always this obligatory feeling that you Have to go to Venice at least once in your life. And you do have to indeed, it is overwhelmingly beautiful. Unique and fragile. It is an experience. aesthetic and intellectually so very stimulating (overflow of architecture, art and history...) Yet, yet...I 'experienced' Venice in all its beauty and glory but loved it ?? In retrospect curiously yes I do. But when there, I felt I was seeing a very dainty, beautiful aristocratic timeless Lady who had sold her soul to the most vulgar passer-by...To please the crowds and only the crowds what has Venice not done... It is a waste of time to lament the ugliness of tourism when one is precisely part of it (though in january to avoid the worst effects) but still...like seeing grotesque scars on a pale and delicate face...
And then the claustrophobia ! Curiously nothing had prepared me for the labyrinthical maze of tiny lanes that really is Venice away from the canals ! To reach the open space of a small place was like breathing again ! I hated the opression of the walls closing on you from all sides, high walls baring the light...It spoke to me of narrowness, of opression, of fear, of alienation, of rejection. A city afloat closed onto itself, rejecting the world, the foreigners, the light as far as it could.
But the Grand Canal of course...a beauty to behold...The opposite of the narrow lanes...I went to Venice in my mind so often, as in the vision of 'Palace of dreams' that somehow seeing Venice is never totally new. Everyone carries an 'inner' Venice. And the real place strangely corroborates the vision...
I saw 'Death in Venice' perhaps six, seven times all through my life. To me that film really IS Venice. I recognise the litle place with the well where Aschenbach collapses towards the end. It was odd and striking, encountering in reality this place so well-known in my mind...
'Death in Venice' totally captures the essence of this doomed city. Beauty from afar, impossible adoration and the pestilence, Death...To me it will always be the soul of Venice more than any other films shot there.
Then from the plane, ascending in the sky I got a glimpse of the city far below, lost, tiny, floating on the vast sea, the Lido a miniature stretch of earth. It was a poignant feeling, thinking of all the millions of treasures of art and architecture delicately poised there, utterly at the mercy of time and waters...

Helene Grimaud at the RFH

Yesterday night I went to see HG again. A solo concert as five or six years ago, same auditorium. Then the earth moved. And the skies opened and a new life started. Yesterday, it was also a recital and a good one. But nothing moved much apart from Helene's swift hands on the keyboard. I found that Mozart was not for her at all. She gave him
a military ardour and brilliance way too OTT for the nuanced Amadeus, here travestied as a thunderous god. Then during the deconstructed second bit ( Berg ?) I fell asleep. Oh dear. Was very tired. Then more rushing of hands on keyboard, and it was over. The 'encore' was the best. An hungarian dance with colour, rythm and flavour. All three missing rather from the previous two pieces. It was odd that Helene, so intense, lyrical and melodic chose to play bits that felt rather dull and dry. And why Mozart ? But why no Bach
at all when she recorded a whole beautiful CD of his music ? On the whole a lovely evening but nowhere near as tremendous as the one, a few years back, when her walking on stage changed my life.

Let me in, the film.

'Let me in' is a film that leaves a deep impression on you. Long after you have seen it, you will still carry its haunting effect. This might be the one time in film history, when the remake is way better than the initial film, because 'Let the right one in' was good but left one totally cold and indifferent. It was quaint, arty, very 'small film' and very likeable in its unpretentiousness. But with 'Let me in' now we are talking total cinema. Everything is better : the acting of the two superb young actors ( especially Chloe Moretz, utterly charismatic ) the direction, the music, everything. Right from the great opening scene, you are gripped by a masterly hand that you know wont let you go till the very end and after. The result is even more incredible given that most of us know the 'story' and that the surprise effect could have been therefore spoiled. Yet the movie managed supremely to top it all effortlessly. You gap, you stare, you wince at it all, as if for the very first time because really, it is the First time you see such a great, powerful story being told. This version also is not only powerful but subtle and very moving. It breaks the boundary of the one story, and become an all meaningful allergory. The fascination for Evil. The beauty and seduction of the Devil. The flame that humanity will always carry for evil-doing in spite of being destroyed in the process. There had been a very long time since a film made such a deep impression on me. And from talking to everyone around, we all agree : Superb.

Iceland

Josephine got lost on own island so we'll leave her there and carry on just like that. Just me talking. Recently I have been to Iceland and experienced the best trip ever. This is The Place. The feel of the nearby North Pole is incredible. The mountains loom large and mysterious. The whole land is a Mystery. I long to go back, deeper into the wild and lose myself into total space and emptiness. The landscape is like a perfect meditation. From the minute you land, it's like landing on the moon. Iceland is another planet. Then you drive into the landscape and the deep, spooky quiet get to you. You go into that odd, peaceful, silent state that here would be called 'meditation' but there just happens naturally to your mind.
I think I fell in love with the North Pole. Cold ,silent, ultimate, perfect. And long to be back.

Meteorite

What if one day a meteorite were to crash unto l'Etat-D'ame ? For it is such a small island spinning in the void in spiralling crescendo and decrescendo, it could well be sent off course by the slightest hit from spacial dust....already the winds and frequent raging seas threaten its sheer existence... Josephine hold on to a very thin lifeline there. She should just go, build a raft, defy the ocean and sail to whatever harbour there is beyond the horizon. The problem though, is that it's all rhetoric and mere superstition. Because for now, strictly nothing is happening and the lull of comfort is too sweet to be abandonned...To be continued. Or not.