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.

Prisoner.

Josephine sits alone in the big blue wooden house. Alone among the antique furnitures, an outmoded but charming decors. There was maybe, at some point in the past a large family leaving here. Or a lonely refined ancestor. Who knows. Now remains only Josephine, among the grand, desolate but lovely house. Wistful she stares in the distance. The sky is grey. The sea is grey. The day is sad. Her mood is sad. When will she leave ? How ? Trapped on her beautiful but desert island, her life is often a prison, a scealed bubble. Eternity is unfathomable and weight heavily on her soul. To die and to live again ! Should she build a raft and challenge the waves ? Defy the circle of the ocean and rejoin the world of the living ? So much efforts... She does not believe she could ever muster the will. Oh that longing, yes... Die Sehnsucht... Aber der Will nein. So, idle, thoughtful, passive, she sits and wait. And wishes. And prays. But hopes not.

Le cimetiere des idoles

It's early morning and Josephine walks in large strides accross the country on the island. Going across fields, forests and waste lands, the only noises are the crunching of the dry autumn leaves under her steps. Birds chirp sometimes in the distance and you can perceive the faint rush of the ocean all around. After hours of such intense hiking, Josephine arrives at the Cemetery of Idols, tired of limbs but clear of spirit. The place is a forlorn area, where lies in chaos the broken statues of past idols. Some made of glass or marble, one or two of gold. Some of plain earth. Or of salt gathered from tears. All broken and in pieces, as it should be. Nobody wants to see the Idols standing again. Ruling over your heart and life. The cemetery of idols is a good place to visit.

The Island's birthday.

A year later.
The Island has reemerged from the sea. Intact, wild and beautiful. Its secret location : high up in the North, cloaked in grey mists and deep fog. It rains, the winds howl often yet there is no more blissful place where to be : a place of precious solitude, of space and silence. Solitude, space and silence. The three essentials S so bitterly missing anywhere else.
After so many months spent in dry countries, Josephine is back on the 'Etat-Dame'.
A few days ago, it was the island's birthday. She hanged garlands accross the trees, put the flag up the mast, lit the lantern at the top of the lighthouse and light up torches everywhere, candles and incense along the sandy paths. Brightly illuminated, the Island could have been seen from far away in the deep dark sea. But no one was there.
When all was ready, Josephine took her picnic basket and went to the shore for a midnight feast. Many a kindly ghosts looked on and smiled, reminiscing about their own time of special happenings and secret delights....
When the food was gone and the wine drunk, Josephine sat there a long time, dreaming in the distance. With only the soft rush of the waves nearby and shadows of spirits and animals around, it felt eerie perhaps, but also tranquil and perfect.
Josephine was back. And not ready to leave ever again.

Just once. To stop.

We think big of ourselves. But we are no different than ants in size and importance. We are born, we breathe, live, laugh. And suddenly die. And what in between ? I Must Stop and think. I must stop and meditate on the state of things. I must stop and take time. I must stop and look back at the void open ahead. I must sit still and ponder and stop thinking and just be. And exist more deeply. And feel more deeply. And love more deeply. Yet I dont. Never. Stop and sit. I run and rush and talk rubbish and watch rubbish and let precious time flows wasted, on nothing, on rubbish and precious time given to me to try and Understand is simply gone. Wasted. Frittered away in pettiness. In nothingness, on daily mondanity and tiny concerns. Life happens to us just once. But again and again, we forget and live unconscious. Happily unconscious ? Or stupidly so ? Is the man asleep happy or simply ...asleep ?

Untitled

Walk, keep walking and try not slip unto the moving discs of your mind in motion, walk to edge and kneel on the edge, face the void, the great wide void where your mind and the universe meet, the finite and infinite on the edge

Escape

You could say Josephine's left the building. Or abandonned her 'blog'. But she hasn't really. She sometimes goes 'undercover'. Lives under a bush literally. Disappears. Vanished. Evaporates. Does not everyone, at some point ? Life can be So burdensome. So heavy. To dissolve into thin air seems really like a reasonnable wish. An island. Desert. Just wind and sand. And stars above. Waters around. Perfect setting for the perfect getaway. Working on it. It's all about escape. Nothing else.