The Art of simplicity

7th of January 2014

When my mother died, she was 55 years old, when the police called me to tell me that they found her body on a boat, all rotten, all black, and gave me all the details, I was waiting next to the telephone since more than twelve hours, the all night, the all morning, the police called during the lunchtime, around 12.

A few weeks before, I had a terrible flue, a terrible fever, at that time I was living with a boyfriend, and he would come back every two hours in our studio to change my clothes, as I was too weak to change my clothes all wet by the fever by myself.

Last time I met my mother, she brought me flowers, but I could not really talk with her because the fever was starting. She told me good-bye, I could not really have any kind of energy for her, I was feeling so sick. She left a few days later to spend time in the South of France, by herself on a sailing boat, a little one, but she was not sailing, she was just going to stay on the harbor, relaxing, going to the beach. It was in August.

During 10 days, I was seeing her all rotten, all black, at that time the mobile phone did not exist yet, so I could not call her, I was thinking of warning La capitainerie, to ask the master’s office of the harbour, to check on her, but did not dare to do it. I could smell her body nearly, it was stinking, it was terrible, she was all black, all rotten on this boat.

After 10 days, she called me. She was laughing, told me her arm had swollen, had been to the pharmacy a few hours before, they gave her a cream.

They did not detect the phlebitis. She was calling quickly from a cabin phone, I did not have time to tell her about my dream, I was so happy to hear her voice but told her that I was really anxious, that she should have called me before. It was summer time. She was in the mood to have fun.

My mother a few months before, confided in me, that to get old for her, was like climbing a mountain. And that it was starting to be high. During those ten days, I could hear her telling me, that it was high enough.

She died a few hours after having hung up the phone. A Sunday night.

The police found her one week after, and it was damned hot on this boat in August.

Two months before she had decided to stop drinking, and started the AA. The AA have this habit to make the people stop suddenly drinking alcohol. It is very bad for the heart, and she had drunk so much during so many years, at least 15 years, her heart was already damaged.

She also started to take hormones a few months before,  it is very dangerous when you suffer from a heart disease.

So my mother died, and during one week, after she hung up the phone, I was smelling and seeing more and more clearly, her body black and rotten.

When the police told me about her body, and all the details, awful details, instead of making me sad, in a certain way, it was making me safe, like at least I was not crazy, like at least I was not losing it, that there was a reason for those terrible days before her death. For my anxiety, for my nightmares, for those visions.

It was the first time, I had a clear vision, I asked during those days when she was dead and I did not know about it, what was my date, my mother who was dead at that time, was telling me, well I could hear her telling me; 55 it is high enough for me. So I asked what would be my date. And I had a number coming on my mind. Of course I always thought this number was my age when I would die, and it was a young age.

But in fact, my death never came, so maybe it was the year of my death, but at that time, it appeared to me so far, so distant, like impossible. It means I might die very old, or it means I might die another moment and it was just nothing, or something I did not understand.

I do not feel the height so much, I do not have so much vertigo yet. I feel younger and younger. But last year, at this date, the 7th of January, nothing had happened to me yet, my life was very calm since quite a long time.

I had registered on a website called Couchsurfing the mid of December 2012, and for me, this website was for crazy people, and the women going on this website, crazy. Because they were going to sleep on the couch of people they did not know, I judged the all concept unbalanced and just nuts. But the thing is one week before I had to leave my flat suddenly, and it was impossible during Christmas holidays, to find another one or any hotel room available, so I started to surf on people’s couch I had never met before and all this for free. I was incredibly lucky since the first night. I just wanted to sleep somewhere, did not intend to live any kind of romance. I was received instantly by great hosts in great houses. It was very enthusiastic for me this new life, with so many new friends being so open-minded, so generous and so easily trusting others.

Around the 7th of January 2013,  I was surfing in someone’s flat, and I was cold and distant with this handsome young man. He tried friendly to hug me in his kitchen, and it made me feel uncomfortable as I hated to hug, and never hugged anybody except my lovers and he was not a lover.

If the 7th of January last year, a psychic would have told me about 2013, about the year to come, about the weeks to come, I would have laughed, thinking he or she was a lunatic.

I have seen angels once, even if I was not believing in angels, after my mother’s death, one week after, I was with my boyfriend in the very small kind of loft, we were sharing at that time, we were never drinking or taking drugs, it was the early morning, we were not believing in angels, we were just sleeping and the angels came like the post office, like a commando of angels, to bring me a message, from my parents, as my father died going to my mother’s funeral in his car, he was not driving, it was a car accident.

So my parents sent me a message, I could hear and feel them clearly.

My boyfriend did not get the message but he saw everything I saw.

It was beautiful, and powerful, full of joy, full of non judgment, full of light and there was even an incredible sound like a choir of angels, with very high frequencies musical notes, with little crystal bells ringing softly. We both heard those sounds very clearly. I was blessed to be able to share this experience with someone else, to be able to talk about this moment afterwards. He had lived the same experience than myself, even in the little details of it, which were not details, as everything  at  that moment was huge, fascinating, thrilling.

After that, I realized that angels were part of all religions nearly.

I never saw them again as well as that morning, but they stayed around. Never really left completely my life since.

For me, what you call destiny, or god, or angels, can make you experience jail, or prostitution, or poverty or wealth if they decide that you have to pass through the experience.

I don’t say it is the truth, but it is what I feel, if it is written that you will be in jail tonight, so you will be in jail tonight.

I had good friends prostitutes, they did not really have the choice, it was their destiny, it was written somehow since their childhood. One had been sold by her mother when she was 9. She was believing a lot in angels, was a very pure soul.

80% of the prostitutes in the world, have been forced into prostitution. And the others even if not forced, have a destiny, for example 90% of the prostitutes being a prostitute by their own will have been raped during childhood and in fifty percent of the cases by their father. Canadian statistics for women but as well for male prostitutes.

This year in 2013, I experienced freedom, more than ever, to be a free mind, a free spirit. But as well I met a lot of religious people, being Christians or Muslims, and all being against sexuality.

When the contraception was not existing, when the antibiotics were not existing, of course to have sex with someone was terribly risky and dangerous. Syphilis, and sexual diseases were all around and still are today. And to have a child without being married, was dangerous not only for the mother but as well for the child’s safety.

To marry being a virgin with a virgin, was nearly the only way, to have healthy children, and to be faithful nearly the only way to preserve this happiness.

Today, it has changed. Sex is no more as sacred than it was before.

But however, for me, it is still sacred.

It is still sacred moments.

It does not mean it has to be romantic, to be sacred. You can find sacrality in a garbage sometimes, it is just the way you look at your life.

A sacred moment is a diamond moment, you have to honor it.

However it is not that easy to live sacred moments, and to fly like a free bird, in the universe, to just flow, to just let go.

Respecting yourself and others, but as well respecting the moment.

I was nostalgic of 2013, thinking that I will never live this beautiful year again. I was not ready to let go.

But my first date of January 2013, the one after the desert, the cold swimming pool, proposed me to spend NYE with him a few days ago, maybe after having read this blog. Don’t know. I did not meet him since a little less than one year.

At first I was happy, and after I thought that I was not ready to live the suffering again, the pain again. Yes 2013, was a great year with great moments, but all the pain suddenly came back to me.

And I realized that I was able to live better than this, higher than this. That I was deserving as well better, it was time for me, to focus on other things in my life, to calm down, to not be afraid to be alone, to be lonely, that I had maybe to come back to my loneliness and to my roots, and to not be afraid of this.

I discovered last night, this music, this video I put at the start of this blog article. It is so short, so simple, just a guitar and a voice, and the video itself, is pure and simple. I have not been deeply moved, touched by a music as much since a long time, not having felt physically attracted with a singer as much since a very long time.

If you hear the kind of music this man wrote before, it is not bad at all, but it is more complicated, in this song, Berlin, he allows himself to a total form of simplicity. To connect with his soul. Berlin is a magic music, a magic moment of purity, and soul connection.

Before flying men could fly with just special clothes on them like today, we had to go to the moon. Before the first perfect hang-glider was built, we had first to know how to make planes and rockets.

Nothing in life is more complicated than simplicity.

I read Murakami last week, a famous Japanese writer, a book about the Art of running, about marathons. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/What_I_Talk_About_When_I_Talk_About_Running

It is a very simple book, simply written, but I thought when reading it, that to achieve this kind of simplicity was terribly complicated.

Simplicity is purity.

So I wish for myself for 2014, to just be simple, to just be direct, to just trace direct lines from myself to others, to not pretend, to not hide, to not fly higher than I can but not below either, to find my balance, to find the right altitude, the right words, the right moments, and to just simply honor life and others, without forgetting to respect myself, my desire, my wishes, my goals, my path.

…..

Written in one shot in 30 minutes, I am French mother tongue, my English is not really great, feel free to send me your corrections.

 

Sexy memory

7th of December, this is the time for looking back at the year. I love my year 2013, a great year, like a great wine, a great taste, great moments, I learned so much this year.

As every year, and sometimes every month, every week or every day, I try to remember my best moments. What was the best moment of 2013?

It is interesting to have a few months of distance, to judge if it was or not a good moment.  Sometimes, you watch a movie, and you like it but a few months later, you already forgot about it, when some other movies, are unforgettable or become even more important for you after a few months.

If I could record my life, what are the moments I would like to keep somewhere on a DVD, and that I would like to watch again and again? And what are the moments I would like to erase. In fact, for the moments to be erased, that’s find, nothing traumatic enough this year, to be erased.

But what moments would I choose to keep in mind, to cherish, to record and to live again and again?

I would like so much, and every year it is the same, to be able to think instantly of friendship moments, work moments, spiritual moments (sometimes it happened to me that my spiritual life was superior in intensity, joy and pure pleasure than my terrestrial life), but well, not this year, I can not remember any strong spiritual experience beside this wonderful feeling of protection, providence, and little miracles of life, I had so many protections, helps, so many blessings.

But well, beside that, the moments, I like to remember as nearly every year are … , I would like to be able to use the adjective; romantic, but it is not the case all the time. So what would I record? What would I keep? What would I like to re-live again?

In January, a few minutes I can remember very well, and that I would like to be able to record, but just those few minutes, maybe 10 minutes max, maybe 5. Maybe twenty. Or half an hour, max. I would like to be able to live this kind of intensity more often in my life. It was a long time I did not have it.

Ten days later in another town it is a moment when my eyes just looked so deeply in some one eyes, that it was like diving. We were not alone, it was a few seconds. It was the perfect moment, rare moment, I would like to live every day with different type of people. It was a soul moment. It was not so clear in my mind but now when writing, it helps me to think, and yes it is this precise moment. When I dived, and it is as if I could feel again the sun on my skin, the smell of the air, the energy, perfect energy.

In the first town, I never had this diving moment, this soul connection, but in the second town, I did not have this moment of non judgment, when you just choose to let go, and it is like being on a slide with soap on it. It goes fast and you just do not have the choice of anything anymore. And at the end, you arrive in a big warm swimming pool and you just laugh. Well, the laughing moment was not there, and the swimming pool was cold.  I would record just the first half an hour, the sliding moment before the swimming pool because the arrival part was not a nice one. I was shivering without any warm towel, and I caught the flu and after I spent ten days sneezing and coughing, with a terrible fever. So i would record just  half an hour but I would say 5 great minutes, I guess if I could live it again, so I could edit it, and cut, and I would choose even the best moments of the half an hour and it would make a few great minutes.

In March, I would record a moment on the bus, an exchange of looks, and after a diner, really perfect, and after that, I would record the first 3 minutes maybe of a precise moment. It was in Turkey.

In June, I would record a lot of different moments, it would ask me a lot of editing, but I am not sure I would like to live those moments again, I am not sure, I would play them again and again. Because I felt lonely inside.

In July, I do not remember clearly, if it was at the end of July or in August as in August, I would record a few minutes of joy and peace. And after I would edit, and it would be another moment. But I felt anxious inside and maybe a little lonely too, so I am not so sure I would play it again.

End of August. It was not sexual. It was an energy. A connection.  I would record half an hour, but I would edit I guess, a gesture, I remember very well.

In October, I would record a very precise moment, of lightness, complicity, and pure happiness. I would record half an hour and would put it on my shelves for my old days.

In November, I would not record anything. Nothing to be recorded yet in December either.

Now I am not fair, I am sure there would be hundred of moments, that would worth being recorded.

But in my little game, I have maybe the right to record only one hour or two hours of 2013, so I have to pick up the best moments, and to choose the ones, I would like to replay. I would put in it, I guess if I would have enough time on the DVD, some moments of good laugh between friends, of nice talking between friends.

But let us be honest, those moments I think off, like every year, like since I am a teenager, are moments not romantic, to say it was romantic would not really describe the reality of the moment, not erotic, because it is not always sexual or erotic, so I don’t know I am searching in French the right word and cannot find it either. Sensual is not the right word. I would pick up the word; intensity. Intense moments. When you feel more alive. Moments that you remember easily. Moments that in fact, your brain recorded, chose to record, did not forget. And might never forget. The moment you will remember in your old days. The moments that make you think that yes, 2013 was a great year.

The moments I remember right away, like I can remember right away my favor movies, so my favor moments, my favor minutes.

The moments that I already replayed a lot in my mind this year. Some more than others.

9th December 2013 ad,

Knowing, that to not suffer, I have erased already, 99% of the good moments spent in 2013.

If I would like to replay some moments of my life, I would choose some hours when I was 16 years old, some hours, when I was 19, or 21, or some hours when I was 25 or older, it is the first moments I think about. And yes, they were romantic moments, with young men as I am hetero.

But the moments, I would like first to replay, would be, the moments spent with my grand mother, with my aunt, with my brother. This is the moments I would like to replay.

Happily, in a certain way, our brain keeps in mind, sometimes very clearly a lot of details, I kept in mind very well my grand mother’s voice, and the aromas, her house, the garden, and every time I think about it, I have tears in my eyes, like now.

When I was sharing those times, with her, in her house, I knew, it would be difficult for me to get over it, I did not know how difficult it would be. But I was afraid of the time when I would lose her, when I would lose the house, and my childhood in the same time.

I never think about my parents that way. It is a little sad for them, a little unfair maybe. Or very fair. I don’t know.

I had another grand mother, and she was very nice, but I remember when she was upset, or nervous, it is certainly unfair, or very fair. I don’t know.

Is our memory, the work of our memory through the years, fair or unfair? I don’t know.

Am I fair or unfair this year, for the moments erased or kept? I don’t know.

And in a certain way, I don’t care.

The magic of our brain, its perfection, is that it keeps the memory, but like a painter recreates it, in its own way. Through the filters of our emotions, of our pains, and for our own survival.

The brain keeps the memory, but does it to help us to go on, to survive, and to not get stuck too much in the past.

If we could record our best moments, like a music, or a film, and would be able to replay it, I guess we would end up killing ourselves, or dying of despair. We would never be able to turn the page, to move on, to grow up.

We would get stuck in the past.

So yes, 2013 was a great intense year, but now it is about, 2014.

Even if right now, I would like to stay in 2013, and 2014, appears to me, like a dark place, like a boring place, like a lonely place. Without any good reasons for this. Just a feeling. An anxiety. A desire to replay 2013 and to not have to go on. To not have to get older maybe as well.

But how was I feeling 2013 in December 2012?

I remember having thought very clearly, it could be the calm before the storm.

If someone would have described me 2013, no way, I would have believed it.

I would have laughed, and I would have thought that this person was a total lunatic.

Because 2013, had been so far away, from everything I have been before.

I am in a certain way, a totally new human being. I am incredibly different than one year ago.

I cannot even recall who I was in December 2012. And I am not sure I would like even to remember who I was.

I would not replay 2012, even if it was not a bad year. I would not replay either 2011.  I would no replay 2010. I would replay some hours in 2009.

I would not replay 2008. I would not replay 2007. I would replay maybe a little 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003. Not 2002. I would replay 2001 some hours linked to a very precise spiritual moment. Exactly 20 minutes.

Well, so it goes on like this. 2013 was a great year, as I feel to record it and to replay it. On this level, it is a success.

About being puzzled

 

26th of November 2013

When I think about the past, about this year 2013,  I often think that I would play my cards differently if I could rewind the time. But the problem is always the same, if I would have played my cards differently, I would not have gained the experience I have gained and  I would not stand where I am today. It is an endless process in my mind,  as I like being where I am and being who I am, and I like my brain as it is, I do not wish to erase my memory.

If I could advise myself one year ago, I would have some  advice to give, but if I would give this piece of advice, my brain, my heart, my soul might be different than it is today, my life would be different. Everything would be different, and I like where I stand right now.

I did not write that much lately on my blog. The most useful activity about writing a blog is to check who loves me or not. Some man would tell me he is in love, but would admit never having taken 5 minutes of his life to read it, it makes me laugh, this guy never had any feelings for me and this is find that way. My blog is the way I do check on people sometimes. If I would be in love with a man, and he would give me the link of his blog, I would read it for sure.

I did not write on my blog since months because I do not know about my reality. I do not know about my character, about the real story. What happened to my character last January, I would like to know. It is not because of me, it is because of my character. About understanding not me, but the story.  This is so annoying to watch a movie, and to not be able to understand the motivation of the characters.

Not a lot of books had the power to change my life. One was Tales of the ordinary madness, I might have been around 20 when I read it, it changed my vision of purity. What was purity what was not… I never felt purer than reading the last page of this book. The writer was putting his hand in excrement to show me a diamond, and I realized that I was respecting much more redemption than purity. Purity can experience to get down, but someone down, experiencing purity is stronger in a certain way.  We are all able of purity, able of putting ourselves in dust, but what is dust?

A tree needs the obscurity of the earth, of the ground, the dust, to give a flower. A flower without the roots of the plants would not exist.

The second book that changed me, changed my life, I was in my twenties, it is a book from Kundera, The joke. I still think very often about this book. The heroes of this book, do not have the whole puzzle of their life in hands. They think they know their life, but they have no idea, because they do not have all the pieces. Just a few pieces, so not the complete image. It is all about this, about trying to get all the pieces, to understand the puzzle, as to understand the puzzle is to understand ourselves. Our life and as well others participating in our life.

January is far away. But I am still searching some missing pieces. It is annoying because somehow since January, I got the picture. Yes, but it is just a feeling, a guess, but not a certitude.  And even if I can imagine a picture, I need proves. To be able to write my life. To be able to write on my blog, but as well on the sand, on the beach or  on a wet window with my finger, or in the clouds, in the stars, just standing in front of my life, in front of my death. In front of my god. With my blog, with my life. As our life is an open blog to the Universe, an open book.

———–

I am French mother tongue, it is my first blog in English, it needs a lot of corrections and you are welcome to give it to me through the comments for example.

D like Desire or Despair chapter 2 no correction yet

—–

27 of July 2013

Bob arrived very late at night. Bob was French. It was like back to homeland for me. Back to this delicious French technique. I was in heaven. Bob was fabulous. But there is always a but. Bob would wait for me the last night before he would leave town, downstairs this beautiful tower in front of the beach. He would pay for the taxi, with this beautiful French elegance and courtesy. I was in heaven. I arrived at Bob’s flat, and he started to pray at 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning. I don’t remember why we would meet so late but well. In the middle of the night, before joining me, Bob was praying. I asked him how he could conciliate me and the prayers. He answered, he did not. He answered, he fucked up completely.

From the airport, the day after, Bob texted me, that he would ask god to forgive us, and that he would pray for my soul and that I would have to read the Quran to make him happy. I was so enthusiastic about gorgeous Bob, I read the Quran right away, I started with the Sunnah about women. I wanted during Ramadan, before reading the Sunnah about women (woman and slaves in fact in this Sunnah), to not eat anything during the day, just drink a few glasses of water, but the minimum possible and to not of course have any kind of romantic interlude.

My Ramadan on a romantic side, since Bob left the town, and I left as well one week after, is total. But this Sunnah made me so astonished, that since I read it, I eat a lot of cakes during the day when everyone around me is fasting as I am in another Muslim country. The result is not really great. I have swollen  considerably and I really have to stop this kind of contest. But well, it is the only thing I have found to help me to calm down a little.

Happily I did not fall for Bob. I could have fallen, but I did not fall. So I am not suffering. I am just bored and a little angry. I found a way to escape from this last failure, by deciding that it was a wonderful way to get rid of a woman. Bob’s technique was in fact perfect. And after all why not? You have to find a way to end up a romance, so why not take the religion as the perfect excuse? Bob was a real gentleman after all. I did not try to contact him, I would have liked to have some conversations about religions, but I did not do it as Bob is a Scorpio man.

It took me a few months to understand the Scorpio man. I dated my first Scorpio man not a long time ago, and I learned the lesson the hard way. The Scorpios anyway have all their own fanaticism. Their own rejections. Bob told me he did not believe in friendship between men and women. I strongly believe in friendship between men and women. But I am Gemini, a Gemini without brotherhood is lost, a Gemini is always searching for his twin, a Gemini is searching for complicity, laugh, and friendship before sexuality and passion. A Gemini is certainly the best ex girl friend, boy friend, ex-husband, ex-wife of the entire zodiac if I am right. In a film called Sex lies and videotape (full movie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gGiBCnR_Hg the protagonist of the story tells to the woman he loves or the opposite, to accept advises only from someone you had slept with. I saw this movie a long time ago, but I could see how true it is.  Someone weak in life, can be incredibly powerful and strong, someone who seems fragile can be incredibly dominant, and the opposite. You learn to know someone deeply in this kind of exchanges, where in fact you cannot really lie. And I guess for a Scorpio, it is even more true. So I believe, that men and women, even after having been lovers, can be good friends, and of good advises for one another.

I also appreciate this quote, saying the woman you love is becoming your best friend, your sister, your mother, your daughter, your mistress, your girl friend or wife, and the only person on earth having the right to judge you. The same for the men. Becoming as well, best friend, brother, son, father, lover, and the only person on earth having the right to judge you. It is a full perspective.

I had a dream about John, the first Scorpio man one month ago maybe, it was a strange dream that I do not understand. It was maybe in South America during the 17th century, I am not sure about this, I seemed to be a blond woman, with a lovely hat and dress, I was young and pretty, and I was looking at a procession, John was a kind of Inca man. He was part of the procession, and would want to look at me, but could not. He was wearing very poor brown clothes and was a preacher. He started to talk to the crowd with a lot of charisma. A detail: one of his hand would end like the one of Captain Hook, this hand had been cut off and had a poor dirty hook at the end of his arm, and he would rise it in the air quite often. I  was staring at him. It was obvious we were both in love. Both attracted, but not from the same side. I called Bob, the Preacher, the Conquistador. And told him, he was marvelous and touching. I believed it because he is a spiritual human being and his faith is the one he has been borned with, he did not really have the choice, it is his destiny and it is not an easy destiny for him. But this dream was not about Bob whom at that time, I did not meet yet. This dream felt terribly real. I thought a lot about it. Is it because I am hooked on John that I saw this awful hand? Or is it a past life? No idea.  John in this life is not a preacher, not a Muslim either. Very strange, and very difficult to understand our dreams and each others. I imagined John on the beach with me yesterday ( a kind of new mental  experiment) he told me right away; I am disgusted by you, you are a pervert woman, what we lived was a perversion. I could not argue with him. I perceived our time together as pure and beautiful and for him it would be dirty and ugly and there was nothing I could do to change his mind, even if our games were very innocent. Bob would ask god to forgive us, would feel guilty, and there is nothing I could do either as it was a simple romantic little romance. And in both or the cases, I am not the one who initiated the relationship, on the opposite. For John I refused a lot any kind of intimacy at the start, told him I was not ready, and even when he would ask me to tell him about my secret fantasies and would like to share some, I would not be enthusiastic and would tell him, that it was not the right moment, not the right time, that we were on a calm and romantic path together and it was not the right moment for secret fantasies, but he would not listen and when you search me sometimes you find me. I come from a free world where exploration is the normality and perceived as healthy and interesting. Maybe in real life he thinks differently, I hope, I was really surprised by this imaginary conversation. He was very direct and violent, and I never assumed he could feel about us this way.

For Bob, it is different as he comes from different cultures, he is  totally French and  totally Muslim in the same time, and extremely Muslim, and it is in fact two radical different options between the art of loving, sensuality, eroticism and the path of sacrifice and austerity. What can I do? Peter and his lightness of being would change my mind, but Peter has disappeared and was no more fun and light last time I met him.  I hope he was in a bad mood because he fell for a mysterious Russian beauty and that for once, it had nothing to do with any kind of religious activity. I don’t think so but sometimes you could be surprised. What can I do? How could I improve the situation? Where would I like to be in September? Which country would I choose? I miss Uk in fact. I would like to spend one month or two in Uk, Ireland, the vision of my cottage is stronger than ever.

D like desire or something else

I am French mother tongue, this text needs a lot of corrections, you are most welcome, to give them to me!

First of July

Peter, a relation since a few months, was late.
I did not see him for 15 weeks. I went away because of my love life not fulfilling enough for me. Yes I was spending time with him, yes we would meet sometimes every night, but it was not enough for me. A kind of emptiness. He was handsome, clever, well-balanced, good lover, but it was not enough.

It was not enough because I was hanging around with Peter, for the reason I could not share time with John. I had to be with someone to keep the joy and balance and harmony in my life, but in fact, I would have preferred staying with John.

I did not know really who Peter was, he was like a stranger for me. We would not talk that much. But he would always be there for me. Calm, and full of positive energy, always happy to see me. Sometimes I would arrive at 5 o’clock in the morning, he would wait all night,  and would have to wake up early in the morning.

I had left the country to think about all this. I arrived in another land and shared some precious moments with Gabriel, but Peter wrote to me again, and I was surprised about it. I decided to not date anyone for 12 weeks, not kissing anyone, which was not that easy as I was living in the city of seduction full of temptations. I needed calm in my life, I stuck to my decision.

Weeks and weeks after I had moved away,  Peter would still be there for me. He would tell me to stay in his house, he would ask me to come back, he would be as constant as always.

I came back for other reasons, he was late to pick me up, he made me wait in a bar next to his house until  past midnight. I had arrived in front of his house at ten. I was not bored as I had my laptop.

And Bob popped in the bar, our eyes met each other, we smiled and we just knew. It took us a glimpse and a few stupid jokes. We laughed, we were hilarious. As old friends. We just knew.

Peter called me to ask me to join him in his house. He was a little tense, told me he had some work to end, that he had been promoted without asking for it, and  it appeared to be a nightmare for him.

I went in the bedroom and waited for him. When at least he would join me,  it was like usual, empty and a little boring. The morning he gave me his key, and told me I could stay. I did not intend to stay, I wrote  him a lot of times by mail about this. But I was happy for the key. I thought I was lucky to have him. I thought I should give him a chance, being more invested. More present. More emotional maybe. I was thinking about this during the afternoon.

He came back at night and asked me what I was doing in his house. I did not leave. This guy sent me dozen of mails saying he missed me, gave me his key, nearly romantically and would come back late at night asking me to pack. I did not intend to pack right away, unless he would have a girlfriend coming, but it was not even the case.

He left for a meeting. I went to swim in the sea at midnight with an interesting artist with whom I exchanged 5000 messages on Facebook during the last three months.
We never kissed before. We kissed during two seconds, like children, afraid to be seen on the beach. I gave him some presents, I brought for him. It was as I thought it would be; a friendship.

Peter came back at one o’clock in the morning, inviting a male friend, spending time on the phone, I fell asleep in his bedroom, closed the door.

At five, he joined me and was more emotional than he used to be, for the first time, no emptiness, but a beautiful and real intimacy as we should always have shared.

During the night, I had sent him a message, he had read in the meantime, a message explaining he did not have to keep a distance with me as I was not interested in a real relation and had always been clear about it, so it was not necessary to keep a distance, that he could allow himself to be himself, without being scared, I would trapped him. That I liked us to be the way we were, discreet  and stable, non official and stable. Light and solid in the same time. So he joined me nearly at dawn and it was really moving for me the way he would allow himself to be. But after he was tense again, and packed, I left at seven in the morning when he would head for the airport.

I called Bob to join me for a cafe. He  looked at me a and we would know. He was, without really talking clearly about it, organizing our next meeting, and it was obvious. It was there between us, this evidence since the first second our eyes locked, and one throw a joke to the other one.

The same day, at midnight I met Tom, I had exchanged mails on a friendly level since weeks. We could not sleep well so we met for a drink,  we were neighbours. I was surprised how handsome he was. We drank vodka on his balcony, and as I was tired as I rarely drink, I collapsed on his sofa.

The morning before, I had sent a message to break up with Peter. For the first time, I felt the danger between us, for the first time he had been non stable, a little cruel, nasty, and emotional and full of tenderness, he became dangerous enough for me to end up before he could hurt me. He did not answer. I forgot. Not completely but a little.

I layed on the sofa of this man I just met. I  slept in his arms, keeping my black skirt on, keeping my black shirt on,  he called me my baby and was  moved by the way I  was hugging him during my sleep. And he asked me to stay, and started to argue because I had a key to take for my new flat, and he  advised  me to not take the key.

And I thought life was ridiculous, how could I have a fight with a long-term relation because I stayed two nights after he had asked me to stay, well not a fight, but a tension and after a calm decision for a break up, and the morning after, having the opposite problem, with a man same nationality, living the building next door, that I just met a few hours ago.

I decided to avoid the confrontation and to leave when he was under his shower. To rush for my key. A few days after, he was still  angry about me having left  this way, and kept on telling me that it was ridiculous to pay a rent.

The day after, I became sick. My back hurting, my belly hurting (my moon), and my mood. I was by myself in a great flat. Got the key and slept.
I had time to send a letter to John and other friends, I was satisfied to find the words I was searching for, sometimes since quite a long time.
I worked seriously as well.

I met Tom again. But he was different, tense, nervous, and not sweet at all. He wanted to go fast and I did not like it. I did not feel anything for him. I did not want to live with him, I had suddenly the nostalgia of my lost relation, the desire Peter would come back and that we would just go on with our lives, with our stable secrets, with our complicity, but I did not contact him, I did not make the move, I just watched some pictures of him I would find on the web, and would be a little not sad, not depressed but full of tenderness  for those photos, in the desire to just take him in arms, and cuddle him, and to just be with him again.

But those times were gone, he was dangerous, I could not do this. I could not light the fire again, he was no more a faithful dog, but a wolf, he had bitten me and would bite again an again. He was wilder than I thought. He was not safe anymore for me. He betrayed my trust, he betrayed our friendship, he was no more the stable good guy who would always be there for me. He was this weird busy man, packing, tense, nervous, asking me to leave in the middle of the night.

He was more violent than I assumed he could be. He was no more a friend for me. But a stranger full of problems. I wrote him we could always be good friends and meant it. I would like us to stay friends in the future.

So with all those events, I forgot about Bob. His life is like the life of an astronaut. It is like dating an astronaut, telling me darling not tonight I am on Mars, I will come back later on.

I would think about him like the guy from Mars. Having this strange job, this strange life. So far away from my life.
He told me, I will contact you when it will be all finished, when I will allow myself to meet you.  With his job he could not have any sexual activity and would have to keep his mind calm, a little like a monk.

I thought, he was beautiful and logically should date a beautiful model and not me. So I thought he might forget about me, might meet a better deal on his way. And I even wished him this. To find better than me.

But yesterday he texted me. And I did not answer and I closed my mobile. And I forgot. He  texted me at midnight, I read the message the next day around five in the afternoon.

He told me, he could free himself from work, very late at night.

And now I am waiting and it is very late. And I feel like sleeping. And I feel like writing. And I feel nervous, and tense, and I feel lucky, and I feel like a teenage girl, and I feel so tired, and I feel like I have won a price, and that I will be able to get it, and I think I should eat a chewing gum but i did not buy them, so I should go now and buy some chewing gums, and I feel like a child, and I feel weak and strong, and I feel like laughing, and I feel like I should take a distance, and I feel like what will it be tomorrow. And he will take me with his car, and he will ring before, and we will drive away, and it will be beautiful or terrible. And it will be empty or intense, and it will be dreamy or not interesting, and he will kiss me. And maybe he will not come at all. And maybe it is not important. Maybe it is just a little biscuit in my life, that I could eat or not. Maybe it is just a fantasy. And maybe I am stupid or maybe I am clever. And maybe we will never meet again, and maybe he is more nervous than I am. And maybe we should just talk. And drink, and go to a restaurant and swim in the sea, and maybe we should just be good friends. And maybe we should just not see each other again. And maybe he will not come and I will sleep and it will be perfect that way.

Alphabet; C, Facebook post 25th of June, Dubai

Alphabet; C like I hesitate between coat, cuddle, and cat. I don’t like coats, they are too heavy for my back, I cannot wear them.

My back hurts me quite often, I cannot walk very well, because when I was a kid I was kind of handicapped, I was in a machine for a dysplasia of the hips, luxation. I am still handicapped deep inside me. I feel happy with the handicap people, I am from their world, I belong to them. Deep inside me, I know in another time, another country, or just a few years before, I would have been handicapped for life, so this part of me is still handicapped.

My grandmother told my mother; oh why did not you tell me she was not normal? My mother never forgave her those words.

Somehow I am far away from my body. There is the handicap world and it is an all world.

When I was 19 years old, I volunteered at the hospital, and in my twenties I got a degree in special needs and spent ten years working at the hospital in the socio- psychological field, two years with the paraplegics, quadriplegics. Around me everyone was depressed even the staff, but I was feeling happy, in my world. I was part of them. The one on the wheeling chair, it was me.

It is not something I would be conscious of. The doctors since I was a child, would always look at me, and would tell my parents, oh when she will be pregnant, when she will give birth… I did not know what they meant, and still don’t know, but I never had kids, a kind of blessing in a certain way.

To end up in a wheeling chair scares me a little.

I remember a guy  in love with me, and me not at all with him, and one day he came to visit me with a broken leg, I showed  him an interest for the first time.

Another day looking at the boyfriend I was dating for a few months, observing him coldly, thinking, I am not in love with him, I don’t love him and at that precise moment he collapsed. As if my thought would have killed him. He started to have a kind of epilepsy crisis. We rushed to the hospital,  and suddenly I was feeling so in love with him.  From his hospital bed, he looked at me and told me; oh with you a man should not be strong. You like weakness, you like fragility.

Well it is not always true. But my aunt raised me and she was epileptic and a little autistic, so I was  used to epilepsy it was my normality, I had epilepsy in my life since always,  for me, I guess suddenly him being epileptic, in fact it was a convulsion due to fever and had nothing to do with epilepsy,  but for me he became  part of my planet, as if  I would recognize the pattern, and would be devoted as I had always been for my aunt.

I remained five years with him, so four years more, not really being in love, but being faithful, not even kissing someone else, maybe because of this moment at the hospital, maybe because of his fragility.

I am not faithful when I am afraid to suffer, it is the way I find to protect myself. When I feel the danger, when I am not sure of the feelings on the other side,  I would immediately  rescue myself by jumping on another boat, just  not to sink, in a survival escape.  I know how to survive, how to run away from rotten situation. How to honor life. How to honor the beauty of life. How to keep the joy.

 

Alphabet; B facebook post written in a few minutes no correction yet

24th of June 2013

Alphabet; B like bed. I spend my life in bed. I work in bed, eat in bed, watch TV in bed, and even for …. I like to stay in bed.

I am not so original. A bed is just the best invention ever! It has to be a good bed though. Today I am writing in a very cozy bed indeed. But we could sleep nearly at 4 in it, never observed such a large bed.

When I was a child I was sleeping in a canopy bed, and even now if I can choose my own furniture I would choose one in the old fashioned way. The French name for this kind of bed is very pretty, if I translate it is called, the Sky of the bed, or Baldaquin which sounds in French very lovely.

I feel protected in those beds for princess, and for the mosquitoes it can be useful as well. But now I am writing and I just noticed, in my bedroom the light looks like an angel’s wing, it is very romantic this angel’s wing.

A bed is the best place to think, and even to meditate I can do it sometimes better in bed.

I had incredible spiritual awakenings in my bed. Well you can have a lot of different kind of awakenings I guess in a bed.

But a bed has to be a free zone to be a happy bed. If the religion is too strong, the morality is too strong, so I guess your bed can be the place of guiltiness.

I am always amazed observing some friends, making their bed the morning, and so it is closed until the night. What a waste! They will not take the time, to read in bed during the day, to nap a little during the day, to make love during the day, to dream during the day.

To close the bed for me is pure sadness. A bed cannot be closed, it has to stay open forever, open for life. Until you die, and if you are happy you might die in a good bed helped by a nice dose of morphine.

I tried a few years ago, the Lamborghini of morphine, 40 times more powerful than the usual one, when I had kidney stones. From hell I reached paradise within a few minutes.

The bed, platform for heaven.