The peaceful blessing reveals a scarecrow without sadness, simple and passing, catapulted from the field to the steppe, like an emaciated coat, inflated by the wind, which moves stones and, so they say, frightens wolves away.
How does the human being, so fragile, succeed in contemplating the world? By being sensitive to the slightest movement.
The peaceful blessing
If one considers all the movements in the world regardless of scale, the step of an ant, the rotation of the earth, the waves on the shore, the revolt of a people, the beating heart in a chest, an earth quake deep in the ocean, the wind in the leaves, and you allow the body to absorb them, harvest them all, we obtain the most risky but most constructive translation of all, a peaceful embodiment of chaos.
Pacification is to be at peace with one’s own energy, or with those running through us.
Its translation into the world
He evolves within a fluid substance, like thick air without gravity; a being who reveals the wind, unpredictable, longing for life in blissful solitude. To invent, captivate, discover, swallow up. A palette so vast and defined that life more than the world is reflected through this body. A will-o’-the-wisp transient figure, simple and joyful, who allows himself to cross over. Taking leave, offering only organic opposition rather than thought, a grasping for joy rather than elation in the game.
He crosses over or repossesses himself, the origin of the movement.
He is ephemeral. 30 minutes, several hours, his entire life imago. A time of generous consumption for him, buffeted by forces more vivid and enduring than his own. The buffoon of the swampy steppe plunges into life to devour it, frustrated, humiliated by forces that are superior, struggling at a lower level, ruling his independent cycle, born, reborn, and drinking until the dregs. Within a few hours, he burns everything accumulated in a lifetime. Without limits.
We only feel freedom when we have an idea of what confinement is.
He is not attached to one point; he is a scarecrow by chance, a piece of plastic carried by the desires of the air. A flame that repels. It’s his freedom that is frightening, this wind that changes without warning.
A body seized by the wind that dries up, exhausted.
A living body, filled with several energies and exposed to the four winds cannot tire, when a force weakens it, it concedes to its superiority. Freedom is the act of maintaining oneself amidst these forces.