The one

It is a « he », a « she », sometimes both at the same time.

Our unconscious.

A known secret,

a fascinated halo above all meanings since the dawn of time.

« It » is our parents, one after the other, our lover, the one before or the one earlier,

our self, yes, a mixed flavour of us.

Would I try to fill in its wishes,

I would not be able to make a single one but yet being led by all of them,

eventually I’ll end up changing my mind,

ignoring them all, figuring out a new one,

following my insightful thoughts,

raised in a mysterious wood of old trees

holding their hands through each and every seasons,

so manys songs, so many signs, so many leaves,


better read in between the lines,

driving on and off the road,

regardless of were it would take me,

regardless of the danger,

excited by the surprise of knowing myself better at every other edge,

or being lost on the way,

eyes looking at the immensity of the blue sky,

facing the turns,

following the curves, the beautiful flying lines,

meaning does not need to make sense,

faith even less,

nor rules or missions,

but careful attention, love, for sure.

Pictures don’t lie, I am lifting my pen,

getting ready for another story, another poem,

I push my writing,

the path is worth the fight,

past won’t hold my breath anyway.

That’s what we learn from « The one », he has got the tools, the keys,

it’s got us,

the invisible magician.

Doesn’t laugh, doesn’t love, doesn’t speak,

but gives you laugher, gives you love, gives you words,

plays tricks,

and yet decides on our life’s journey , where to start, when to turn,

sneaks in with lapsus and things we forget, making them look like

« things that happened »,

giving us some tips by the way,

playing sweet melodies with drums at night, so silently,

that we only remember vibrations,

the rhythm of our dreams,

failing acts, lightning meanings, tells us more about beauty and darkness.

You think you’ve got over your losses? Your love pain ? Your chains?

That’s where unconscious can be so rude,

releasing little hidden secrets at unexpected times in our life,

keeping silent in an unvisited part of our heart,

making life collapsed inside our well organised Church.

Nothing’s never certain, uncertainties never give up.

You say sh…!, you think you screwed it up all,

one more time,

where did I fall again ? Why did I made these choices; were those really mine?

Now, writing on the dot. Being right on time ?

Well, our unconscious is not a polite one,

it does not lose time with pretty flowers but definitely with extreme behaviors.

Including beautiful pulsions coming from sensuals intentions. So alive!

Not to say, the only one who stays up, when everything around is desert

and dead palm trees, at night.

So, I am only pulling the beauty I am allowed to take from its deep extraction.

And so it is.

You start thinking of those who have been involved in this life of yours which just fell apart, crying on your children’s bed because all you wanted was to give them a solid ground.

You break your ankle on tree differents places, something your doctor has rarely encountered in his whole carrier, and yet you are still here, a patient winter bear.

Knees on the floor. Head down. Arms and hands holding the heavyweight of the air on your body. You have been there, you recall. We all have been there, once. Lying on your back, feeling the cold surface, looking at the roof, streams of tears along your cheeks, feeling your blood going out of your eyes, flooding your upstairs floor, going to each and every room, leaking through all the interstices of your home, going down the stairs, reaching the main level, the noisiest one, painting the walls of your red pain. You were thinking….

The show of a human disaster, must go on…

And all of a sudden, tears stop… They have been used all. Your blood is back into your veins, spreading the news: « we did it, we took the big castle, we are everywhere! »

And you stand up. Head empty. Start raising your voice, a cry for life in the shape of your soul! Time to make space around, for a voice on its own.

Shoulders ready, fingers angry, fists closed, waves of love feeding your heart, and your brain… start to walk…. again….

This is it. Her. Him. Them. Everyone. Home.

The one.