The moment remains quiet and hovers in the air like an uncommon silence. Noises of every day life, daily occupations are now more indistinct.
Break between two tensions or tensed thread, thin and severed the next minute. Break with the eyes turned to oneself that marks only its presence, the common thread of the past to the future, rooting in the earth. Everything, every crossed glance becomes stirring, brotherly and as connected to others. Gesture stopped in its flight, forgetting on the way the reason why it started to extend, drawn by world’s calling.
There remains only a feeling of trouble and vulnerability. A confused astonishment to feel alive by taking breath, with a wide and deep breathing. This experienced and lived time is also, we know it, the one of loss. Present and future loss of what misses us. A fleeting presence which we would like to fill and which still escapes us.
This is the very feeling which brings us back to a soft and bitter solitude and goes through all our weakness, our chips, our scars.
(written by Laurent Guyonvarch, translated by Carole Wahnoun)