To be honest, I'm someone who believes in nothing. Not in the least little thing. I wish, however, be those who cling to an idea, a hope. A glimmer to which the tender gaze. A fulcrum, a home port.
I tried for a long time. Religion first. Petite, I prayed fervently every evening attended a number of celebrations, I read the Bible, communion in the churches, lit candles, argues my dual religion as much as I could, and I particularly envied the serenity of all those for whom these words meant something. I envied that promise we do not live for nothing and that's it, there is a plan for each of us, we will not like this, anywhere, tossed by the wind, and events for - finally, not much. But the idea of God left me with such ease that I realized I never really believed. All was masquerade games and keep my mind occupied, an excuse for what to draw, and chew a wafer during the interminable morning Mass overflowing always lunchtime. And to be honest, the absence of Father Christmas was a lot harder to swallow.
Once my sky depopulated, I turned towards the ground and failing to believe in God, I wanted to believe in Man. Think it was good and he could do me good. I wanted to identify each new encounter a wonderful point to cherish and love - or at least to respect. All this has made many people to consider, to be at arm's length, or the inside of the myocardium, a lot of weight on my shoulders which are bent under the mass of all those I wanted to kiss her. But then I did not care because I was on Crusade, with love in standard, large values of the full brain, and sugar on the eyelashes. But all these grains eventually fall in line the cornea, and we halted the machine illusions. I opened my eyes. And only saw arrangements, compromises with its own sollitude, to feel a little less lonely, to feel a little less stupid, to feel a little more beautiful and a little smarter. I liked to give meaning to plant with the world of germs of something larger than the mold of our little lives, to broaden our horizons and, perhaps, to help us sustain ourselves and others. But I saw the reverse: love is a selfish survival instinct, a return ticket to himself and nobody else. It expects the other a recovery, a point on which to build to stay above water. Love is not an equilibrium, it is a struggle between those who manage to take what he needed, and one who lost part of his treasure close. That would be for me the image of love: two animals fighting over a body part of the beast in front. The outcome is obvious. There will be a winner, fortified, and a loser, declined to be obsessed with the idea of going to recover what he lost from the same animal or another, it has more importance. We do not like someone, we like what she has to give.
Disappointed by these shenanigans, I preferred to believe in life in general. I made a prophet of the magic of everyday life. I traveled the world dancing on its dust into clouds of sparks, tips that could shine the eyes of all humanity. I poured out to all corners, I invented tricks, distributed smiles, lent my ears, my arms and my whole body, I'm Mother Teresa fantasized causes pagan. I believed in mysteries, the signs of fate, horoscopes, all that could enchant every day each week. I read in my every step, in each block of each path of the truths about my life and then on the other. Maisler soil dust from becoming ever sun, and I am exhausted and do nothing else but smoke. So to force the mites to fly, I became allergic to air. This is where I think I decided to leave. Back to basics.
I'm back in church. I sat in the driveway when the music started, when choir boys were swinging the incense on the faithful. I do not think that churches were still so popular, seeing the crowd eten cluster around the priest, I almost felt a vibration. A door shaking. A little relaxation at the bottom of the belly. But at the beginning of the sermon, the urge to vomit is returned. The harsh light of cynicism hit this hypocrisy instead of waiting of the Holy Spirit. I left, I felt like the heat expelled from candles. My poor little disappointment really did not care there.
Then I came back to me.
And here I am, to 23 years and still not believing in anything. I cut the branches of each of my anchor in the stars for me, for they are to me and do not shine for me. I wrap myself in my skin and no longer runs my eyes to a hypothetical idol who seek to rob me - my money, my sex, my thoughts.
I made the trip in reverse and have scattered all my beliefs, relieved my back, my heart, my shoulders, I'm back and I no longer believe in anything. Not even in 2011. I no longer believe in anything, but this sentence there is already a belief in themselves, which I cling. And this certainty, finally calms.
Now it remains for me to ... wait?
In Indo-European common kred s eh, which translates to believe, means "place in his heart."
I wanted to shelter my heart in any chest provided we make the fight. But the heart transplant is not yet well developed.
Please.
Give me a little dream.
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