Doodles

Doodles

Eat, nap, eat, sleep

Sleep at night

Play the days

Fog, blue sky, rain

All pass painted by light.

Gratitude

Gratitude

So... My fingers got out of the rust. I put some oil on them, and they started running again. I had been stuck on poetry mode for the last 2 years (in french here). This was the time I came back to my natal country after a long 30 years journey accross the oceans and continents. Since back, all I wrote was poetry. Mind you, poetry is great, fast, efficient. In poetry I learned to erase any extra words. In poetry, I cut to the essentials. Poetry, as a form of hacking: the shortest, most efficient code. Yet, my romantic mind longued to align a few words in order to form a sentence. As the waves passed, the ship started to sail smooth, and sentences started coming back. Often, I was told: "you think too much". Of course I rebelled against this thought, and defended my position best I could. Yet, it was a corect diagnosis. "You have too much wind" said an old Tibetan doctor I went to see a few years in a row. "You think too much" he repeated. The 3rd year, I finally got an explanation to his diagnosis. "It's ok to think. But it's better to think of butterflies" the old doctor said. Now, if this seems like a simple truth, simple things are sometimes the hardest to implement in our daily life.