Since I am old enough to write, I have wrapped myself in romantic currents and philosophical fables with passion. The ocean and the cosmos, the river and thought, the spiral of life and its annihilating mirror. I may have been more of a feather carried away by the wind, abandoned by its bird, than the determined tendril of a woodpecker in search of its food. And so I have learned little more than to roll my hump up the mountain until, inevitably, I lose my load for the pleasure of gravity.
I don’t know what I have left to understand and to live. I consult the planetary diagrams as the insect hypnotizes itself in front of an electric bulb. Will I burn my wings before I can lick the sweet skin of the sun ?
I have always been, I believe, like all of us, at a certain crossroads and age only exacerbates this feeling that our life is a journey with multiple directions, that its goal only makes sense if we submit to a few concessions. It is a bit like that song by Jean Gabin, who concludes that what he knows is that he knows nothing. And the mystic nods, turning his gaze towards the depths of his silence where, it is said, everything is linked in a zero field, a common root. Although the discourse has already been degraded by false magicians, recent quantum discoveries suggest that there is such a primordial field, a force where everything converges, emerges. Atoms, galaxies, stars, planets, living beings, even the consciousness of what is, harmonize in a subtle coherence. We have been looking for a unifying theory for a century. We now discover that small or large elements seem to “vibrate together.” We already manage to “teletransport” information from point A to point C through point B. Everything would be information, or rather, according to the hypothesis of Ervin Laszlo, everything would be “in-formation.”
It doesn’t take much for pseudo-sorcerers struggling with their daily lives to throw themselves on this type of reading to feed their esoteric trade. Is Laszlo from the same mold ? It seems not. The man is the founder of the Budapest Club. This 2004 book has been followed by others whose titles might raise eyebrows, but I have to see, I have to read. I am ready to listen. The important thing is to spread one’s antennae over and over again. Humanity needs new lights.
As for me, I continue to observe a large tree from my living room window while I try to stand on one yogic leg. Another tree, in the corner of that same window, on my property, seems to be listening to what the branches of the other have to stir. This is worth all the scientific fables in the world.