Fleeting Wor(l)ds

Thanks to Lucie Azéma who, with her own words, has inspired mine…

The first time I traveled. Alone, with only companion my blank diary full of dreams. The first time I traveled, I immediately tried to intertwine my words in order to paint every of my steps from A to B. I wrote every day, every memory, every sensation. Hungry and messy.

The first time I traveled. Alone, with only companion my backpack full of hopes. The first time I traveled, I went to Ireland. Ireland totally and irretrievably rocked my soul and heart. Ireland will always keep a part of me in her wind and seas. Ireland was my internal war and my reconciliation. Ireland questioned everything that I knew about me, blowing me up in thousands of tiny pieces that I couldn’t even remember to be part of who I was. Ireland healed each of my wounded pieces a little ways down the road, put them together like one of Picasso’s paints and enlightened the road towards another version of myself.

Then, I found and lost myself in other lands, in multiple aspects of my being, from time to time, like an incompressible need. I exploded in new pieces, I restored some, I denied others. I turned around, myself and the world. I met other cultures that moved and questioned me. I learned about the worlds we are made of.

Then, I kept wandering, like a changing patchwork of myself, my impatient heart longing for my moving explorations, my smiling eyes gazing at the millions worlds coming to my eyes…

One time, my changing patchwork of myself hung up on my, I was not on the other end of the world anymore but I was still a wanderer at home; I was not done patching my pieces together, blowing them up because they didn’t fit, drawing again and again Picasso’s masterpiece…

I heal each day a bit more. A bit better. My aching pieces. The wheel never stops, each minute changes my cells and explodes my pieces to let them wander and transform. Free.