Déjà vu

This is a short story I published a few years ago. As I read it again
today, it stirred up a lot of information in me. I felt like sharing it
again.

Ceci est une courte histoire que j'ai publiée il y a quelques années. Alors que je la relis ce matin, des vagues d'émotions me submergent. Je vais la partager avec vous.


Le temps s’arrêta sûrement. Du moins, il se ralentit, car il ne pouvait supporter la fulgurance de ce qui se passait. Le sang dans mes veines immobilisa sa course régulière vers mon organe vital, je le sentais. Ni mon existence, ni celle de mes étudiants ne pouvaient poursuivre sur une ligne temporelle normale. Vous savez sans doute de quoi je parle. Une telle souffrance n’est pas dans le plan original du Créateur. Alors quand quelque chose d’aussi intense se produit, l’univers n’arrive pas à suivre. Et meme au ralenti, la quintessence de ce qui m’arrivait, dépassait mon entendement. Ce ne fut qu’au moment où mes yeux croisaient ceux d’Alison, que je lisais la terreur dans son regard que je compris que quelque chose d’inconcevable venait de se produire.

Aujourd’hui, c’est le claquement de la chute du livre d’Histoire que Christian a laissé tomber par terre qui a provoqué ce cinéma, cette sequence d’images vives. Hier, c’était la cruauté dans la voix de ma sœur alors qu’elle disciplinait ma nièce qui m’a soudainement transportée sur les lieux où ma mère élevait la main au-dessus de ma soeur. Ça m’arrive constamment. Je commence à peine à m’y habituer, même à y prendre goût. Après tout, ce sont ces moments de cristallisations parfaites du temps qui déclenchent mon écriture. On peut dire que c’est mon obsession à comprendre les choses et les gens, et surtout le plaisir que j’éprouve lorsque je voyage, qui fait qu’aujourd’hui je me retrouve face à face avec Alison, loin d’ici, loin de mes obligations très importantes. Le présent est toujours plus intéressant une fois qu’il est passé, qu’il est devenu un produit de notre mémoire. Je suis sûre d’avoir écrit ça quelque part.

Cette fois-ci, il y a quelque chose de particulier : le silence m’inquiète. En fait, je n’arrive pas à distinguer si c’est une absence de son ou si c’est l’éclatement d’un seul bruit si percutant qu’il en est assourdissant.

Dans tous les cas, je ne pus entendre ce qu’Alison essaya de me dire. C’était une enfant particulière. Le matin, elle était toujours la première arrivée dans la salle de classe. Il m’était alors impossible de lui cacher quelque état d’esprit qui m’habitait. Souvent, elle restait à mon bureau pendant plusieurs instants, sans rien dire, sa main sur mon épaule, comme pour me rassurer de ce qui pouvait me tourmenter. Ce matin-là, à la manière d’une voyante elle me dit : « Mademoiselle, would you keep an eye on me today. » À travers le cristal de ses yeux si bleus, je ressentis la profondeur de son inquiétude.

Les enfants écrivaient une composition en français. Le silence dans lequel ils se concentraient était différent de l’ordinaire, angoissant. Je les regardais. Je les trouvais beaux. Habituellement, je pouvais dénoter le bruit silencieux du mécanisme actif de leur créativité. C’était différent ce jour-là. Ils en furent tous à la fin de leur histoire. Une fausse sérénité, un assouvissement prématuré régnait dans la salle de classe. Les enfants sont pure intuition.

Mes mouvements ne furent certainement pas commandés par ma pensée. J’étais un personnage dans une pièce de théâtre qui, connaissant ses répliques par cœur, réagissait automatiquement le moment de la représentation venue, à la manière d’un réflexe. Je savais mon texte. J’avais déjà répété mon rôle. Aujourd’hui, je peux affirmer avec certitude que je l’avais bel et bien répété un nombre infini de fois.

L’énorme crevasse dans le plafond laissa entrer la lumière du soleil. Cette lumière, on eut cru que c’était le Messie qui nous venait en aide. Je me relevais, car il semble que je sois tombée au moment où le temps a repris son rythme régulier. Christian a l’habitude de dire que ses bras et ses jambes bougent trop vite, plus vite que le temps. Il n’arrivera jamais à partager le même espace-temps que ses camarades. Lui aussi c’est un enfant particulier. Dans un moment comme celui-là, il nous aurait été d’un grand secours. À l’instant crucial du ralentissement temporel, il nous aurait prévenus de l’imminence de l’impact et la Providence aurait ainsi été déjouée. Cependant, je n’eus pas la chance de l’avoir comme élève à cette
époque.

Le vacarme de son livre d’Histoire qui percute le sol et je me retrouve essayant de tous les rassembler. Programmés eux aussi, ils se projetèrent dans toutes les directions. L’intentionnalité de nos mouvements ne fut pas très claire. Nous répondîmes tous à un ordre supérieur, qui, ce jour-là, avait décidé que ce serait la fin. Du moins, la fin d’un chapitre. Le plafond s’effondra sous l’impact de la bombe. Mes poumons s’affaissèrent sous la pression. Je le revois parfaitement maintenant. Personne n’a survécu le jour où l’obus a anéanti notre univers, seulement nos souvenirs. C’est gravé en permanence sur nos mémoires étendues.

Alors que je me penche pour ramasser le livre de Christian, j’ai l’impression que le souffle me quitte encore une fois. Mais ce n’est qu’une impression, un déjà vu. Je respire bien, mes élèves sont en train de travailler sur leur projet. Je comprends maintenant d’où vient mon angoisse. Je dois écrire ça quelque part : Fragments de silence.

Tic-Tac...

I feel restless. So many possibilities are popping in my mind and I don't which one to grasp and run with. I feel I can do a lot. When I am doing something I like, I can do a lot. I am sitting here in my chair at the library in Quebec and I feel like a bomb waiting to explode. I feel the urge to bite my nail, to eat, to read, but it's more than that. Something wants to move, to go forward, to engage and manifest. It’s really intense. This is what happens when I don’t look at my emails for a few days and then open them and get bombarded by information, sensations, insights, all at once.

There is tightness in my throat. Asking for what I want is still a hard thing.

Money is so often on my mind. It doesn’t immobilize me as much as it use to but it still creates pressure in my body. If money was as abundant as my desire to create, I would not have any problems! But I feel like I am at a time in my life where I am at a tipping point. I am taking great risks and I have no guaranty that I will make it financially.

It will work itself out. I feel it in me that the leap is worth it and that eventually, things will turn around.

"I AM Home..."

I am in Montréal, in this immense city, buzzing with difference faces and styles, but more than ever, I feel like I am seen here. As I walk down the street, people have been looking at me in the eyes for the past few days, as if I were in a small village where we all know each other. In the Vietnamese restaurant last evening, an old lady with a large straw hat came up to me to speak with me, softly she said that I will like it here, that I made a good choice. And the server, with is gentle demeanor puts it's arms around my shoulders as he takes my order. It felt like I was part of sometime. Breath. Like we really were connected and that my long, long lost family was here, and well.

The past few days have been incredible. I was at a conference at the university of Montreal to present my new approach in observing and teaching literature. I was one of the last presenters to go and I have to say that I was nervous because no one had spoken in the first person or had used ideas and thoughts that were not based in the past. I have to say I was scared that they would be offended that I would dare to break the "rules" of our field. But I knew I had to say what I had to say. I prayed for courage all weekend, and when my time came, I spoke with such clarity and confidence. I was grounded in my body and words were flowing out of my mouth like they were meant to exist and take form at that instant in time and space. I have never felt so strong.

I was there for Ching Salteo. She said she feel there is a shift going on in her research. As she is starting her post-PhD at McGill and working on an Asian writer as well, she doesn’t want to hide behind the "we" and the "it seems" anymore. She wants to take responsibility for want she thinks and says.

I was there for Isabelle who is a poet and a creative writing professor at l'UQUAM. She said that she never thought literature could be related to the body, to biology and that she feels that because writing is such an organic process, it makes sense to look into other fields of science instead of just within the literary field. She had mentioned during her presentation that there has to exist a distance between the writer and her poem, that there is a difference between a journal entry and a publishable poem. The "body " information made her re-think that statement.

I was there for Olivier. (not my son) With his big brown eyes, probably an Indigo himself, he was touched by my audacity to mix research fields and told me that he feels that crossing borders is the only way we will go forward in our thinking.

I was there for my mother. She was unbelievably strong and loving through out the whole weekend as she accompanied me through it all, like my own personal coach and fan club. Never in my adult life have we had such a close and true time together. She would tell me things like : "Anne, your message is a message of light and of life. It comes from you, deep inside yourself, how can you go wrong." or " I trust the life in you, your maman loves you" This is a woman with who only 10 months ago, I could not be with for more than a few hours. But has I reclaimed the "I" that "I AM" I was able to see her, for the wonderful, loving, sensitive, compassionate woman she is. She said she was so nervous as I took the stand and that she almost left the room of fear of not being able to handle it if my presentation went wrong. But she stayed and now she is more. It might as well have been her there in front of her parents, speaking her truth. Breath...

But most of all, I think I was there for Janusz Prsychodzen. Janusz is my old master's thesis director and he is the one I have been doing research for, for the past 3 years. He is a brilliant man. He is a role model for me when it comes to pushing the limits of my own thinking. He has always believed in me even if he has always been harsh in his criticism. Through years, I have learn not to take them personally and to be grateful that I am supported by such an great thinker. He told me the day before my conference that he had a spiritual experience in India where his crown chachra open up and things were down loaded into his body. He was standing at a street corner waiting for the bus and a Guru looked into his eyes and chanted a mantra. This is coming from an intellectual, prolific and renowned academic writer, who needs proof behind him to confirm something is true. He said he hasn't been the same since and he feels annoyed that it happened with out his "consent" (conscious consent, of course) and that it is harder to do the things that use to be so easy for him. I told him that for as long as he will resist this change, he will feel frustrated and annoyed. That the acceleration of evolution is only going to pick up and that he should go with it. Anyway, I was pretty sure that he would, after my presentation, maybe even in front of all the audience, tell me how I was off base and wrong. ( he does it al the time to other presenter) He didn't. He smiled at me as I finished reading my article. Later he came up to me and said if I wanted to make my presntation into an article for a book he is putting together. He said he understood the body component of my approach. He smiled and he didn't say anything else. I could tell in his eyes he was confused. Breath. I could tell he knew I had said something important for him. Breath. I could feel him being vulnerable for the first time in front of me. This brings tears to my eyes because I feel like a wall is falling between us. Why is it so important for that wall to fall? I don't know but it feels huge to me. He left the conference without saying goodbye...

At the end of the conference, there was a reception. As I was sipping my wine, I became aware of an intense feeling of belonging. It feels to me that back in NS, I often don't belong. Most people I interact with don't SEE me. Yesterday, surrounded by all these strangers, I was Home. Today walking around Montreal, I feel like I am Home. Breath.... I know it is a state of awareness and of being to feel at home. It may be that as I raised my vibrations to match the truth inside me, people saw me more. Maybe I need to do some work on my new "family system" back in NS. I say new because I have only been there for 3 years and already it feel like it’s a system I need to look at.

…

Mon regard subjectif sur Le Mangeur de Ying Chen

Le son de la mâchoire profonde résonne dans les cellules de ma masse corporelle
et dessine à mes yeux les contours d’un rêve paternel.
La mémoire de la pesanteur de la chair
me garde lourde sur ce plancher conjugal.
Ma peau empoisonne le mouvement vital et retient les sons dans ma gorge.
Je désire m’envoler hors de ce corps étranger,
retrouver la lumière qui est « même » à moi-même.
La perte de l’ancêtre restera dans l’odeur de mon haleine
alors que je chanterai sur la scène de mes existences
la joie lumineuse de ma nouvelle liberté

A message to myself

“Break the silence of your life, make your world a representation of your dreams. Make it happen as fast as you can, as this is important. I wish to see you happy. I wish to have you here with me, soon. A silver box. The hidden secrets. I have saved you from yourself many times. Do it consciously now. The truth lies in your words. Make them known, present them.”

My body is changing. I feel information moving through on a continual basis now. Everyday I feel my flesh moving and reorganizing. My face rewires itself as I write, I feel my right cheek and sinus tingling, moving, and freeing itself. I feel my cells expending and becoming less heavy. I spend most of my days quiet within myself even when I am surrounded with others. When I communicate with people, I feel like the world doesn’t exist around. I am fully there, present in the moment. My perception of things is different. I love more, I don’t judge as much as I use to. I feel compassion even with people I didn’t use to care for.

I long to give back…

Breath…

With these words, I am.

Souffle

Je regarde
Le poids de mes yeux
Le vent prend la charge
Et je prends ma place

Les choses sont lourdes
Les concepts trop pleins
Mon oeil se ferme
Je garde ma place
Effrité

Qu’est-ce qui pousse
Dans mon for intérieur
Une glace étouffée
Et ton regard trop lourd

Ses feuilles s’étirent
Prennent leur place
Se fondent au travers des cellules
Qui couvrent les parois de mon corps

Le vent disparaît
Il surgit sur l’iris
Se propulse vers l’extérieur
Tu le vois, enfin

...

A lot has happened in the last few weeks, and yet, I don’t have much to say. I just know that what is happening is big and I am ready for big.

I am calling out to people who are interested in helping support my project of creating an Institute that would be an emotional and physical space for children of all ages to come learn and experience life on their own terms; a wide open space that will assists them through the earth's transition into the new era. A place where they can just "be" their divine unique self and evolve at their own pace, following the natural patterns of their nature.

I want this Institute to exist in the 3rd, 4th and 5th dimension. I want it to be a place of joy and harmony for all that want to experience it.