My definition of life and death is my mother. What she represents, for me, is the universe.
I write, on March 22, 2021, from Beirut: (7 months and 15 days after the double explosion in the port of Beirut)
« It had been almost a week since I felt an urge, which I have quite frequently, if not all the time, these days. I need to get away from this city that I love so much, though. It’s weird to say that, isn’t it?
It’s because Beirut seems to be bathed in carbon monoxide. It is as if this toxic gas emanates from Beirut. Emanates from its inhabitants. From its ruined buildings. I see glassy eyes in all the exchanged glances.
Carbon monoxide is a deadly gas, heavier than air. It is impossible to see it. It is odorless, colorless, and tasteless. However, the symptoms of intoxication are impossible to miss, because they are felt: dizziness, headaches, nausea, fatigue, pain (aches) in the chest, difficulty in concentrating, illness.
I think that all Lebanese experience at least one of these symptoms.
Sick people, in other words.
I see the fall, the deluge, the catastrophe that we live in the eyes of my compatriots.
These eyes are like mirrors that reflect an image that is difficult to look at, something that we want to look away from (which we often do).
In short, I needed to see something else, I wanted to contemplate nature.
We went for a walk from Kfardebian to Baskinta. It took us six hours.
All the trees were in bloom, and there were flowers everywhere, of all colors. Poppies, daisies, petunias, cyclamen… The earth looked like a huge colored carpet, as we went along.
[…] I thought of you, as always. At the same time, you are everywhere. All these colors, these flowers, the sun… It’s inevitable because every time I see something beautiful (and I always find a way to perceive beauty), I think of you, because for me beauty is you. It’s everything that you represent. You are everywhere, I just have to look and want to find you, to perceive you.
So I thought about you, as I always do.
Your beauty, your smell, your look. Your hands that you ran through my hair to lift them from my face. The way you put my socks on my feet. The sweetness of your voice. Your Eskimo kisses.
[…]
I think about you, how you are, who you are, what you do.
I hope one day to live up to the mother, the person, that you are. »
I have found a lot of inner peace in having the will to live up to my life.
It’s funny to say inner peace when we barely understand peace. Let alone inner. So frankly « inner peace » seems like the perfect words to stick on a lifestyle book that is trying to become a bestseller. It’s true that books change lives, but it’s the perspective of our lives that books change and that’s why our lives change. I don’t believe that inner peace is a goal but rather a practice. To rise, to say yes to life and to the whole of existence. To love your reality, to be ready to live and relive your life. Life only pushes us to learn that inner peace is necessary to navigate through obstacles and overcome them. And then to overcome them again.
Perhaps inner peace is, in the end, the awareness of how difficult things are? Perhaps we find peace when we decide to start feeling those things that are uncomfortable, sad, hurtful? Is it possible to be at peace with something unjust? Something we don’t understand? That we don’t accept to feel? Is there even justice in this world of brutes?
It’s easier to ignore, to put aside, to cover up, to erase if possible.
I think it is important to make the difference between insouciance and unconsciousness.
Anyway, I’m meditating. During meditation, there is a conscious effort of concentration: to begin with, I concentrate on certain external stimuli: the noises around me, the sensations of the body… Then, the concentration is gently moved from the outside to the inside. I become aware of my breathing, its depth, its rhythm. I feel the coolness of the air entering my nostrils and its warmth as it escapes from inside my body. And then, of course, my ideas, my worries, my concerns, rush mercilessly into my mind while, damn, I’m trying to meditate and think of nothing here.
I realized after some practice (and thanks to my yoga instructors) that this is not really what meditation is about. To meditate is to become aware of those ideas that appear in the mind in spite of oneself, and to observe them with insouciance. To observe them emerge without worrying about them. These ideas will all pass, it is a matter of not interacting with them, not worrying about them, detaching yourself from them. This moment is your moment.
Everything is obviously easier said than done, I know that. Meditating is not always pleasant. It can even be very unpleasant. Some thoughts get in the way, provoke you; you give in and then they bring out emotions and it is not always easy. Sometimes you are not ready. It takes practice.
Often we expect something specific (peace, calm) through an experience (meditation for example) and we find ourselves disturbed when it is not what we thought. Meditation is supposed to be calming! Nothing can have continuous effects without consistency. Without repetition. Meditation is above all a practice. It is learned. It is not comfortable at first.
It is very possible to always be comfortable, to stick to what we know. I think it’s a bit ignorant and very boring. Always knowing what to expect, who to expect, acquiring things and having so much attachment to those things, to what you know, without wanting to know more, wanting to have more. Building a beautiful house, a comfortable castle high up (far from the unknown please) and then raising a good big fortress, like that, no risk, no surprise.
I quickly understood that fortresses are in fact only bubbles that you just have to pierce to destroy. A word can destroy a fortress. A fortress is more fear than strength. There are things from which we cannot protect ourselves, refusing to feel certain emotions because they are unpleasant does not mean that we are not affected, and it does not make them disappear either. To protect oneself is not to anaesthetize oneself. So we take refuge in the constant noise, in any kind of company, in food, in the lack of food, we drown ourselves in alcohol, we abuse drugs, we fuck, we scroll through insignificant images and videos on social media to forget. To erase. To push. Push back.
I am fine, I am very fine! No use thinking about it, crying about it. I have my job and my ultra HD flat screen smart TV, I can buy a sixth watch, an eighth bag and even a tenth pair of shoes! Not bad at all…
Yeah, those things are pretty good… They keep you busy. Afterwards, if (for example), your people revolt, then your city explodes because of 2750 tons of ammonium nitrate improperly stored in the city’s harbor, then there is an economic crisis that causes your country’s currency to fall 211% against the dollar, which leads to a galloping inflation of 145% (making your country the 3rd highest inflation in the world), it’s clear that your fortress collapses and your castle is destroyed (and you can’t even afford to rebuild them).
Suddenly, everything is destroyed. There is only you left (by miracle).
I write on August 21, 2021 in my diary (from the Amman airport):
« […] it’s hard to build so many beautiful things and have to leave them, because they were destroyed or because they might be destroyed later. Because you might be later. […] a life that explodes in your face, that leaves without warning, and then the emptiness, the nothingness, the absurdity that emerges from this unbearable void. It is difficult to leave home. […] The images that hurt are flashing by. The memories, the smiles, the music, the songs, the jokes, the kisses, the eyes and all that they say silently, the bursts of laughter and sobbing, the smell of jasmines, the bougainvillea, the mountains, the sea. »
Here, I’m talking about leaving home. But for real, in all cases (to varying degrees), all that’s left when you have nothing left to entertain you is that feeling, those memories, those feelings. On the plane, during the flight from Beirut to Amman (Montreal afterwards, oh so far), that day, I couldn’t read, couldn’t watch a movie or even write. I just cried a lot, sitting in my seat, sniffling under my mask. The injustice, the misery, the loss, the death, the grief, the horror. At one point, I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore, so I (almost by survival instinct) started to breathe really hard. Big deep breaths and long complete exhalations (I had no choice, frankly I felt like my rib cage was going to split in two, that my heart was going to jump out of my chest and crash on the screen placed on the back of the seat in front of me, then explode and bloody me completely). Okay, better get some oxygen. I’m alive. I’m alive. The more I concentrated on breathing, the more peace I found in my sadness. I arrived at the airport in Amman for my layover, and wrote:
« […] this strength comes from me. It comes from within. I should trust more. Strength is life. Life is feeling. I was always afraid to be aware of it because I thought that unawareness is carelessness. It’s not.
I am not unconscious, I understand that I feel, and I don’t have to worry about feeling (especially what I may feel). I don’t have to be oblivious to my feelings, but rather carefree, because everything comes and goes, at least I am aware of it now, and I know it will pass.
I’ve always been afraid to be aware of it because I thought that unconsciousness is insouciance. It isn’t.
I am not unconscious, I understand that I feel, and I don’t have to worry about feeling (especially what I may feel). I don’t have to be oblivious to my feelings, but rather insouciant, because everything comes and goes, at least I am aware of it now, and I know it will pass. This awareness of feelings and life is essential for me. It’s an attentive trust that we must give to life, and to live is to start, to begin again. To do, to do again. To feel, to sense. To breathe.
I deserve the (minimal) control I have over things, I choose awareness, trust, learning. It’s going to be okay. »
We can’t always be ready. So we have to find tools to persevere. Breathing when you’re not okay is vital and a reminder of life, you’re alive.
Express yourself, draw, sing, play, dance, dream, let go, create. Finding instruments that can bring a certain peace. A connection with life, which is also creation. Listening to oneself, expressing oneself, understanding oneself, forgiving oneself, improving oneself, persevering. Being at peace with oneself above all.
« At the end of every war, peace, and of every peace, war ».
-Alfonso Di Lernia.
It is impossible to always be at peace with oneself, much less with life, « since death is eternal peace, if you want peace, play dead. »
-John D’Anselm.
Life is destruction, misery, injustice, exhaustion and death. But life is also rebuilding, victory, good fortune (🍀), movement, art, friends, love, bodies, ecstasy, orgasm.
It’s hard to accept that life is just a scale. Sometimes it swings, but you have to accept that despite what you think, in the end there is a balance. Some things happen fortunately, and unfortunately. Often, fortunately for some, and unfortunately for others (and vice versa).
You have to be the creator of your own peace, to get out of it in peace. To live in peace.
« Peace is a continuous creation ».
-Raymond Poincaré
I write, on September 1, 2021 from Canada:
« I feel it is necessary, or rather would be good to start the month and season with introspection. I am happy with the decision I made to leave. It’s crazy but when I think about my life a year ago today, I realize the absurdity of life, how much things change (thankfully), some stay the same for now.
I think it would be nice to list the positive changes this year.
I took my courage in both hands and decided to be independent in every sense of the word.
I realized that my body knows my soul better than I think, and that I underestimate my body, my soul, my intellect.
I made one of the most beautiful encounters and lived a magnificent friendship/love story.
I understand that often I may not understand anything.
I understand what it is to feel alone, and what unconditional love is.
I am lucky, I am grateful (I try as much as possible) for what I have and for all that I have experienced.
I have realized that an end marks a beginning and a beginning marks an end.
I believe in my life, in life and what it has to offer, and that feels good. »
« My formula for what is great about man is Amor Fati: to want nothing more than what is, neither before oneself, nor behind oneself, nor in the ages of ages. Not to be satisfied with supporting the inescapable, and even less to hide it – all idealism is a way of lying to oneself in front of the inescapable – but to love it. »
-Nietzsche, Ecce homo
Bendy Blabbers 