Jean-Louis Bouzou – Text Bubbles

Awakening is the return of the rightful owner—the heart—to the house whose use it had entrusted to another occupant—the ego—since the age of reason. Like any owner, the heart inspects every room of its dwelling to assess the damage caused during its absence and begin repairs. Sometimes, it stumbles upon a room utterly devastated, with blood-colored graffiti on walls damp with tears and windows shattered by fists… and it cannot understand the reason behind such destruction. There are no clues, and the ego is incapable of offering even a semblance of explanation. Restoring this room is a long process, requiring immense time and investment. And even when it is finally renovated, bathed in the light of a glorious summer sun, a small shadow of incomprehension still lingers. That’s what ghosting feels like.

I appreciate my friends and the time I often spend with them, but lately I’ve been feeling that same sense of disconnection I experienced in my youth, which made me feel like a creature from a galaxy far, far away… The only difference is that back then, I believed I was an abnormal being, unfit for life in society; my values and interests were already quite different—sometimes even the polar opposite of theirs… Today, having fully accepted myself, I no longer feel the need to change myself, to conform to the norm, or to squeeze into some kind of imprisoning exoskeleton… Quite the opposite: I let them speak, not seeking conflict, yet defending—when necessary—my point of view and way of life… That said, despite all good intentions, I still feel a certain boredom… Spiritual awakening isn’t entirely positive; through the irreversible changes and detachments it brings—as the heart takes the reins from the ego—it isolates us and complicates our relationships. Sometimes, if we revert to old ...

Dogmas are stairway railings… and also cages.

Love is a master key,

In my childhood bedroom, now turned into a catch-all storage room, I gaze at this enormous army backpack—found at a flea market—which will soon become both my inseparable companion and my only refuge… It is high time for me to leave this society behind. Even with my now minimalist needs, I know that despite its imposing size, it won’t be able to hold everything I wish to take with me… No matter. I’m certain that providence will provide for all I need—just as it already does today… This backpack will be my rediscovered freedom, my homeland, my church, and the culmination of a long and beautiful journey I never imagined I’d travel so far. And perhaps, as the days go by, it will become a bag of dreams, a bag of adventures… in which I’ll gather sunrises and sunsets, birdsong, the joy of walking through undergrowth, and along ridgelines, sunrays on my skin, the wind tousling my hair, the sound of rushing streams, the scent of campfires, the taste of pilgrim cakes cooked with herbs from th...

Silence is a polished surface.