The King of Silence

You will not win playing King of Silence. Not this time. Not with him.
He has been king of this strategy for years already. He was forced to play, despite himself, with the greatest of champions.
He plays with Death.
What other players can compete against them?
They, who saw nothing coming and who lost more than they thought they had. She who had decided to pass on their way without seeking justice. They had no choice.
What to say in the face of absolute absence? There is only silence. To which they will forever be linked.
There is nothing more to say, nothing to do. Stay connected to this void—this being who has left, often without a sound. And navigate in this space where no word, no sound, can translate this soundless tidal wave, this silent agitation, which takes shape in them, day after day.
There is only silence. To lean on. To forget. To advance. So that everything does not fall apart. To continue to exist, as before.
Besides, you always tried to play against those who were more robust than you at this game.
Those who have faced silences deeper than any of yours. Inner silence. Not that of Consciousness, quiet harmony. That of unconsciousness, the silence of the dead. The one who hides. The one with whom we never dialogue. No hold, no syllable makes him react, enter into a relationship. This discreet silence goes unnoticed. So much so that no one misses him.
While you. You speak. You are your strength.
Feelings and sensations exacerbate your verb—you who align the verses and the words. You hate silence. He scares you. You fill it with blah without any meaning. It doesn’t matter. It’s all about making noise. To fill.
We have to get all that molasses out. Extracting its most delicate and most profound interiority to give it shape, giving it life, allows it to exist in the eyes and ears of the visible world.
You are your game.
And you come just behind, almost tied, with life. The one who cries, the one who screams with joy, pain, heartbreak, love. The Life which dances with the World. Who tames it? Who challenges him? Who gratifies him? Who plays guessing games in those loud earthquakes where fire and earth explode.
But you like the challenge, the thrill.
Are you capable of silence? This inner heartbreak. Creative tension, of that which is offered to a different game. The one who pushes the limits of the known. Which mobilizes unsuspected resources.
The one who makes you taste for a few seconds this deaf dialogue, this space where nothing happens, and where you can perhaps find mourning. This is what you hope…
A transition to somewhere else, to something else. Turn the page.
Inspired by the seabed, facing the bay, the Mount rises in the grace of the Norman winds.
Under the sun of Granville.

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