The Bright Well

    Pilatus, Julius Caesar,  they shall be given back what belongs to them, like any to other man, because it seems that possessing objects is a part of liberty and, the opposite, the first step to the end of freedom. Taking something belonging to someone else is an aggression, opening the door to diverses reactions. But more than a question of  having or having not, comes in our mind the wider question of the belonging. You own something and this thing is yours, stamped with your mark, bred with your waters and breath: made some extension of yourself. Though they may be, apparently, some non expressing matter, objects for they're printed with the invisible seal of their owner, get into another dimension, that make them sacred, and the one that uses them without any permission, is violating a primordial law of universe.
   Men, of course, belong themselves to associations, cities, realms, faith, energies and are interacting with them or their possessions. Always, is to be kept in mind the fact that you're interacting with their entire body. When you touch my thumb, my brain is aware about it. It's a great idioty to think, acts are isolated. Under the sky, everything is visible, heard and registered. The more you belong, the more you share, the more you understand, and the more you're loved.  Cynism with its walls, forts, bunkers is the illusion few people feed with their fear and this crazy idea that they only belong to themselves and don't owe the world anything. My friend, Martin, used to say that once eaten my breakfast, I owed the whole world many,  for all the differents foods, sent from far countries,  I have eaten during the last ten minutes. What belongs oneself,  is a question of time, but belonging, the neverending way,  I'm much more interested in.

What is life if not a trip on the tumultuous water of ocean once out of the familiar harbor where we spent hours training with girls and sons of the land, on our small sailing ships.  Some of those weren't made for maelströms and will be far more helpful in town, preparing rum and ropes for our crews. Some were not lucky and got afraid of water, prefering the dark room of their ancestor's house. But to the young, the proud, the fool, the dreamer, the brother, how could there be another way, how could there be a best mistress than the wide ocean with its deep blue submerged realms? And here we went, singing our sailor's songs, having some tobaccoes in our bent pipes, a sip of rum at night and the taste of salt on our lips, burnt by the mermaids kisses.  How could that be otherwise? We've heard of antiques town, silk sheets, gold and gems on trees, peaceful and loving folks in countries under the sun. And we heard of waves beating the hull, enormous creatures swallowing men-at-sea, pirats hurling at night., and we could not believe, could not believe we were not there to see it. And we went on. Sailors under our stripes,  our canvas pushing us to the  antipodes, to the  great ice kingdom, we , members of the brotherhood,  always knowing that fires are burning on the other side of the globe or three miles away and whenever we'll appear, there will be some wine in the pots, there will be some bread on the table, and  our songs, once again, will fill the haven with our enthusiasm.

Very young, I was adopted by a group, a club of gentlemen, who taught me their manners, made of elegance, discipline and a taste for tea. All of them had some indian dust on their soils, and during the years they've spent on the continent where Alexander took his troops and fellows, this ring, sprang out from our smoggy cities to the sunny landscapes or snowy peaks, received a teaching. Doctor Watson, is the first of them and always repeated how years in the army under thoses latitudes made him a cautious man. Rudyard, he, was a journalist, some kind of super visonnar , reporting on the epic hours of men engaged in superior chores, and he made me love bridge building as well as travels in unknown countries. Eric shared with us his experience in the burmese police  and told us about society and democraty. Saki's was living in the same region and he was also a wonderful mind, with ironic short stories, perfect jewels, we loved to take a look at when night came on the warm crowdy days of the imperial houses.
Are jasmine and spices the origin of the sensual birth, the awakening of  persian area of our brain? Are moustaches' hairs giving gentlemen some extra sense, enabling them to feel, like cats do? I can't say, but I know something for sure: one day, I was in translation in an airport, because I couldn't get the last flight, so I found a place to rest, and read some news from far countries. An Indian came to me and we talked about kid's game and monkeys, he was missing.  Roald often talked about his wings and spitfires, between two stories about girls in Cairo, his oncle Oswald and many other funny tales. Gentlemen,  I love to have some tea with them, while they tell me about the legends of the Indian continent and make me a better man. Once, I was given a book about Monkey god,  he who gave it ,may he be thanked for it,  and I really enjoyed beginning another trip with Wukong during another of our bengales' nights.

C.L.F. Pancoucke's books are lovable, and reading one of those is extremely agreable for they perfectly fit to the hand, their chinese red skin under golden lines and black helmets with Roman wolf adding an extra sensuality to the words of the authors burnt hundreds of years before. Mister Panckoucke is a publisher, and his shop can be found 14, rue des poitevins, or I should say, for the luckiest, it was, because, now, without an outatime GMC, that won't be that easy to buy him some of his wonderful books. As I like to repeat, Panckoucke are manuals, similar to school books, with their velin skin, soft and light under studiants fingers, with their translation from latin to a perfect french, teaching you more than you'd get outside. Panckoucke certainely ingored himself that he might be the boss of a one eye jack club where his best mares would be ancient latin writers, with their open mind and a taste for history and rites as well. The nice word, rite, almost forgotten, when its meaning precisely is to enable transmission and awakening. More than a hundred and seventy years later, your books are always a source of precious, of wise knowledge, and are today our treasure. So when you'll be walking in university libraries, or opening a bookstore's door, think of the good man, and let you be seduced by the pages of this collection where you'll rediscover your latin roots and meet some old friends.

Back in the eighties, as a child and a teenager, I remember we had an acronym, a magical spell for Dreams. This was the name of a vast country we knew to be the synonym of values, we learnt, movies after movies, it sent us, and we watched, our eyes wide open, our heart full of joy and interest. We went to other solar systems, we explored human body in a small vehicle,  extraterrestrial civilisations visited us, green creatures invaded a snowy town at night, a boy became an adult and work for a toy company, another hacked a whopper before going to a tic tac toe party, a university teacher fought against evil with his egyptian friend and an asian boy. We knew about sports played with wood sticks, girls dancing for teams, giant videogames arenae, computer geniuses, and men come from the whole blue planet to be given good lifes in a society, where dreams were to come true. If there is a synonym for Dream, in the eighties, certainely, this is the name of the country, every teenage loved, and where he wanted to be a citizen.  For  this country was the land of possibilities, where who you were mattered more than where you were coming from.  And all around the world, we received from this wonderful place good vibrations saying life will be better for everyone, everywhere and nothing was to be feared by tyrannical systems. And in beds, we met Morpheus with this name on our lips.
This is a phenomenon I can't explain, I don't understand, why someone has changed the definition in the Global Dictionnary, but nowadays, when I pronunce the beloved name, nothing happens anymore but fear, still I don't believe it could have changed so badly.