#birth2
The wind was still caressing the long green hair of the valleys. The traveler had taken the uncertain road that led him to an unknown place. For the moment, only the sun was his guide.
He had been walking like this for a while when, suddenly, a new sound was heard.
A kind of crystalline music filled his ears. He could not know where she came from. He stopped to better understand the origin of the sound.
The wind seemed to play with this new melody, as if the traveler were not to know the origin.
But his curiosity was greater than the forces of nature. This melodious sound was so pretty not to want to know what was producing it. He had not noticed that the sun had begun to decline on the horizon. Wonderful music captured all his being. The sky was once more inflamed with these pastel colors. The gold of the sun was gradually fading away, like sneaking between the sheets of cotton. At the edge of the emerald valleys, he could see the frail drawing of hills that finally gave a relief to the landscape. These hills were lined with a solar mauve, serving as a haven for the star of days which, for a moment, went to his house of the night. At this moment, the crystal music was covered by another melody. The inhabitants of the high grass began a hymn to the glory of the master of heaven. The traveler was disoriented by the phenomenon. Everywhere in this world, some form of music was the language of all. He did not understand this language yet, but felt his beauty.
The light faded more and more. The man, lost in this unknown world, felt some anxiety. Was his road coming to an end with the disappearance of light? But no, quite the contrary ... He realized that, if the light went away, another force replaced it. Decidedly, the universe did not like emptiness. All the elements, the events were complementary. And that was true for both music and light. A whole order respected down to the smallest detail. But what could he understand?
Soon, the darkness was complete. For a moment his eyes, which were not yet accustomed to the gloom, could not distinguish, in the darkness, the light resisted. The stars were rising at the same time as the night covered the landscape. Myriads of glittering pin-heads were stitched on the celestial vault, drawing, like clouds, the symbols of a story that was peculiar to the story of the night.
So the traveler had to stop his race. Overwhelmed by so much prodigy, he had only to contemplate this marvelous spectacle. The world that had welcomed him surprised him. Although his eyes were fixed on the zenith of the glittering vault, another gleam emerged from the bottom of the green wave.
All of a sudden, the inhabitants of the herbs began a new melody, wider than the one they sang in the sun.
The traveler turned to understand. A huge disk, bigger than the solar disk had just appeared in the sky.
It was like a ballet. The stars were like little dancing rats, before the star came on the stage. The composer of this show had organized everything. Even the ballerinas, dressed in silver hair, roamed the sky for a flash of lightning. The star was well hidden, waiting for the time to show her art.
The complexion painted to the extreme, with that melancholy expression which is peculiar to it, all imprinted with great solemnity, she deigned to appear. She had the assurance that none other than she could assure the divine night show.
When it came on the scene, the melody of insects grew, punctuating the slow release of the queen of the night ... First pianissimo, then crescendo until all these instrumentalists are at the same time. perfect match. This moment corresponded to the zenith of the moon.
Sometimes, some clouds came to veil her as if a certain modesty had reached her. Did not she want us to know who she was? Like all divas, she had her character. Some performances were done with only part of his costume, his face hidden so that no one could contemplate the totality of his being. Some nights she did not show up. Caprice of star. But the dark musicians were still in the orchestra pit, beginning the prelude to the cosmic opera. In these cases, we do not reimburse. We play for pleasure. We play, hoping that the "Divine" shows up. From evening to morning, they play, because, in a way, they are the slaves of the mistress of the night.
The traveler was not one of them. He had before him a wonderful show. He could hardly conceive that darkness could fill space. The light was always winning.
The moon, the changing lighthouse of the black sea of the night, served as a landmark for travelers of darkness. She then rolled in the dark waves of space, seemed to want to reach the stars that were like the foam of the waves. In this celestial ocean, the star traveler had only her friend. Men have always trusted her to help them. But she, responsible for the rise of the waters, sometimes played the travelers of the night. Its changing appearance, both in shape and color, gave it a greater reputation than the sun. And then, that look she seemed to address to who was watching her. This look was the look of a god. Where was the compassionate smile of a being of heaven whose mission was to keep the spirit of light? This look crooked, as if she had in her a whole panoply of deceit. Diva, woman, she was good! And her name as queen of the night suited her perfectly. The moon is the transformation of the world, with its uncertain shadows, where the world changes its aspect, where the simplest things are animated by the spirit of the night. Its pale reflection does not give an appearance of things and beings as they appear in the light of the master of days ... Transformer, magician, more than the sun. Together, in the same sky, she was able to make it disappear. Whose strength of day and night? The fight they fought, one in pursuit of the other without ever uniting, was incessant. Each wanted to enslave the other by his reflection on the world and things. This fight was useless for them, but served the children of the earth. The masters were only servants.
He had finally sat on the grass, his head in the stars, contemplating this perfect organization. The wind was still swirling around him, mixing the sound of the insects with that of the crystalline melody he had decided to follow. But he had forgotten the reason that had followed him. Then, as if another force had invaded him, he felt his whole body numb. The fatigue of the trip, no doubt. Gently, his eyelids began to close. His arms did not hold him anymore. He lay down on the floor, fighting against sleep. No part of this spectacle was to be lost. Morpheus was, however, the strongest, the son of night and sleep, always managing to take in his nets dreams.
The spectacle of the night ended without the traveler. He would not know the end of this night's story. But other nights certainly more conducive, and then could he applaud the "Divine".
During that night, his sleep was disturbed. Beings and events still buried in the depths of his subconscious resurfaced. What was it? He was growing more and more, sweat was running down his body. Anguish attacks took hold of him, and nothing could save him. What had he done to be so disturbed? Where did it come from his mind to be marked in this way?
The answers were in him, but for the moment inaccessible. Did not the wise men say that night brings counsel?
Theodore had approached Johanna, a little girl with brightly blond hair. Her small pale pink mouth was still ajar, and let it appear that the little mouse would pass in the night. To get closer to her, Theodore did not think to scare her. But the girl, very taken by the story, could not move an eyelash. Then Theodore stared at her in his sky-colored eyes, closed one of his, then, suddenly, stretched out his arms while doing a pirouette. He straightened up, hands to heaven, saying:
"Did you see the time, my children?"
All the little ones looked at each other. The day had passed without them realizing it. In fact, Theodore had modeled his story on the rhythm of the day. He thought that the imagination of children would be even more imbued with natural visions. The stars and the moon were already hanging in the sky. The parents of the children had not yet done all their work. As long as the children were with the old fool, they thought the work would not be delayed. Some felt like a real urge to eat, but the tale was more important. A spiritual food that makes all other foods forget. Even forget that the parents would scold loudly, if they were ever slow to return home.
Theodore loved children too much and did not want adults to punish them. So, taking them to task, he said to them:
"Tomorrow, when you too have taken the advice of your dreams, you will be ready to hear the rest of the adventure of the traveler, but for the moment it is getting late, and I too need this sleep of wisdom. Come back tomorrow, if your heart tells you, and together we will find out what will happen. "
The children were rising one after the other. The morning breeze had calmed down. A soft warmth hovered over the square of the little village. The lanterns of the houses were lit, the chimneys smoked, spreading the smell of good evening meals ...
Tonight, for once again, these families would be protected from adversity. They were together, united by a bond that nothing could erase. This link, perhaps it was Theodore? He knew that his days were numbered.
Johanna had remained alone in the village square. Theodore went to join her. The little girl had fallen asleep.
He gently took her in his arms and went to the little girl's house. The mother was on the doorstep waiting for her offspring. She was not surprised to see Theodore wearing Johanna. In fact, she knew him well because he was from his village, the one before the events. In his eyes, Theodore could read the tenderness she had for him. Was it the memory of what Theodore had been, or the imperceptible memory of that man he had welcomed on a fall day? She did not know him as well as he did, but Theodore had talked so much about it in the village that she was sure she had known him.
For her, Theodore's tale was like a kind of salvation for the children.
Without a word she took Johanna in her arms, pressed her against her bosom, then lowering her eyelids, she gave a shy smile. Theodore remained alone on the doorstep. He used this reaction of the people of the village. They had taken him for a madman so much, that now everything had happened, without any sense of superiority, he understood those people he had fled at some point in his life.
The village was going out peacefully. The night exhaled the scents of earth burned by the sun of the day. Theodore raised his head towards the stars, and addressed a fraternal thought to that friend whose story he told. His eyes moistened with deep emotion.
"Bah," he said to himself, "everything is fine like that, Jean."
Theodore went to the village square. At the feet of the trees he sat down on the ground. There was his home, outside, in touch with the elements. There, he felt in harmony. Nothing could touch him, only the strength of The One Who Knows. And at that moment he felt a great need for it.
The world would fall asleep as the wise man said. The night would bring advice. With the mind rested, things would be put back in order so that once again, the miracle of a new day is effected. Tomorrow, the tale would continue, and continue to live the spirit of Jean, the traveler from elsewhere.
The next morning, after the rooster had sung in honor of the rebirth of the sun, the children ran from all sides to find Theodore still in his wonderful dreams.
His long white beard was between his legs. His head rested on his knees. That was his way of sleeping. This fad had come to him from a time when, as a student, he had learned that the mummies of South America were embalmed thus for their journey into eternity. The body of a squatting man is closer to the sphere, and the sphere being from all eternity ...
Theodore thought that he would more easily reach this strange world of dreams.
The shrieking of this human barnyard took him out of the limbo of sleep. He did not think the children would be so early.
Proof of it was that the tale had made them dream, and that, undoubtedly, the children had had a light sleep while awaiting the continuation of the story.
Theodore was slowly emerging. Standing on his legs still sore by this posture worthy of a yogi, he tried to hold the heat of children clinging to his white tunic. With his hair messed, he walked to the small fountain that was leaning against a wall of one of the houses around the place. The children always followed him. They did not want the storyteller to flee. And then, the old fool's awakening show was another distraction for these toddlers.
Theodore had the unfortunate habit of sinking his whole head under the fresh water of the fountain, which had the effect of soaking his thick silver mop.
Having remained for a moment in a deep apnea under the water of the basin, he turned his head, snorting like a dog. The grumbling that came out of his mouth had the effect of making children laugh. And he, the wise man of the village, he took the opportunity to add, making the monkey more than reason.
Hearing all this noise, Johanna's mother came out of the house with a basket containing a meager snack for the old fool.
Led by Theodore, the little horde found the agora of the village. Theodore had noticed that Johanna's mother was coming to meet them. He made the children sit down, then asked them to calm down, he greeted Johanna's mother ... Without saying a word ... The children complied with this ritual. It was the habit. Theodore took the basket, and smiled at this woman, as if she had been his daughter. The language of the eyes had done its work. No words had come out of their mouths, but the message had passed. She returned as she had come, without further sound, than the slipping of her sandals on the dusty ground of the place. The rays of the rising sun were passing through that yellow ocher dust, which rose at every step. The children uttered a murmur of astonishment, when the cloud revealed the sparkle of glittering glitter. Theodore was amused, for the magic of the tale had already done his work. Behold, a mother would become like one of those goddesses of ancient legends. But that would be another story. Theodore had to finish his. The children were ready for it.