The tragedy of life is to forget the miracle

I loved this view.

The sky, some tired trees, nature in battle and a Balinese yard. I loved the light especially, the one that entered the room. We accessed the room by outside stairs. The room was in the middle of emptiness, air. There, the space was flagrant. We could see the sky. We did not forget.

Yes, I loved that view.

There were three or four large windows. Lying in bed, we only saw that, our eyes were called to look out. So I was looking outside. I looked at the light, I listened to some Balinese building noises: snatches of conversations and tools that move. Few things finally, to create another room in the middle of the void or to dig the space of the pool under a compact floor. A modern oasis on hot earth.

But at night, alone, I happened to be afraid. I remember how the truth worried me sometimes.

"I feel like I'm six years old. The age at which one asks to leave the light of the corridor lit before falling asleep. The age at which one is afraid of the dark as of one's own breathing. The age when we think it's normal to dance around the bars of the subway and abnormal to fall asleep without having a kiss from his mother.

Do you know what it's like to be alone?
We let our lives go by without wanting to know it, whereas that's the only thing we have to learn. "- Excerpt from my personal writings.

I had heard that Bali was like this: it forced you to stay, or it pushed you to leave. Above all, I had heard that Bali had a taste for truth and that if you were careful, you would find exactly what you needed.

**I loved the light and I was afraid of the dark in Bali. **

I needed to have a conversation with the little girl in me and let the woman exist to fill her role. That of reassuring me.

I think I have been attentive.