Profile of mechanician

History of a philosophy

When it is truly personal and springs from its origins, prayer finds itself at the limit of philosophical thought, it becomes philosophy in the moment when every interested relationship with the divinity is abolished. Karl Jaspers

We were near the end of 1999.

At that time, between noon and two and to amuse myself, I was going to write news in a public garden. This little park was resting a few cables from the company which devoured at that time the most beautiful hours of my creative spirit.

In one of these Southern scriptures, a phrase, initiated by something or other, was inscribed as if by magic on my notebook.

She came like that, without me really being there for anything. Magical intuition, jumping my will to hatch like a rose in the middle of a jumble.

A magic phrase hangs on a cluster

This intriguing phrase, which is no longer so today, but was formerly, is: "Humanity is doomed to attain its perfection."

After writing these amazing words in black on white on my page of writing, I took a step back. I began to read them more carefully.
. It took me several readings to grasp its meaning. I mean to the level of my bowels. I then felt a deep dizziness. A sort of dazzling mingled with much happiness. As if suddenly, all the lights of my mind lit up to bathe every corner of this vast dwelling. As if I had just discovered the key to a huge enigma.

That's exactly how I felt "the thing".

And Ben Hur pulled out his head and the body from his galley

After years of wanderings to seek groping under the lanterns of the bars of the truths that go to me. After decades of galley in search of meaning, of ideal place, and a pack of conviction. In short, after years of uncomfortable running, unanswered questions, everything suddenly colored evidence. All the tunnels leading to my heart were enlightened as if by magic.

For a long time my character was wondering why we were on earth. The question was there. But my skinned nature could not go beyond the curtains of violence. Human cruelty clouded my life and all that it had meaning. I did not suspect that beyond this evil to so dense layers, a valley opened on light roads offered its visitors clearness.

This incessant struggle between meaning and absurdity had long been maneuvering, doubtless, in the obscure limbs of my unconscious. She was probably the origin of my senseless fears, my beautiful anxieties, my strange vertigo. This duel undoubtedly worked my flesh like fire the branches.

A spirit too sensitive for a world too violent and you will understand perhaps, why all those pre philosophical years, I had to drink as much. The process is the same for the addict, obese, phobic, depressive, bulimic, suicidal or anorexic. When the absurd reigns, the shamanic beings seek by all means to isolate themselves from the violent.