Julie sometimes happened to remind herself of how she was when she lived her previous life : offices, colleagues, dumb tasks, barren talks at the coffee machine, empty looks at break time.
When the Feeding Organisation would allow her to indulge herself in a 15-mn break, she would also take part to one of those talks between two neurotic coffee shots.
When her turn came, she definitely knew how to land the bouncing ball of conversations and start dribbling with words while keeping the pace, rolling out her juggling skills to keep her gaping audience in suspense.
When she gauged her legwork hypnotic enough, she would fire the final shoot and hit the top corner without a doubt.
Fifteen minutes had passed… and the launch window was closed. The sphere of interactions among human beings within the same organisation had been spent trying to shine…When it could have opened onto new relational horizons, helping the community move forward, however imperceptibly.
What had mattered for the grotesque actors in this wild corporate scene was one of the two following strategies :
-Compensating the absence of recognition everyone in those frozen places is suffering from.. giving way to a wide array of possible reactions: verbal or physical violence, addictive behaviours…
-Capitalizing on the opportunity to assert one’s superiority or legitimacy to enlarge one’s social territory by reminding everyone our authority and the marks of respect that ought to be shown.
In reality those two strategies are the expression of a single inner dynamic :
Since those moments of her past life, Julie has been investigating the source of useless and exhausting impulses.
She has held in the palms of her consciousness the underlying force pushing and throbbing to tell itself and prove its worth.
Now she knows there was absolutely no point in living to tell herself to the world.
Instead of ears to hear all her brilliant attempts at telling herself, she had only found close mouths and gritting teeth, waiting the perfect timing and conditions to tell themselves in return, waiting their very own launch windows.
A wise ear knows what is really being told.
All the songs of sadness and despair are songs of smothered love.