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  • Writer's picturelifexploratrice

Our perceptions, abysses?

Updated: May 17, 2022

Once upon a time there was a painting.

Gigantic when we approached it, and increasingly small when we moved away from it. Forming then only a grain, to see nothing more.

Only a gallery containing this work.

By walking a little the buildings replaced the museum then as visually non-existent as the famous painting gigantically small.

By deciding to go to the latter and to remain planted in front of this painting carried out, by one does not know exactly who, what, and which phenomenon, then by concentrating strongly one could, then, to be immersed there.

The decor, familiar, of creations by thousands, of micro paintings in the painting. Infinite. By paying attention to the billions of beings living in it, one would realize the existence of multiple experiences, the paintings within the painting, of the painting, of the paintings .... of the painting one is looking at, which exists and does not exist according to where one is placed and the meaning used.

An individual life at the same time present and at the same time absent. Everything unfolds. Everything is. From even closer one could see a being in a room typing on a keyboard a story coming from her imagination, then real, in her world of thoughts, of feelings, writing a story of paintings within paintings, of paradoxes according to existence and non-existence both dualistic and at the same time forming one.

She thinks she has lost her feet, lost connection with who she is. She no longer knows what it is to feel being. So she writes, thinking of all the others who like her live with their eyes closed, their bodies cut off from what is. Perfectly at ease in the work she has created, she wonders if it should not be modified. There she is in the infinite scheme of loops, thinking of her painting and of all those whose existence she does not know or cannot illustrate their work.

It would be necessary to fly away from the one she created, not to be this being any more but a painting assembling these last ones. And so on until the loop stops, or that all that remains is the indescribable satisfaction of having explored, of having accepted, of having learned nothing that nothing is known. To have only lived.


- Marie Mazeau certified teacher. Guiding with gentleness, mindfulness and Joy in Paris and internationally online.


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