Je voulais écrire quelque chose à ce propos - ces rencontres, durables ou non, qui réveillent, activent, de précieuses et plus ou moins secrètes parts de nous-mêmes, ça me parle, et me tient profondément à coeur - ces liens-là sont le sel de ma vie. Et puis j'ai réalisé que mon ami JP l'avait déjà fait - et avec talent, alors j'ai simplement souligné ce qui me semble être le coeur de cet effet très spécial, la danse des esprits :-).
I think that some friends have a particular talent. When you talk with these people, you have a strange (et délicieux) feeling : some inner parts of you, of your mind are… activated. (It happens, sometimes, that you trigger the same effect in response)
I think that some friends have a particular talent. When you talk with these people, you have a strange (et délicieux) feeling : some inner parts of you, of your mind are… activated. (It happens, sometimes, that you trigger the same effect in response)
You can use subtle metaphors to explain this, like surprisingly finding inner gold, or opening unknown windows, new stairs… thanks dear ! I do think that some parts of our brain are sleeping, or are “put in a box”, useless. Sometimes you don’t even know or remember that they’re here, in a corner of your attic.
When they’re activated : you are surprised, thankful, you see and feel them blossoming around, in you. It gives you a big amount of energy and happiness. When you activate them (by doing nothing but being yourself in a conversation) in your chatterboxing partner’s mind, you can see this person like… floored-with-a-smile.
If this person dies, or flies away, you feel a bit strange or sick for a moment, because, as you can guess, these golden activities which liked to dance in your head, they want to dance more, and they can’t. The bond only could make them dance. Conversations.
Some parts are real gold, they stay : you can keep them for you, you grew, that’s your new treasure, votre nouveau trésor ! Some parts begin to hurt you, though. They dance alone, lost in your mind, they hit walls, they break themselves. They wait. You have to use the old boxes. These sleeping parts of you, made alive, have to go back to sleep, “Off to box, chatterbox !”. Your pie gets smaller.
This is how you understand why Conversation is an Art, sometimes.
Dial : Nothing lasts forever. You knew that, don’t you ? Good news or bad news ?
