I was born when I was 23 days old. In the uninterrupted succession of natural phenomena, complementary gametes had begun a process of multiplication by cell division, leading to the formation of a zygote.
Until then, we were dealing with a perfectly normal, observable and reproducible situation. Then, on the twenty-third day of this process, a supernatural phenomenon occurred. It can be described as supernatural because it cannot be explained by natural laws. The zygote’s tiny heart muscle began to beat. Doum-Doum. Ah, how, why, we don’t know. This is not normal. But that’s how it is for all human beings, so we say: it’s normal.
But still. All of a sudden, we don’t know why or how, the embryo’s heart starts beating and this will last from a few months to a few decades. It’s impossible to deny that my heart is beating – it’s observable and quantifiable. It’s also impossible to forget this supernatural pulse. The two phenomena are intimately linked.
My existence is made up of a series of actions and reactions that follow one another according to an ineluctable determinism, and I could call this my destiny. It’s the fabric of a future that unfolds over the course of my experiences. The pulse, on the other hand, speaks to me of something else. It speaks to me of an intention. A bit like a weaver making a carpet on his loom. He interweaves the woollen threads for a very specific purpose, according to a predefined pattern. If I look only at the loom, I see threads intertwining, one after the other. I can make out patterns, and I say to myself: that’s beautiful. Or: that’s normal. But if I look at the weaver, I see him concentrating on his work, applied to his task, determined, regular. He has already designed the carpet himself. The uninterrupted succession of actions and reactions on the loom is simply the consequence of his intention. Could I be satisfied with such an image to explain my existence? Who is the weaver? Am I ready to accept this weaver into my life? Will it really change anything? I’ve got my own idea: the back-up plan.
Example: I’ve invited some friends to dinner. I prepare a mixed salad and a crumble of sunny vegetables, tomatoes, aubergines, courgettes and peppers. They arrive in an hour. “Ding Dong”, Toutoune calls me. We chat and chat. Suddenly there’s a funny smell in the kitchen and smoke is pouring out of the oven. The crumble! Carbonised. My friends are arriving in 15 minutes. Quick, back-up plan! I call Pizza-Pipo. He’s overbooked until 10pm. Never mind, I’ll make some ramen, I’ve still got two onions and a tin of corn. I had a plan, it was going according to plan, and then my attention was diverted to another subject. I got distracted. The initial intention is not lost – in fact we had a good meal with friends – but we’re back to plan B. I like this idea of knowing that we’re in a back-up plan. It reminds me of a quote on ignorance in the Bhagavad Gita, chapter 14:
Material nature is made up of the three gunas: virtue (sattva), passion (rajas) and ignorance (tamas). Let the distinct, imperishable being touch material nature, O thou of powerful arms, and he will find himself conditioned by these three gunas … As for ignorance, O descendant of Bhârata, know that it causes all beings to go astray. This guna leads to madness, indolence and sleep, which enchain the incarnate soul … Folly and foolishness, and delusion too, come from ignorance.
I don’t know why I associate ignorance with the idea of a back-up plan, but I think it fits pretty well. I understand why my life is strange, I remember/feel that there’s something missing. I don’t know what it is, but I know that something is missing. For some, life has no meaning and unfolds with disconcerting monotony. For others, it’s a misery from the cradle to the grave, and can even end in a thousand pieces in a deafening explosion. There are others who have had a pretty good career, with no financial difficulties and a wealth of fulfilling cultural activities. In short, a 360-degree spectrum, a multiplicity of “action-reaction” variants such that we can say that the life of each human being is unique. Of course, the life of a tulip or an elephant is also unique. Every living, animate being has its place in this famous rescue plan. But I don’t see any real organisation there.
They want me to believe that there are laws. Of the universe, of nature, of life in society. But I don’t buy it. I get the impression that it’s a ploy to reassure us and keep us in the dark. Laws don’t age well anyway. Or they only apply to a small part of reality. “Truth within, error beyond”. Real life can’t be that disorganised. It’s not real life that’s responsible for all of this mess. It can’t be! The mess was created by men, gods and devils when they arrived on Earth a long, long time ago. Long before the dinosaurs.
The dinosaurs, in fact, were us. Mankind, in period costume. And then it all went wrong again. Some of them had eaten too much grass, and the T-Rexes went berserk. They got so mad that a shower of asteroids fell on them. And wham, we forget everything and start all over again. Life withdrew. And then it came back. It always comes back. First, like a pulse. The fossil pulse. Doum-Doum, Doum-Doum, Doum-Doum. From Jurassic Age to Disneyland, the fossil pulse drives us, again and again, to our very core. At its core, life is about the absolute, the infinite, the eternal. In short, perfect perfection. Not a mess.
In this respect, the golden palm of my quotations goes to Hermes Trismegistus:
Where are you running to, O men who are obscured because you have become drunk with words without Gnosis, words of ignorance, which you can no longer bear and which you are already vomiting up? … Stop, become lucid: look again with the eyes of the heart! For the scourge of ignorance overwhelms the whole earth, endangers the soul imprisoned in the body and prevents it from entering the haven of salvation … Look for the one who will take you by the hand and guide you to the gates of Gnosis, from where the limpid light radiates, where everyone remains lucid and lifts the eyes of the heart towards the one who wants to be known.
(Corpus Hermeticum, Book 3)
If I ignore what I see, what I hear, what I smell, what I taste, what I touch, what’s left? The pulse. It calls to me. It tells me: You are That. Absolute, infinite, eternal, perfect. There is no god, no devil, no law, no action-reaction. I am the pulse. I fall asleep and wake up every second. I appear and disappear at every moment. Doum-Doum, I am life.
