Welcome to Coriolistic Anachronisms

« No fate », carved Sarah Connor unconsciously on a piece of wood in Terminator 2. It might be a cheesy classic to quote from, but it sure addresses one of the biggest issues in life.

No fate but what we make for ourselves. Here’s quite an empowering statement that gives purpose to our life, but it’s at the same time a huge responsibility to be carrying forever on our simple shoulders. The wake up call might be rough and blaming it on ourselves when the walls come tumbling down around us is not the easiest thing to do. How much more convenient then to blame it on fate or God, and to downplay our role to that of willing puppets.

But what if both sides of the coin were actually combined into a more universal theory? What if fate was a real factor in our lives, and yet could be manipulated any way we see fit?

We’d have the best of both worlds. An infinitely powerful giant hand to guide us and lead us towards our destiny, and then also a small remote control hidden in our pocket that would allow us total control over the mighty hand. Free will combining with fate, interacting with it. Out of awareness and sometimes unconventional choices, we’d be able to alter the course of what seems to be written for us. That, in the end, might be the only real wisdom there is.

To sum it up, as it was said: « Have the strength to change the things you can change, the patience to endure the things you can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference. »

But for all this to work, one more element must be defined a little better; that’s the apparent conflict of chaos and chance vs. probability.

In comes my theory of « Fate as a tree ».

Continue reading "Fate as a tree"

 

Sitting deep inside the Trees café on Granville, with a warm smoking coffee next to the computer, it’s almost possible to forget there is a world out there. The music is soothing, people are talking quietly and the espresso machine whistles away.

I let thoughts run through my head randomly and write as they do. I’d like to rename the blog. I’ll have to work on that. Also, and even though I kinda like this new skin, I’ll consider changing the whole look and feel when the newest version of Serendipity comes out, which should be anytime soon.

Smiles. There’s something about them. A thought that keeps coming in and out of my consciousness but I can’t really grab it. I’ll work on that too.

Whatever you want to do, do it now. There are only so many tomorrows.

 

It was born late last night, from an excess of coffee in my blood and the tease of a day off today. It’s the new photo gallery. We’ll call it « Vancouver, la suite ». No new pictures in there, it’s mostly a recap’ of the recent blog posts. It’ll keep growing.

 

Yesterday Friday, Vancouverites were granted with yet another one of those perfect crystal clear days; bright sunshine, crisp cool air and blue skies forever. May all those who criticized the local winters be silenced once and for all.

So I hopped on a funky shuttle intending to verify the cheesy saying that you « see more » from Mount Seymour...

Well it was cold and windy up there, but what an astonishing sunset!

 

[This post was reformated on August 26th, 2007, to correct errors in the initial code and to account for the changes caused by the new blog skin.]

Transmitting on 121.5 in the blind...

« Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan

You are not here but I can feel you.
You are not late but I do miss you.
We’ve never met but I always think of you.
You’re in my dreams but I can’t yet touch you.
They said you were gone but I’ll wait for you.
If you care about it, I’ll give the world to you.

Do you copy, over? »

 

Back when it was raining, wet night in Gastown.

The Water St. Steamclock.

Fairmont Hotel Vancouver. Smart entrance.

 

After almost two months of record-setting rainfalls, the sun has finally reappeared and granted us with a few magnificent days - and nights.

 

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin’ on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories

[Fisherman’s Blues, The Waterboys]

 

Letter to a Stranger

Whatever you do,
Wherever you roam,
Whoever you touch,
However brief the smile,
You’ll always leave a part of yourself behind,
Since people, places and moments
Grow a memory of their own.

Through the silent stroke of your presence,
You keep changing my existence,
By little or by much,
Forever.

I wrote the Letter to a Stranger a long time ago, for someone long forgotten; or maybe was it for no one in particular?

Why do we spend so much time running away from our past and slashing the ties that bind us to it, when these are the essence of who we are today?

A million moments and a thousand faces have lead me precisely where I stand now, but there is one big flaw in the fashionable theory of living “here and now”: there is no such thing as the present!

Dreams, ideas and hopes float around in a misty future; one day they suddenly rush towards you, overwhelming and brutal, changing shape, loosing their color. And then they are gone. So we cast the pain aside, draw a line and erase our emotional links to those past experiences. We pretend to live in the present.

And by doing so we become ghosts of ourselves. Mere reflections of who we could have been. Refusing to accept that yesterday commanded today’s act is worse than refusing to live late. It’s accepting to die early.

 

I miss the ocean. I miss the sound of waves out my window and the silent presence of an infinity of water at my back door. I miss the familiar vibration of a boat’s hull slicing through calm seas, and the hum of engines, and the crackling of the radio. I miss looking up at the sky to anticipate nature’s moods and outrun squalls.

So I offered myself a boat ride. I hopped on the Tsawwassen - Swartz Bay ferry and went to Victoria.

Dures extrémités où je me vois réduis. **

[** Les Fourberies de Scapin. Molière]

Mais qu’allais-je faire dans cette galère ?