[Lire l’original en français]

« Death? A passage! » he says, index pointing to the sky, a missing last knuckle, as already passed away on the other side.

It is life that is a passage. This human life, this short story, barely a novel inside eternity.

Being born is going away. Dying is coming back.

Being born is leaving. Dying is meeting again.

 

Leaving and meeting again Eternity.

A human life is like a trip on a train. One does Nothing, smile at one another, have bits of chats with fellow travelers, friends or foreigners, we get up from time to time to stretch, go to the toilets, grab a bite, give a call. Then we sit down again, read a magazine, a few pages in a novel, we watch the landscape and our thoughts passing along.

Moving fast and still at the same time. The train going at the same speed wether we are serene or impatient. He will arrive at the same time wether we are sleeping in its couches or running in its corridor. It will arrive where it departed from : Eternity. Eternity that it truly never left, still as it is while moving fast.