7 h 40 au caf\u00e9 du village
\n\u00c0 peine install\u00e9e \u00e0 ma table habituelle, j\u2019implore dame inspiration pour que, d\u2019en haut, elle me lance un gigot bien dodu. Attendant ma pitance d\u2019aujourd\u2019hui, je fixe le plafond noir du caf\u00e9 et ses grosses lampes noires suspendues au-dessus des comptoirs de victuailles.<\/p>\n
J\u2019attends, j\u2019attends qu\u2019une foultitude de phrases d\u00e9gringolent d\u2019un nuage et atterrissent sur le blanc de ma page. Je ne suis pas inqui\u00e8te. J\u2019ai confiance au magn\u00e9tisme des mots qui jamais ne s\u2019\u00e9loignent trop longtemps de mon encre. Je les imagine embourb\u00e9s dans la neige ou tournoyant sur la glace vive. Je sais qu\u2019ils me cherchent et je les attends sans grincer.<\/p>\n
On me sert un deuxi\u00e8me caf\u00e9. Les demoiselles au comptoir me sourient. La plus jeune ose me demander sur quoi j\u2019\u00e9cris aujourd\u2019hui. \u00ab Sur rien \u00bb que je lui r\u00e9ponds; sur un fant\u00f4me invert\u00e9br\u00e9 capable de passer \u00e0 travers une porte. Je me rassois et l\u2019attente s\u2019\u00e9ternise.<\/p>\n
Et voil\u00e0 que, sans crier gare, Claude, mon ami pilote de brousse, entre dans le caf\u00e9 et se dirige vers ma table. Rapidement il s\u2019assoit pour me raconter un miracle dont il a \u00e9t\u00e9 t\u00e9moin, en plein vol, la semaine derni\u00e8re; juste avant la temp\u00eate de neige.<\/p>\n
Il s\u2019affairait \u00e0 photographier les rives des \u00celes-Laval dans le cadre d\u2019un mandat confi\u00e9 par la municipalit\u00e9 lorsque soudain, il a vu sa m\u00e8re assise sur le si\u00e8ge \u00e0 c\u00f4t\u00e9 du sien. Elle venait de mourir quelques semaines plus t\u00f4t et elle voulait rassurer son fils concernant la mort, lui dire \u00e0 quel point l\u2019au-del\u00e0 est magnifique et ce qu\u2019on appelle la mort \u00ab n\u2019est qu\u2019un passage dans une autre forme, d\u2019une autre vie sur une autre fr\u00e9quence \u00bb.
\n\u2014 WOW! Ta m\u00e8re t\u2019est apparue!
\n\u2014 Oui, exactement comme je te vois.
\n\u2014 Es-tu certain Claude que ce sont exactement les mots qu\u2019elle t\u2019a dits?
\n\u2014 Absolument certain. Ma m\u00e8re \u00e9tait une ma\u00eetresse d\u2019\u00e9cole qui a jongl\u00e9 avec les mots toute sa vie durant. Elle \u00e9crivait des textes \u00e0 l\u2019occasion et elle lisait beaucoup. Elle connaissait tout de la mort et elle l\u2019envisageait avec optimisme.<\/p>\n
\u2014 J\u2019ai moi-m\u00eame beaucoup lu sur la mort, cher Claude, et surtout sur le passage de la vie \u00e0 la mort. Ce que ta m\u00e8re t\u2019a racont\u00e9, ce sont presque les m\u00eames mots que la docteure Elisabeth K\u00fcbler-Ross (1926-2004) a publi\u00e9s dans son fameux livre La mort est un nouveau soleil.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Ma m\u00e8re connaissait les \u00e9crits de la docteure K\u00fcbler-Ross. Elle savait qu\u2019ils ont longtemps \u00e9t\u00e9 contest\u00e9s par \u00ab l\u2019establishment \u00bb de son \u00e9poque. La th\u00e9orie d\u2019alors \u00e9tait \u00ab qu\u2019il ne pouvait y avoir de vie apr\u00e8s la mort, puisque d\u2019apr\u00e8s la pens\u00e9e mat\u00e9rialiste, l\u2019homme et son corps, compos\u00e9 d\u2019atomes et d\u2019\u00e9nergie, \u00e9taient une seule et m\u00eame chose, de sorte qu\u2019avec la mort du corps, son \u00e2me et donc toute son existence devaient \u00eatre consid\u00e9r\u00e9es comme termin\u00e9es. \u00bb
\n\u2014 Exact, dit Claude. Selon la docteure qui a pass\u00e9 plus de 20 ans au chevet des mourants, la mort \u00ab est une exp\u00e9rience unique, belle et lib\u00e9ratrice que l\u2019on vit sans peur ni d\u00e9tresse. \u00bb<\/p>\n
\u2014 C\u2019est dans ces mots, ch\u00e8re amie, que maman m\u2019a racont\u00e9 son passage vers l\u2019autre rive. Et je ne suis pas du tout surpris, car elle \u00e9tait pr\u00eate. Elle savait que la mort n\u2019est pas la fin, mais un nouveau commencement. Elle m\u2019est d\u2019ailleurs apparue pour m\u2019encourager \u00e0 ne pas avoir peur. Elle m\u2019a m\u00eame dit que j\u2019aurais un meilleur avion dans ma prochaine vie; que je ne vieillirais plus et que, chaque jour, je serais heureux et combl\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\u2014 WOW! Claude. Quel magnifique cadeau tu me donnes aujourd\u2019hui! Avant ton arriv\u00e9e, j\u2019attendais candidement l\u2019inspiration et voil\u00e0 que tu me parles d\u2019une future vie \u00e9ternellement belle. Sais-tu, cher ami, que la mort a une tr\u00e8s grande importance dans mes gribouillages? J\u2019en parle assez souvent \u00e0 mes lecteurs, peut-\u00eatre trop souvent \u00e0 leur go\u00fbt. La mort est pourtant une r\u00e9alit\u00e9 in\u00e9vitable; aussi tangible que l\u2019ann\u00e9e de naissance sur le baptistaire. J\u2019approche moi-m\u00eame du basculement sur l\u2019autre rive. \u00ab L\u00e0 o\u00f9 tout n\u2019est qu\u2019ordre et beaut\u00e9 \u00bb, comme disait si bien Charles Baudelaire dans son fameux po\u00e8me \u00ab L\u2019invitation au voyage \u00bb en 1857.<\/p>\n
10 h 26
\n\u00c0 ma derni\u00e8re heure, j\u2019en suis certaine, un immense oiseau, un albatros hurleur transportera ma d\u00e9pouille somnolente sur ses grandes ailes bienveillantes.<\/p>\n
Nous avancerons par grands vents, traversant les vastes mers et effleurant les pics enneig\u00e9s des plus hautes montagnes.<\/p>\n
Nous transpercerons quelques nuages, caresserons des arbres centenaires et saoulerons d\u2019eau des prairies de tournesols en pri\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
Au coucher du soleil, nous amerrirons dans une baie cristalline. En touchant l\u2019eau, mes paupi\u00e8res s\u2019ouvriront, mon c\u0153ur recommencera \u00e0 battre et une nouvelle vie m\u2019ouvrira ses bras.<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
7 h 40 au caf\u00e9 du village \u00c0 peine install\u00e9e \u00e0 ma […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":17609,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17608","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"7:40 a.m. at the coffee shop\r\nI sit at my usual table and beg Lady Inspiration to send me a juicy story. I sit, waiting in vain for ideas to transform into words that I will shape into full sentences, and stare at the coffee shop\u2019s black ceiling, from which huge black lamps are suspended above the pastry counters.\r\n\r\nI sit and wait. I wait for countless phrases to drop from a cloud and land on my white page. I\u2019m not worried. I am confident they will come to me. There is certain magnetism and the words never stray away from my ink for long. I imagine the words stuck deep in the snow or spinning on black ice.\r\n\r\nI go get myself a second coffee. The girls at the counter smile at me. The youngest one dares to ask what I am writing about today. \u201cAbout nothing,\u201d is what I reply; about an invertebrate ghost capable of going through a door. I sit and wait while inspiration takes its sweet time to come to me.\r\n\r\nAnd here comes Claude, my friend, the bush pilot. He walks into the caf\u00e9 and heads straight for my table. He quickly sits down to tell me about a miracle he just experienced, during one of his flights last week, just before the snowstorm.\r\n\r\nHe was taking aerial pictures of the \u00celes-Laval shores for the town when, all of a sudden, he saw his mother sitting next to him in the plane\u2019s small cockpit. She had passed a few weeks earlier and wanted to reassure her son about her death, to tell him just how magnificent the after world is and that what we call death is \u201cmerely a passage into another form, another life, on another frequency.\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cWOW! Your mother appeared before you?\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cYes, exactly like I see you now.\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cAre you sure these are the exact words she told you?\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cOne hundred percent certain. My mother was a school teacher who fiddled with words all her life. She used to write on occasion and she read a lot. She knew everything about death and was looking forward to it.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u2014 \u201cI have read about death quite a bit myself, dear Claude. Mostly about the passage from life to death. Those words your mother told you, they are almost the exact same words doctor Elisabeth K\u00fcbler-Ross (1926-2004) published in her famous book On Death and Dying.\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cMy mother was familiar with the writings of Dr. K\u00fcbler-Ross. She knew that she had been challenged by the establishment in her day. The theory at the time believed that \u201cthere could be no life after death, since according to materialism, a person and their body, composed of atoms and energy, are one and the same, so that with the death of the body their soul and therefore their entire existence comes to an end.\u201d\r\n\u2014 \u201cPrecisely,\u201d says Claude. \r\n\r\nAccording to the doctor, who spent more than 20 years at the bedside of the dying, \u201cdeath is unique. It is the most beautiful experience you will have; liberating, without fear or distress.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u2014 \u201cAnd it\u2019s with those words, dear friend, that my mother shared her passage to the other shore. And I am not surprised one bit because she was ready. She knew death is not the end, but a new beginning. She appeared before me to encourage me not to be afraid. She even told me that I would have a better plane in my next life; that I would stop aging and that I would be happy and content every day.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u2014 \u201cWOW! Claude. What a great gift you are giving me today! Before you arrived, I was waiting for inspiration to come to me, and here you are, with a story about an afterlife that is eternally wonderful. Did you know, my friend, that death figures prominently in my Sunday letters? I talk about death so often to my readers, perhaps a little too often for their liking. But death is an inevitable reality; as real as the date on a birth certificate. I\u2019m about to make the next shore myself. \u201cThere, there\u2019s only order, beauty: abundant, calm, voluptuous,\u201d as Charles Baudelaire wrote in his Invitation to the Voyage, in 1857.\r\n\r\n10:26 a.m.\r\nIn my last hour, I am certain that a huge bird, a wandering albatross, will carry my sleeping remains on its huge, kind wings.\r\n\r\nWe will move forward on great winds, crossing the vast seas and brushing the snowy peaks of the highest mountains.\r\n\r\nWe will fly through a few clouds, caress century-old trees and drink water from the meadows of praying sunflowers.\r\n\r\nWe will land in a bay at sunset where the water is crystal clear. My eyes will open upon touching the water. My heart will start beating again and a new life will welcome me with open arms.\r\n\r\nCora \r\n\u2764"},"yoast_head":"\n