NOIRCIR DES PAGES, ALL\u00c9GER MON C\u0152UR<\/p>\n
J\u2019ai souvent l\u2019impression que, pour cr\u00e9er, il faut plus qu\u2019un don du ciel. Apr\u00e8s quelque deux cent cinquante lettres d\u00fbment publi\u00e9es, ai-je encore cette disposition int\u00e9rieure qui me rend capable de combattre la routine? \u00catre cr\u00e9ative, c\u2019est un \u00e9tat d\u2019esprit que je cultive au quotidien. D\u2019autres cr\u00e9ent en dessinant, en cousant ou en composant de magnifiques musiques. Quelques fois ma flamme int\u00e9rieure vacille, s\u2019affaisse ou s\u2019\u00e9lance vers les cimes.<\/p>\n
\u00c9crire devient pour moi le terreau d\u2019une r\u00e9elle transformation. Pour cr\u00e9er, il me faut prendre des risques, m\u2019ouvrir \u00e0 l\u2019inconnu, faire preuve d\u2019empathie et avancer tout doucement comme une petite souris sortant d\u2019une armoire. Oui, oui! Je progresse \u00e0 t\u00e2tons en craignant toujours de ne pas r\u00e9ussir \u00e0 aligner des colosses de mots ridicules et en insistant pour bien le faire.<\/p>\n
Lorsque j\u2019\u00e9tais femme d\u2019affaires, mon passe-temps pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9 consistait \u00e0 enfiler de jolies billes pour m\u2019en faire des bracelets ou des colliers que je portais avec fiert\u00e9. J\u2019adore cr\u00e9er. Aujourd\u2019hui, j\u2019assemble de superbes paragraphes pour enjoliver mes textes. Je choisis de beaux mots; des agates mordor\u00e9es colorant l\u2019intention de chacune de mes phrases.<\/p>\n
Toutes mes lignes aspirent \u00e0 me d\u00e9lester de la peur. Je m\u2019entra\u00eene \u00e0 me donner l\u2019autorisation de me tromper, de me surprendre et d\u2019\u00eatre la seule, s\u2019il le faut, \u00e0 d\u00e9fendre mon point de vue. Tellement de lettres sont sorties de mon encre, tellement d\u2019h\u00e9sitations, tellement de peurs et peut-\u00eatre de contradictions. Comme si, chaque semaine, je sarclais un nouveau jardin; une petite r\u00e9colte pour le c\u0153ur de mes lecteurs. J\u2019aime tellement cr\u00e9er, ajouter ma touche personnelle et mon grain de sel, comme un coup de pinceau, comme du nouveau \u00e0 l\u2019existant.<\/p>\n
Je vous ai d\u00e9j\u00e0 parl\u00e9 de Julia\u00a0Cameron, la c\u00e9l\u00e8bre coach en cr\u00e9ativit\u00e9 qui nous conseille d\u2019\u00e9crire \u00e0 la main chaque matin, sur des feuilles blanches, tout ce qui nous passe par la t\u00eate pendant vingt minutes, et ce, sans chercher \u00e0 bien \u00e9crire ni m\u00eame \u00e0 penser. Se retrouvent ainsi expuls\u00e9es les ruminations, les craintes, les petites et grandes frustrations. Bref, tout ce qui emp\u00eache l\u2019imagination et la cr\u00e9ativit\u00e9 de s\u2019ext\u00e9rioriser. En m\u2019abandonnant \u00e0 cet exercice chaque matin, j\u2019ai vite compris que je lib\u00e9rais aussi ce qui, en moi, ne trouvait pas d\u2019autres exutoires. Au milieu ou \u00e0 la fin de l\u2019\u00e9criture automatique, \u00e9mergent des id\u00e9es, des envies, des projets. Pour ne pas brider cet \u00e9lan, l\u2019autrice Cameron nous conseille de ne relire nos textes qu\u2019une seule fois par mois.<\/p>\n
Les sp\u00e9cialistes de la cr\u00e9ativit\u00e9 sont unanimes\u00a0: il est essentiel de mettre r\u00e9guli\u00e8rement notre esprit en jach\u00e8re, de le couper de ses lourds raisonnements et de ses activit\u00e9s habituelles. N\u2019est-ce pas ce que j\u2019ai fait malgr\u00e9 moi pendant ma croisi\u00e8re en Alaska? Chaque matin, apr\u00e8s deux ou trois caf\u00e9s, je cherchais un sujet d\u2019\u00e9criture sans obtenir le moindre r\u00e9sultat. Inconsciemment, je suppose, je laissais mes pens\u00e9es voguer sur l\u2019onde bleue. Tant\u00f4t je cherchais quelques t\u00eates de baleines hors de l\u2019eau, tant\u00f4t je m\u2019extasiais devant le rose-mauve d\u2019un glacier. Incapable de traduire autant de beaut\u00e9, mes pages blanches sont demeur\u00e9es vides de mots.<\/p>\n
Tout derni\u00e8rement, j\u2019ai souhait\u00e9 vider ma t\u00eate et ouvrir enfin mon c\u0153ur. Je vous ai racont\u00e9 cet \u00e9pisode de ma vie en Gr\u00e8ce \u00e9tal\u00e9e sur dix p\u00e9nibles chapitres. \u00c0 cette \u00e9poque, j\u2019essayais d\u2019oublier la r\u00e9alit\u00e9. Je voulais l\u2019embellir. Je voulais mourir. Mais ce sont les larmes de mes b\u00e9b\u00e9s qui me ramenaient au pr\u00e9sent et \u00e0 la vie.<\/p>\n
Au moment d\u2019\u00e9crire ces lignes, le Zorba de 91\u00a0ans est encore vivant, mais il ne danse plus. Il a pass\u00e9, cahin-caha, les trente derni\u00e8res ann\u00e9es dans son pays d\u2019origine, plus particuli\u00e8rement \u00e0 Thessalonique. Notre fils le plus vieux a r\u00e9cemment travers\u00e9 l\u2019oc\u00e9an pour se rendre \u00e0 son chevet. \u00c0 l\u2019h\u00f4pital, on l\u2019a inform\u00e9 que son p\u00e8re aurait attrap\u00e9 un tr\u00e8s, tr\u00e8s contagieux virus. \u00a0Qu\u2019adviendra-t-il de lui?<\/p>\n
Vais-je un jour r\u00e9ussir \u00e0 oublier toutes les mis\u00e8res que cet homme m\u2019a caus\u00e9es? Avant que la mort ne l\u2019empoigne, puisse mon c\u0153ur lui pardonner!<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
NOIRCIR DES PAGES, ALL\u00c9GER MON C\u0152UR J\u2019ai souvent l\u2019impression que, pour cr\u00e9er, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":54023,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-54021","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"I believe that creating is more than a gift from heaven. After publishing some 250 letters, do I still have it in me to fight routine? Being creative is a state of mind I cultivate daily. Others do it while drawing, knitting or composing amazing music. Sometimes the flame inside me flickers, wanes or soars.\r\n\r\nWriting for me has become the soil of real transformation. To create, I have to take risks, open myself to the unknown, be empathic and advance slowly like a mouse from a cupboard. I feel my way forward, always worried I won\u2019t be able to successfully pull together ridiculous lexical behemoths.\r\n\r\nWhen I was a businesswoman, my favourite hobby consisted of threading lovely beads on a string to make myself bracelets or necklaces I\u2019d wear with pride. I love to create. Today, I assemble vibrant paragraphs to embellish the page. I employ beautiful words; golden agates colouring the meaning of each sentence.\r\n\r\nAll my lines wish to rid me of fear. I\u2019m training to be at peace with making mistakes, surprise myself and be the sole defender of my viewpoint if need be. So many letters have come from my fingers, so many hesitations, fears and perhaps contradictions. It\u2019s as though I\u2019m weeding a new garden every week; a modest harvest for my readers\u2019 hearts. I love creating so much, adding my personal touch and grain of salt, like a brushstroke or springtime breeze.\r\n\r\nI\u2019ve already told you about Julia\u00a0Cameron, the well-known creativity coach who suggests we take a blank piece of paper each morning and note down by hand everything that comes to our minds in 20\u00a0minutes, without thinking or worrying whether it\u2019s neat. As a result, ruminations, worries, small and big frustrations \u2013 everything that stops imagination and creativity from emerging \u2013 are ejected. By giving myself completely to this exercise every morning, I quickly realized I was also releasing things that didn\u2019t have an outlet. At the mid or end point, ideas, desires and projects come to light too. Cameron also suggests to re-read our texts no more than once a month so as not to impede the momentum.\r\n\r\nCreativity experts are unanimous: it\u2019s essential to put our mind to rest regularly, to relieve it from heavy thinking and the usual activities. Isn\u2019t that what I did despite myself during my Alaskan cruise? Every morning, after two or three coffees, I tried to find a topic to write about without any result. Unconsciously, I suppose, I let my thoughts sail on the blue wave. Sometimes I\u2019d desperately search for the heads of surfacing whales, other times I\u2019d be ecstatic over a rose-purple glacier. Unable to translate so much beauty, my white pages remained empty of words.\r\n\r\nRecently, I wanted to empty my head and finally open my heart. I shared with you this period of my life in Greece, spread over 10 painful letters. Back in those days, I was trying to escape reality. I wanted to embellish it. I wanted to die. But my babies\u2019 tears brought me back to the present moment, and to life.\r\n\r\nAs I write these lines, my Zorba the Greek is 91 and still alive, but he no longer dances. He spent the last 30 years in his native land, in Thessaloniki. Our oldest son recently crossed the ocean to visit him at his bedside in a hospital. He was told that his father had contracted a highly contagious virus. What will become of him?\r\n\r\nWill I ever manage to forget all the miseries this man caused me? Before death carries him off, may my heart forgive him!\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n