{"id":66730,"date":"2025-07-06T06:36:45","date_gmt":"2025-07-06T10:36:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/?p=66730"},"modified":"2026-06-24T10:29:11","modified_gmt":"2026-06-24T14:29:11","slug":"the-house-that-never-wonders-who-lives-under-it-roof","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/la-maison-qui-ne-se-demande-jamais-qui-lhabite\/","title":{"rendered":"The house that never wonders who lives under it roof"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Late one night, I was raising my arms, touching my legs, turning my head to one side and then the other as if I were driving a strange machine. This tough body in which I live transports me where I wish to go, a real-life vehicle, made of a strong frame, able to house and feed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve never really worried about the human body. Of course I coexist with it every day. Slowly but surely, I notice it getting weaker and losing its agility. Like a fur coat worn for a thousand years, its casing cracks and splits, and becomes damaged and stained. I\u2019ve never helped things either, completely ignoring magical creams that might have helped slow down my skin\u2019s degeneration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Born in a large bay between land and sea, I\u2019ve always thought of myself as strong as the rocks of the Gasp\u00e9 cliffs and bright like the water of the high tides. Since they were much too busy trying to get along and find a compromise to their joyless marriage, my parents never really had the time to educate their kids. Our bodies matured in complete freedom; a bit like wild cattails on the side of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quickly forced to earn our living, my siblings and I never had time to get to know each other. We knew little about ourselves until each one of us found courage and determination and discovered our strengths, weaknesses, talents and fears. We aged, and here I am today, already in my seventy-eighth year on earth. This old body, tired and worn, still serves me faithfully. What should I call it? Persona, individual, anatomy, matter, corpus, substance or perhaps organism? What a strange thing this body is that keeps on going! I guess it\u2019s like the house that never wonders who lives under its roof; it simply provides accommodation and shelter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I appreciate everything this body is and has been, everything it still insists on doing for me after all these years. It doesn\u2019t moan, although it does make some noise; it never curses or contradicts me. This ultimate wonder of the world deserves all my praises and, one day, someone will have to place Holland\u2019s most beautiful tulips at its feet in my name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will this body also give up its soul and die one day? How can I go on without it? It gesticulates, speaks, gets agitated and says everything I feel like saying. It faces adversity, cares for my creative processor and gives life to many of my desires. When it\u2019s upset, annoyed, tired or displeased, this body raises its voice. Sometimes I feel like its heartbeat invents an unbearable gallop just to distract us. Until it releases its last breath, this venerable body will keep me alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What will happen to me afterwards? Without this body, what will I see in the mirror? Who will I be in the world? A fleeting memory, a deactivated nuclear plant? Without these eyes, I will quickly forget the beauty. Without this nose\u2019s olfactive power, I\u2019ll give up the scent of flowers, and without this basic mobility, I\u2019ll become the living dead searching for eternal rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet I anticipate an imperceptible acceptance of everything I am before I no longer am. This breath of life will animate me and manifest itself at the centre of the universe I\u2019ll have created myself. At least that\u2019s what the wise thinkers say. My thoughts, my conscience, my discernment and all the love my heart contains will not die. This breath, this happy immaterial presence in a material world, will be immortal. And when the time comes for the body to decompose, this house of flesh will transform into a million shooting stars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When my fingers climb on top of each other and I\u2019m unable to stop them from escaping, I remain still and calm. I savour this suspended moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I patiently wait for the moment when my knuckles dislocate, my palms drop their load and I can no longer stand up against the inevitable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m waiting for the final show when the body collapses and is reborn as millions of particles of hope, and when the heart finally arrives at Heaven\u2019s gate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the breath remains, searching for another home to house its airy matter; a kind of divine state of mind that any departed human can experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cora
\u2665\ufe0f<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Late one night, I was raising my arms, touching my legs, turning my head to one side and then the other as if I were driving a strange machine. This tough body in which I live transports me where I wish to go, a real-life vehicle, made of a strong frame, able to house and feed. I\u2019ve never really worried about the human body. Of course I coexist with it every day. Slowly but surely, I notice it getting weaker and losing its agility. Like a fur coat worn for a thousand years, its casing cracks and splits, and becomes damaged and stained. I\u2019ve never helped things either, completely ignoring magical creams that might have helped slow down my skin\u2019s degeneration. Born in a large bay between land and sea, I\u2019ve always thought of myself as strong as the rocks of the Gasp\u00e9 cliffs and bright like the water of the high tides. Since they were much too busy trying to get along and find a compromise to their joyless marriage, my parents never really had the time to educate their kids. Our bodies matured in complete freedom; a bit like wild cattails on the side of the road. Quickly forced to earn our living, my siblings and I never had time to get to know each other. We knew little about ourselves until each one of us found courage and determination and discovered our strengths, weaknesses, talents and fears. We aged, and here I am today, already in my seventy-eighth year on earth. This old body, tired and worn, still serves me faithfully. What should I call it? Persona, individual, anatomy, matter, corpus, substance or perhaps organism? What a strange thing this body is that keeps on going! I guess it\u2019s like the house that never wonders who lives\u2026<\/p>","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":66732,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"Tard un soir, Mme Cora observe ce corps vaillant qu'elle habite depuis si longtemps, une maison qui ne se demande jamais qui l'habite.","_seopress_robots_index":"","_seopress_robots_follow":"","_seopress_robots_imageindex":"","_seopress_robots_snippet":"","_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"","_seopress_robots_breadcrumbs":"","_seopress_robots_freeze_modified_date":"","_seopress_robots_custom_modified_date":"","_seopress_robots_canonical":"","_seopress_social_fb_title":"","_seopress_social_fb_desc":"","_seopress_social_fb_img":"","_seopress_social_fb_img_attachment_id":0,"_seopress_social_fb_img_width":0,"_seopress_social_fb_img_height":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_title":"","_seopress_social_twitter_desc":"","_seopress_social_twitter_img":"","_seopress_social_twitter_img_attachment_id":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_img_width":0,"_seopress_social_twitter_img_height":0,"_seopress_redirections_value":"","_seopress_redirections_enabled":"","_seopress_redirections_enabled_regex":"","_seopress_redirections_logged_status":"","_seopress_redirections_param":"","_seopress_redirections_type":0,"_seopress_analysis_target_kw":"","_seopress_news_disabled":"","_seopress_video_disabled":"","_seopress_video":[],"_seopress_pro_schemas_manual":[],"_seopress_pro_rich_snippets_disable_all":"","_seopress_pro_rich_snippets_disable":[],"_seopress_pro_schemas":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[42],"class_list":["post-66730","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"blocksy_meta":{"styles_descriptor":{"styles":{"desktop":"","tablet":"","mobile":""},"google_fonts":[],"version":8}},"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66730","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/414"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=66730"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/66730\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/66732"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=66730"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chezcora.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=66730"}],"curies":[{"name":"WP","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}