corteo
In the end, we will all have to learn to fly, be it with wings, on a bicycle, it doesn’t matter. In the end, there will be a party attended by our friends, all those people who loved us so well, recalling memories, little details, fragrances of a life, will gather to honour us. There will be a bed, and a long pageant of emotion will play out before that bed. There will be angels, and if it’s a clown who is dead, there will be acrobats and an entire circus will parade by. To turn a burial into a celebration, there will also have to be music… wild, nostalgic and evocative strains. Music beckoning one to blend acrobatics and dance and be carried away on a wave of memories.
If we are lucky, we will look back, and those we leave behind will wave white handkerchiefs and cry out wonderful words to us. If we are lucky, we leave behind an entire circus that will weep and laugh, laugh and weep, that will celebrate by sharing memories, transforming our life into a modest legend.
In the end, we will fly away and the music will take us by the hand and we will begin to dance. We will close our eyes and remember everything, we will invent everything.
To become immersed, we need music to take us by the hand and lead us into a dream… once the music came, it was easier to begin to dance.
