Parlons de ce que nous laisse ce voyage. Un souvenir, une pensée, une image, des mots qui résistent à l'oubli! Parlons de cette vie là, qui se vit et qui sévit! une vie qui passe encore et encore et puis qui s'arrête pour toujours!
This month was not spectacular. It was interior. I think again of the words heard last Sunday: “Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert” Matthew 4:1. It is striking that the first step was not to go toward the crowds, but to be led aside, before speaking, before acting, to consent to being stripped bare. The desert is not a pause. It is a womb. There illusions of control fall away. There the illusion of self sufficiency is undone. There we cease to believe we are the origin of ourselves.
Thus ends the month of resolutions. Thus closes a first chapter of 2026. We find ourselves already a little older with our dreams, sometimes disappointed by our pursuit of perfection, yet brought back to a simpler truth: our habits, our renunciations, and our quiet persistence. For the most fatalistic, it is time to return to the familiar. For those who still hope, the road remains open. In eleven months, there is still time to reformulate, adjust, readjust.
Every new year arrives with its share of resolutions. Along the way come disappointments, but also solutions. And in the end, a reckoning. Sometimes a year begins well, only to turn sour, poorly set in motion, heavy with the misfortune it seems to promise: illness, death, separation. Such great losses can, for a time, eclipse even the greatest joys. The opposite is just as true. A year may start badly until life calls us back, finds us, and leads us to places we never dared to venture. Then the balance tilts toward the good. And then there are those years when things take their time, quietly teaching us that small victories can lead to profound transformations. A “How are you?” that becomes “I love you.” A daily post that turns into a habit. One journey that awakens the memory of others. A decision that sets us on a path. And, in the end, a hope that is reborn and reshapes us.
There is no greater love than the one that sometimes sheds tears without turning them into an anthem. A love that knows how to leave without betraying, a love that, though not always happy, still refuses to bow to the call of misfortune.
You see the light. You will sometimes see it bare, radiant. You will sometimes see it veiled, covered, hesitant. You will see it as a promise. You will see it, and there will be moments when you are the only one who notices it. You see the light. There will be days when you are grateful to witness it, and days when you won’t see it at all, even when it stands right at your door. You see the light: you will see it only if your heart allows it, only if your own inner light rises to meet it. You see, light reveals the stains, the contours, the imperfections.
Thank you for our healthy anger, For the wounds we dared to name, For the words we placed on them like healing balms. Thank you for being the temple of my secrets, The keeper of my childhood, The living proof that we have grown.
I am discovering that every life, even when it seems ordinary, carries a strength we do not always see. We move forward with our questions, our silences, and our small victories, and yet something holds us, something greater than ourselves. I dedicate these words to those who feel on the margins, to those who doubt their worth, to those who believe they have nothing exceptional to offer. A life does not need to shine to inspire. It only needs to be true, courageous, and faithful to its own path.
We are rich only in the people we love. Those who make us laugh and support us, those who advise us and bring us back to what matters, those who see the invisible, sense the unspoken, and help us recognise our limits when that is the wisest choice. Our true wealth is them. Listening is a virtue. Stepping aside, letting the other wander, letting their thoughts emerge. Offering words or silence so they can heal themselves. It is a gift, simple and essential. Letting go is a virtue. We renounce things every day without noticing. But letting go of what we fought for, of what we believed essential, simply because we must that is difficult. That is noble.
Tonight, I offer you a heart of blood, A heart of us. An open heart, A heart that desires nothing but to beat, That aspires to nothing but to love, A heart that refuses to turn to stone, A heart burning with love.