Peut être avez vous lu ma précédente note? "Funambule". je dois vous avouer que je porte ce texte dans mon coeur car des amis que j'aime beaucoup m'ont aidé à le structurer, à le mettre en forme, à le peaufiner. (Thomas, Laura, merci encore pour votre aide.)

Et voici qu'un autre être qui m'est cher ajoute sa touche. Mon oncle Marc est venu avec son épouse depuis Clil, un petit village d'Israël, jusqu'à Lyon. En terre sainte, on parle hébreu et aussi très bien anglais. De plus Marc est un poète. Après que je lui fasse découvrir ce texte il s'est proposé de le traduire. So here it is!

Merci du fond du coeur Marc.

English readers, I hope you enjoy these words about slacklining, translated by my uncle Marc.

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Tightrope walking is funambule in French- Funis, the wire, ambular, to wander, walk without purpose. The starting point and the end point will only make sense after the line is anchored- for then a path will emerge, a bridge will appear. no matter whether it’s on cable, line or nylon webbing.

I have been reflecting on the theory of this ‘crossing’. I thought of myself as an object submitting itself to the universal law of attraction, but only partly. For there is also an opposite force. An opposite force which cancels itself , and thus preserves me from the perilous fall. I can visualize my centre of gravity and project it as if onto a flat surface that supports me. I draw imaginary arrows of energy vectors. This bridges the gap separating me from my next journey- for only the act and the doing are significant.

In my training in slacklining I have learned the movements and the pauses, the tensions and the twists that, metre by metre, lead me to the other side. I walk without the traditional crossbar, and as I walk I must move my arms and legs freely but with discipline in order to distribute and balance my weight. Correspondingly, the swaying and rolling of the line is the mirror not only of my movements, but also of my emotions. It reawakes my breathing, and all tightness in me is annulled.

I experience myself as a living organism, that is continually evolving. Every beat of my heart, every breath and every thought construct a new reality. Each step forward is different from the previous one and casts doubt on the next .

When the line is at normal human level it’s like a trial run. But at great heights, gazing down at the abyss the spirit is seriously confounded, and gradually adjusts. Does fear completely disappear? Only the birds can conquer the immensities of the vertical. The heights reveal in all us earthly creatures the instinct to survive, deeply anchored in our DNA. The tightrope-walker is an exception for he chooses to embrace the fear and walk in its company.

So the phobia of the abyss is lessened. Yet emotions overwhelm me on many occasions. The fear of failure, the hope of success, or a sudden realization of what I am trying to accomplish, dislocate my concentration. If my reflexes allow me to stay upright, I must still come back to listen to my body, information system that leads me and bears me as many times as it takes to conquer this line.

Balance is silence upon which no support is possible

The tightrope walker proceeds playing with imbalances, ever closer to the middle way, never able to reach it.

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translation: Marc Radzyner January 2015