I am writing this letter to you as one throws a bottle into the sea, hoping that a well-intentioned soul will seize the message and carry it high and far. I dipped my pen in dark blue ink in order to rekindle one by one the lights of your sky emptied of all presence. While omnipresent human rights have replaced the dying rights of the soul, I despair, dear country, to see you so mistreated.
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In sepulchral silence, your foundations collapse without defense or help. With each attack against police officers or attack on secularism, you receive Molotov cocktails in your face which foreshadow the worst. Exit the homeland in favor of the stacking of communities. No more culture to make way for a disembodied narrative. Goodbye panache and replace it with frenzied individualism. In a setting of hackneyed living together, the crowd of wanderers advances, incredulous, towards the progressive disenchantment of the world.
In search of eternity
Fortunately, despite this collective sleepwalking, buried and palpitating souls rise up in search of greatness and eternity. When men cease to be simple consumers, it is then possible to give them spiritual meaning, to rain down on them something that resembles Gregorian chant, as Saint-Exupéry wrote.
While politicians play the country at Monopoly and while the media society looks at itself through the little window, let us hope that all the bottles thrown into the sea by the French reach their destination and that their wishes, in this new year, will be finally fulfilled.
