Je te conduirai au Désert et parlerai à ton Cœur… Diaporama-débat récit de voyage sur le Sahara, par François-Xavier Prévot, Marcheur-Photographe. Partir encore, marcher toujours. Détours après impasses, morts après renaissances, avancer. Partir. Oser encore le désert. Oser tous nos Déserts. Marcher, sans relâche ni repos. Apprivoiser le pas du chameau, anonymement patiné par des siècles de caravanes patientes. Apprivoiser le Vent, qui ne demande, paraît-il, qu’à danser avec nos cheveux. Apprivoiser le sable, qui s’impatiente lui aussi de nos pieds nus…
”I will lead you to the desert and speak to your heart…”
Slide-show and debate about Sahara, by François-Xavier Prévot, Walker-Photographer.

Leaving once more, walking once more.
Changing direction after being blocked, deaths after rebirths, moving forward. Leaving.
Risking the desert once more. Risking all our deserts.
Following the enlightened advice of the Fox: make preparations at a quarter to three, for the most hazardous of meetings.
For the most unexpected, the most moving, the most magic of meetings.
For, in fact, the meeting of all our lives: meeting with our selves.
With our inner God.
Leaving again without ever feeling thirst again, going further than before.
Walking, without stopping, without rest.
Stars after dunes, stopping suddenly.
Kneeling, brutally.
Exhausted by the effort of taking the path, crying eyes wide open, dancing
with clenched fists.
Tiny grains of sand lost in the infinity of all our Saharas to come.
Reconciled, taming the camel’s pace, made smooth by unnamed voyagers, by centuries of patient caravans.
Taming the wind, which seeks, it seems, only to dance in our hair.
Taming the sand, which also awaits, impatiently, the passing of our bare feet.
Ending the struggle.
Allowing the primordial silence of the desert to rape us, first.
Then watching it break down our fears, one by one, with an infinite tenderness.
Inviting it, even, to overcome finally the first of all our fears.
The deepest and the most veiled: the fear of our own light.
Letting the silence penetrate us completely, in the end.
And spending the rest of its life seeking and searching still in all the noises of the world.
Yes, once and for all, being silent.
Doing nothing but walk.
Face to face with silence and hearing nothing ever again.
Hearing nothing ever again in order to hear everything.
Hearing nothing ever again and re-finding one’s voice.
And finding one’s voyage.
The first of all our voyages is the one we
postpone endlessly. I will leave, tomorrow.
The first of all our voyages is geographically the shortest voyage.
It is also the longest: it is the voyage which leaves from our head and ends at our heart…   ”Te conduciré al desierto y hablaré a tu corazón…”
Partir, caminando aún y siempre. Recodos después de callejones, muertes después de nacimientos, avanzar. Partir. Osar el desierto. Osar todos los desiertos. Caminar, sin pausa ni reposo. Domesticar el paso del camello, anónimamente patinado por los siglos de caravanas pacientes. Domesticar el viento, que pide, pareciera, bailar con los cabellos. Domesticar la arena, que se impacienta, ella también de nuestros pies descalzos…