Save the planet … excerpts from “Le Paradis” (Paradise).

One day – in the not so very distant future – even my vision will seem “normal” in the eyes of the world.

Le Paradis is a 100% fictional work, touching on many issues in today’s French Polynesia: poverty, wealth, ecology, mythology and the conservation of culture and tradition (au sujet de la pauvreté, de la richesse, de l’écologie, des légendes, et de la conservation du patrimoine culturel).

It is my hope that this work will evoke interest regarding both the threats and consequences of modernisation, ecological disasters and materialism for delicate small societies outside the mainstream political, economic and cultural structures propagated by the large and powerful countries of the world. Many of these “peripheral” societies are struggling to maintain their traditions and cultural specificities. I would further venture to suggest that we who live in the large agenda-setting centres of modernisation, military and economic power and globalised culture have much to learn from these small societies in the far corners of the world, and that the survival of the Earth itself may be contingent upon a willingness to learn simpler and more holistic and interpersonal approaches to life, culture and spirituality.

This time I have chosen French Polynesia as the geographical/cultural entity that serves as a background for the abovementioned message; however, it could just as well have been another set of islands, or another remote society.


Part One / 1ère Partie

A story about / Un conte au sujet de
Pora Pora (Bora Bora)

Part one / 1ère Partie – chapter one
a meeting of friends

“Bonjour Afaitu ! Ça va ?”

“E aha?”

“E’e, aue ho’i e. Ia ora na. E aha te huru?”

“Très bien, Eperona. Et toi, comment ça va ?“

“Oh, comme ci, comme ça. Je pensais que tu voulais parler uniquement en tahitien aujourd’hui !”

“Excuse-moi, je ne t’avais pas bien entendu, j’étais perdu dans mes pensées.”

“Qui t’a volé ton coeur et tes rêves cette fois-ci ? Est-ce Mireille ou le beau Matahina ?”

“Non non, je pensais à certaines des vieilles histoires que mon grandpère me racontait au sujet de notre ancienne patrie; Lemuria.”

“Ces vieux contes de bonnes femmes ?”

“Fais attention, Eperona. Les dieux n’aiment pas que nous nous montrions irrespectueux envers eux.”

“Tu es étrange, Afaitu. Tu as toujours été un peu étrange. Mais bon, parle-moi de Lemuria.”

“Qui est-ce qui vient vers nous ? Ah, c’est Erik. Bonjour mon ami ! Won’t you join us for a little Tahitian storytelling?”

“Bonjour Afaitu … c’est si bon de te revoir, Eperona. I have been asking about you in Pape’ete. So you have been hiding out here on Bora Bora? Are you visiting with Afaitu?”

The three men greeted each other with handshakes as well as with a kiss on the cheeks, and Erik (the Swede) sat down besides his two Polynesian friends.

Erik offered them cold beers from his rucksack. Eperona eagerly accepted, but Afaitu politely declined.

“Il fait chaud aujourd’hui. Tu n’as pas soif ?” asked Erik.

“Afaitu is in one of his serious moods today. He has been trying to get in touch with his spiritual ancestors, and is therefore staying away from the Devil’s brew (you know: pia). But I am certain that he would like some cold water and a joint,” said Eperona with a playful snicker.

“Pakalolo? Sorry man, I wish I did have some marijuana. But I do have some bottled water with me and (of course) a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Will that do?”

Afaitu graciously thanked his Swedish friend for the water and a cigarette, while suggesting: “Hey, why don’t we take my boat out to a motu and spend the afternoon just chilling out? We can pick up some sandwiches and fruit, and perhaps even some mahi mahi on the way.”

“Mahi mahi sounds good to me,” said Eperona in his slightly post-adolescent manner … grinning, while adding: “and some more beers too!”

Afaitu shot his two-year younger friend a pretend-stern look, and then broke out into laughter.

“What? What did I say that is so funny?” asked Eperona, himself unable to keep from smiling. Erik thought he had been left out of a personal joke, and his eyes quizzically darted from Afaitu to Eperona, finally resting on Afaitu.

“It is nothing, my friend. You have been exactly the same since you were sixteen years old: the joys of your life are so simple. As long as you have fish, women and beer, ‘tu es au paradis’!” replied Afaitu, smiling and throwing a pebble at Eperona.

“Hey, cut it out!” retorted Eperona, as he playfully wrestled Afaitu onto his back, pinning him down with his muscular arms and shoulders. “And speaking of women … should we invite some to join us? What do you think, Erik? I know this hot …”

“Merde ! What a fucking braggart. Don’t listen to his crap talk, Erik,” said Afaitu while pushing Eperona off of himself. “You would think that Eperona is the biggest stud and womaniser in the whole of French Polynesia.”

“Et alors !” joked Eperona, now standing over his two friends and thrusting his hips and groin forward in repeated erotic movements – half dance and half sex simulation.

“Damn, Eperona! You look like a raerae or a mahu impersonating an amateur Polynesian dancer for tourists,” shouted Afaitu … causing Erik to laugh and Eperona to pounce on Afaitu again.

“Amateur? Raerae? My uncle is a raerae, so I take that as a compliment. In fact, you should BE so lucky! Here … I will show you how a “raerae” fucks a titoi (a wanker). Roll over … I’ve got something for you!” cried Eperona out as they tussled; and all three men laughed uncontrollably.

“You are both fucking weird,” shouted an amused Erik. “So where is this motu, anyway?”

Afaitu once again pushed Eperona off and brushed the sand from his chest and thighs while saying: “It is Eperona’s and my favourite motu here on Pora Pora. Trust us … you won’t be disappointed, I promise. And once there I will tell you both stories of our beloved ancestors from ancient Lemuria.”

And with that the three young men proceeded to the market to buy provisions before boarding Afaitu’s small fishing boat. There was a refreshing light wind blowing over the turquoise-coloured water, and it already looked like paradise.

After securing the boat the two Polynesian men and the long-haired, tall and lean, blonde Swede scrambled onto the sands of the motu, eager to bask in the salty air tempered by a cloudless sky, a mild breeze and each other’s company. Afaitu had even managed to find a few joints while Eperona and Erik shopped for food and drink at the market. …

“Oui !” exclaimed Erik to Afaitu. “Tu as raison. C’est bien le paradis !”

Afaitu grinned as he lit up the first joint, his glistening, sweaty caramel-coloured skin the perfect canvas for his dark locks of hair, his green, orange and blue pareu tucked up like shorts, and the elaborate tattoos covering his neckline, shoulders, chest, upper arms and upper back. Eperona was already busy unpacking the mahi mahi and pia, like an excited teenager about to re-affirm his achievement of manhood Eperona’s orange-red French-cut bathing suit highlighted his blondish-brown long curls well. Unlike Afaitu, Eperona did
not immediately resemble a traditional ethnic Polynesian in manner or dress, due to his dual ancestry (part Polynesian and part European) and his family’s high social status. However, he had friends in all social classes and knew how to have a good time at the tourist discotheques, in a fishing boat, in the poorer sections of Pape’ete … and on a somewhat remote motu, together with friends.

Afaitu took another drag from his joint and exclaimed: “And now for a story from the ancient land of Lemuria (also known as Mu or Hiva) … the paradise of my forefathers.”

“Yeah, yeah ‘aitu’ (priest),” quipped Eperona. “Stop hogging that joint … Pass it around and tell us a good tall tale.”

At that moment a sea bird deposited a dropping on Eperona’s head, causing him to swear and his two friends to break up in laughter (the effects of the marijuana added to the hilarity of the bird’s unfortunate poor aim). Afaitu forced himself to stop laughing long enough to point a finger at Eperona, saying: “I warned you earlier Eperona. Don’t fuck with the ancestors!” He then explained to Erik that the name Eperona means ‘offshore bird’ in Tahitian.

And with that they all began laughing all over again … including Eperona this time.

Part one / 1ère Partie – chapter two
a legend about Polynesian Mu (Lemuria)

Afaitu fell to his knees and raised his right fist to his brow (in the fashion of the ancient Atlanteans from the regions currently known as Santorini and Crete). He then took a silent deep breath, closed his eyes and emitted a low humming sound reminiscent of a didgeridoo or a huge cruise ship announcing imminent departure. He then began to explain that the people of Mu were polytheistic, and worshipped many atua (divine guardians) as well as a pantheon of gods on a more secondary level. These gods were competitive with each
other, and were in their own constant struggle for survival. Their power was localised to certain geographic regions. Some of the primary gods identified with the Polynesian region of Mu included Oro (God of War), Tane (God of Craftsmen), Ta’aroa (God of Creation), Tu (Man God) and Hiro (God of Thieves and Sailors). For example, the cult of Tane (ousted by Ta’aroa and later succeeded by his son Oro) was particular to the Society Islands; and Hiro was solely worshipped on Ra’iatea and Huahine. (Hiro’s phallus can still be seen in the background of Maroe Bay at Huahine.) The gods “inhabited” the ritual instrument called the to’o… a stick wrapped in braided coconut fibres and made colourful with red feathers … during ritual ceremonies on the marae.

“Our legends have been handed down orally from generation to generation, and (for those with knowledge and trained eyes) traces of ancient stories can still be deciphered in traditional Polynesian dance and ceremonies performed for tourists, in the maraes (sacred sites) and even in some tattoo art,” said Afaitu in a calming tone that both had the effect of creating a sense of intimacy between the three men and – at the same time – encouraging openness to that which would follow. “The story I am about to tell you is one of many handed down in my family for many generations, told to me as a child by my grandfather Ra’anui (which means ‘Highly sacred one’ in Tahitian). In our family it has been traditional to teach these legends through storytelling, thus enabling the young to more easily remember intuitively. The question of whether or not these family legends are true is inconsequential. They are basically fables that mix true familial stories with myth, and serve the purpose of promoting family bonds and identity with ancestral pride. The particular family legend I will
recite for you now is from the region of ancient Mu where we used to live, and includes some information about the history of Mu (or Lemuria, as it is often called today). So please lie back and close your eyes and open your hearts and Higher Selves to the archetypal remembrances I soon will re-awaken in you.”

“Okay, Afaitu. You are starting to scare us now,” joked Eperona. “But alright. I’m in … just light up another joint.”

Afaitu chuckled at his younger friend’s playful comments, fully knowing that Eperona had heard many such stories from his relatives. “How about you Erik … are you ready, willing and open for this journey?”

“Självklart … mais certainement … I mean, of course. This is better than the cinema or cable tv!”

“Careful, Erik! Don’t let this go to his head … it is already too big for his shoulders!!!” quipped Eperona.

They all laughed heartily, and Afaitu explained further: “The story I am about to share with you is also partially depicted in my tattoos.” Erik then decided to try a little comrade humour, and kidded Afaitu by asking: “So, actually we can just sit here and get high smoking our joint, drinking some beer and get off on your tattoos while you pose and flex your muscles?”
Of course, Eperona could not resist jumping in, and added: “That’s exactly correct … exactement, Erik, mon ami ….. And Afaitu does not even need to open his mouth. I am warning you; once he gets started, his loquaciousness …”

“Not so fast, boys! You are not getting off SO easy!!!” said Afaitu. “Now pass me that joint, and shut up before another sea bird shits on both your fucking heads.”

Eperona looked up into the space of sky immediately over his head with a facial expression that conveyed slight unease and superstition, causing both Afaitu and Erik to laugh. And both Eperona and Erik fell onto their backs under the azure, cloudless sky with the murmur of early tide washing against the motu’s sandy edges. They closed their eyes and fell silent to the wisdom and legends of the ancestors of Mu and Polynesia.

The legend of “Vaite”

Vaite (the pure soul of the divine child) was a young girl of some twelve years when she first discovered her special extrasensory abilities. She was picking hibiscus flowers on the tropical slopes which made up the walls of the lush valleys in the part of Mu later to be known as Pora Pora. This was long before Ta’aroa, the great Supreme One, fished the island out of the aqueous depths after the creation of Havai’i (Raiatea), and named our island “the first born”. You see, many thousands of moons ago the area now known as Pora
Pora, the surrounding islands and landmasses in the Pacific basin area were all part of the Great Continent of Mu. It was a magnificent civilisation; highly-developed culturally and technologically, and it was (according to legend) originally populated by Ancient Ones from faraway stars.

Well, one day young Vaite had stayed out on the slopes longer than usual and looked up into the sky to judge how much time she had to reach her family’s hut before the dusk was overcome by nightfall. To her amazement, she saw an apparition in the skies: blue-white lines and curves that joined together to form circles, squares, triangles, and other geometric formations. Each formation appeared for only a very short time before it was replaced or joined by yet another, each more spectacular than the previous one. Vaite was fascinated by
this “light show” and tears of joy and rapture streamed from her eyes as she laughed nervously and exclaimed to herself and the Universe: “This is it … this is IT!” What IT was, she did not know. However, she did sense that this special vision was a gift to her … and perhaps to her alone. After all, who else was around to see it? “No one,” she murmured while looking back over her shoulders, and noticing (with a feeling of slight apprehension and elation) that she was – in fact – all alone. And yet, she felt also a kind of inner peace and completion as she relaxed and took in the fantastic visual light show. She could almost feel the vibrations of these symbols; they seemed to be humming and whirring, and each symbol had its own variation on a high musical tone. Vaite stayed until the last stage of dusk began to give way to darkness, and ran home, where her parents were preparing a dinner of fish, breads and fresh fruits.

Vaite was the only daughter of Arenui (“the big wave”) and Hemia (named after the goddess of pregnancy). Arenui was a fisherman, and Hemia was a midwife and herbal physician. “Vaite!” called Hemia out to her daughter as she saw her approaching the hut. “So late you are today! Where have you been, my precious?”

“Mamá, you would not believe what a wonderful gift Ta’aroa (the god of creation) has given me! He has shown me the secrets of the Universe!” exclaimed Vaite.

“The secrets of the Universe, say you?” replied Arenui with laughter in his eyes. “Hemia, what did I tell you? It is time to tell the child about the facts of life. Soon she will start to think that babies are born by having sex with the gods … just like some of those fools down in the village say when they try to deny or cover up whose “fruits” they have been enjoying.”

Hemia rolled her eyes at Arenui, laughed heartily and said: “Arenui, I have delivered most of the babies in the village for the last fifty moons, and I can assure you that all were made of flesh and blood. I have yet to encounter one incidence of divine conception. All you men are alike … you all basically think, boast and act in the same ways – thanks to your …”

“Come here my woman!” interrupted Arenui. “I will show you what ‘divine conception’ is supposed to feel like.” He grabbed around Hemia’s waist and attempted to drag her to the floor just inside the doorway of the hut.

Hemia struggled against him, saying: “Stop … you old fool!” And they both laughed hysterically until they noticed that Vaite was standing over them, handing her mother a bunch of hibiscus flowers she had picked. “How beautiful, Vaite. Now run and wash your hands while I finish getting supper ready.”

During the meal, Vaite told her parents about the blue-white rays of light in the sky that so playfully tried to communicate with her. She was convinced that one day she would learn to understand the meaning of these symbols, and unlock the keys and codes of this ‘Language of Light’ the universe was unfolding to her. Her parents were amused by their daughter’s fantastic imagination, and encouraged her to try to draw some of her visions with a piece of coal on tree bark. In those days, only boys were sent to the priests and wise men in the
village to learn about the stars, science and religion. Vaite’s parents knew their daughter to be both intelligent, curious and sensitive, and they were convinced that she would put all learning to good use … even if she had to learn all by herself, without the help of teachers or priests.

Vaite often returned to the same spot on the slopes overlooking the valley, and she always took with her bark and coal with which she could record the mysterious symbols. Often, the symbols in the sky appeared to her so quickly that she barely had time to properly draw one before the next one had presented itself. It was almost as though the skies were urging her to learn their language as soon as possible … it was as if they had something very important to tell her.

Vaite was so open in her spirit and in her heart that she allowed the symbols to penetrate her inner intelligence without question or analysis, and she soon learned to intuit the meanings of many of the more common symbols so well that she could ask questions in her mind and receive answers or comments: first visually in the heavens, and then immediately afterwards inside herself – as confirmation that she had indeed understood. It was not long before Vaite became known as a great oracle in the village and beyond. She was taken in by the priests, and lived in luxury in their village compound. Her only responsibility was to present a new oracle at each full moon, for the pleasure of the priests,
the leaders and wealthy people of the village … and the other local residents.

The oracles were well-received by all, but only Vaite, the priests and the very highest leaders of the community knew that the priests and the leaders often changed or embellished her pure channelled messages to their own advantage. Vaite did not think this was correct, but she was afraid to protest too loudly as her parents’ standing in the community had greatly improved ever since Vaite had become the village oracle. The family home no longer resembled a simple hut, her mother was given an office in the village from which to work and her father was afforded many amenities, including paying less taxes to the village leaders.

All seemed to be going quite well for Vaite and her parents until one day when Vaite gazed into the sky and was presented with a feu d’artifice of a light show that she never before had experienced. It was downright frightening, and the strength and frequency of the symbols bode of violent destruction: the end of the world as known. Vaite shivered as she returned to her room in the priests’ compound in the village. She knew quite well the consequences of bearing messages of ill omen or which could not be used to benefit the leaders or the priests, and she could not imagine that such a terminal message could be used to anyone’s advantage … no matter how ‘clever’ the priests were at “deciphering and translating” her oracles to what they meant was the true message from the gods. At the same time, Vaite knew that she could not hold this information back … it was too important, and the symbols were quite intense and adamant. So, she returned to her special viewing spot every evening for the next five days to double-check this incredible oracle. The symbols sometimes changed but the message was always the same: prepare for total annihilation. When Vaite asked why they would be annihilated, the answer given was that it was because of corruption, and loss of true spirituality on Mu due to issues of spiritual separation and sexual exploitation of animals. Vaite had tears in her eyes as she returned to the village to present the priests with the sad news. As expected, Vaite’s message was not received well … neither by the priests nor by the village leaders. She was beaten and raped, under pressure to take back or change the oracle. But Vaite refused. In the end she was sent back to her parents’ home … in disgrace.

Her parents saw their daughter’s distress in her eyes, which usually shone with light like stars. Vaite could not bear to tell her parents what had happened to her, nor about the oracle. Had the Universe played a terrible trick on her, or was this really the end of the world? Vaite could not bear the thought of her dear parents suffering because of her fall from grace, and kissed and hugged her parents dramatically while explaining that she must go away for a few days.

Vaite walked and walked until she reached the top of the volcano. Standing on the inner edge of the rim she looked once again into the skies and asked for a final oracle. The message from the Universe was the same as before. Vaite threw herself into the depths of the active volcano, and as she as consumed by the flaming abyss Ta’aroa became so angry at this most recent offensive violation by the priests and the village leaders that he increased the effects of the volcanic eruption so that it created a series of super volcanoes across the entire continent of Mu. The ensuing tremendous tidal waves and tsunamis buried most of the continent under water … the continent of Mu was not to rise again
before humanity had shown itself worthy of a new golden age. The date was Friday, the 13th.

Ta’aroa decreed that Vaite would return to Terra when time itself had come to an end, and that she would – in her new incarnation as the Goddess of Creation – first then return to reconstruct the paradise of Mu, as a sanctuary for future workers of the Light and those who had renounced idolisation of materialism, spiritual separation and war.

Part one / 1ère Partie – chapter three:
return to the island

Afaitu concluded his storytelling by making the same fist-to-brow salutation to the gods and low humming sound he had begun with. Eperona had fallen asleep, but Erik had opened his eyes and smiled at Afaitu. “Merci de tout coeur Afaitu. C’était magnifique. Génial !”

They hugged each other in the fashion of true comrades who had just enjoyed a deep spiritual and emotional experience together. Eperona opened his eyes, asking: “Are you finished already?”

Afaitu and Erik laughed, and Afaitu said: “You got kind of lost in the journey, my young friend. How do you feel?”

Eperona rubbed his eyes, smiled broadly and replied: “Mauruuru! (Thank you!). I feel great. I was actually floating above my body and was soaring high above us – just like a bird, traveling through time and space, taking in the images you created as true memories, finally recaptured after a long period of forgetfulness. You are truly good at this Afaitu … much better than my relatives!”

“Don’t rag on your relatives, Eperona. Your parents have named you well,” replied Afaitu. And both Eperona and Erik nodded in compliance.

Afaitu looked out toward the sea and said: “It is time for us to return to the island; we should pack up and get going while the sea is still calm.”

Erik then asked: “Afaitu, you have told us that Mu will once again resurface as a continent and civilisation. Does that have anything to do with the predictions about Armageddon and the shift of collective spiritual world consciousness … you know: ascension, tribulation, and the ecological challenges we are currently facing?”

Afaitu looked quite pensive, and replied: “I believe so, anyway. Although one would think that Polynesia would certainly be washed away as a result of polar shifts, nuclear testing and the growing materialism which is overtaking our spiritual identity due to tourism, the legends predict that Mu will re-emerge and that Polynesia eventually will again become a flourishing spiritual centre and haven for the enlightened beings in this part of the world.”

And with that, all fell quiet … and no one said another word until they took it upon themselves to bid farewell to each other when they docked the fishing boat on the island of Pora Pora. Once on land again, they hugged and kissed each other saying solemnly and slowly (as if they did not want the moment to end): “Parahi oe ….. Au revoir”, and they parted ways … returning to their own individual realities, forever influenced by their deep-seated – collective experience.


Part one / 1ère Partie –

Four poetic homages about / quatre hommages poétiques concernant Pora Pora (Bora Bora).

1) A palette of delicacies

Cloudless azure skies
break silently
against turquoise sea lines.
The sun burns hot
on tattooed skin,
dripping with sun lotion
and sweat.
We devour a
palette of delicacies;
astounding views,
a peacefulness beyond description,
a dish of mahi mahi and a cold beer
next to our beach chairs.
We are born again …
on the island of Bora Bora –
the ‘first born’ paradise –
truly, a homage to the godliness in us all.

1) Palette de délices

Le ciel azuré, sans nuages
se brise en silence
sur l’horizon d’une mer turquoise.
Le soleil brûle
sur la peau tatouée,
l’huile bronzante
se mêlant à la sueur …
nous savourons
une palette de délices;
vues époustouflantes,
paix indescriptible,
un plat de mahi mahi et une bière froide
à côté de nos chaises longues.
Nous renaissons …
sur l’île de Bora Bora –
le premier de tous les paradis –
hommage éternel à la piété des hommes.

2) Tiki

Our otherwise smiling, amenable and
rather handsome island tour guide
had suddenly had quite enough … of
overweight and slow-moving,
middle-aged Americans; of
crude, photo-snapping idiots and
tattooed pseudo-celebrities; and
of the rude European nouveau-riche –
not to mention his own tired feet …
all he really wanted was a
swim in the lagoon (alone),
and afterwards a few
cold beers with his friends.
His patience was already
spent as they approached the
tiki at the last stop of the tour
before returning to the point of departure.
He smiled dryly to the group
and explained that the statue
emulated an ancient Polynesian
God who was both quarrelsome
and impatient:
“You see,” he said.
“He could not bear idiocy …
obviously, he was on the
wrong planet.”

2) Tiki
Notre beau guide, d’habitude souriant,
en avait soudainement assez …
de tous ces Américains, essouflés et vulgaires,
avec leur surpoids, si lents à se déplacer;
prenant des photos à tout va;
de ces pseudo-célébrités avec leurs tatouages;
des nouveaux-riches européens fats et arrogants –
et, de surcroît, il avait maintenant mal aux pieds …
il n’aspirait plus qu’à prendre
un bain dans le lagon (tout seul),
et ensuite, qu’à partager quelques bières fraîches avec ses amis.
Il était à bout de patience,
tandis qu’ils approchaient de tiki,
dernière étape de l’excursion.
Avant de revenir au point de départ,
il sourit sèchement au groupe et
expliqua que la statue représentait
un Dieu polynésien de l’antiquitié,
querreleur et impatient:
“Voyez-vous,” dit-il.
“il ne supportait pas les sots …
de toute évidence, il appartenait à une autre planète.”

3) Vahine of Bora Bora (my secret love)

I have a secret love:
as mysterious as the coral reef,
and as sweet as the scent of
coconut oil mixed with tiare flowers.
We have never spoken, and yet we
instinctively recognise the caresses
clumsily hidden behind our stolen
glances and repressed giggles.
I have a secret love
who cannot be possessed.
She is an object of beauty
to be admired from a distance
and to be made love to in my dreams.
I am for her a curiosity, and only one of many
images of passion to be communicated
in her ritual and ceremonial dances.
I cannot help but stare at the sensuality
of her womanly curves and gyrations
which capture me and hold me hostage.
I have a secret love:
she is my vahine …
in my dreams.

3) Vahiné de Bora Bora (mon amour secret)

J’ai un amour secret:
aussi mystérieux que le récif de corail,
et aussi doux que le parfum de l’huile de coco
mêlé aux fleurs de tiare.
Nous n’avons jamais parlé,
mais nous sentons instinctivement
les caresses maladroitement cachées
sous nos regards volés
et nos rires étouffés.
J’ai un amour secret …
qui ne peut être possédé.
Elle est un objet de beauté,
que l’on admire à distance
et à qui on fait l’amour en rêve.
Je ne suis pour elle qu’un point de curiosité,
et l’une des mille images s’immiscant
dans ses rituels et ses danses.
Je ne peux que la regarder fixement
admirer la sensualité de ses courbes,
de sa souplesse féline
qui m’envoûtent
et me tiennent en otage.
J’ai un amour secret:
dans mes rêves
elle est ma vahiné …

4) The Universal Language of Light.

Dusk sets quietly over
the lagoon at Bora Bora …
on the horizon
are blue-white particles
of light energy;
coagulating and forming
a slideshow projection
of ancient and futuristic
symbols from worlds
long since forgotten –
and many as yet unknown.
This strange ‘language’ is
no mere phenomenon,
but it also has properties for
healing, teaching and communication.
Not merely meant to be seen
as apparitions in the sky,
these symbols are light-sound
energy imprints and transmissions
which constitute a new means of
telepathy between humans
as we move into the Golden Age
and the Fourth Dimension.
Needless misunderstanding and
separation of consciousness
within the humanoid basic triangle
– intellect, heart and soul –
are no longer an impediment nor
a source of disillusionment.
(Shhhh … )
If you are closely attuned you can
both hear and feel the vibrations
of these perfect symbols accompanying
the beating and humming from your
own heart and soul, calming the
ruminations of the Mind down to
the most basic energy sound of all:
“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh …”

4) La langue universelle de la lumière.

Le crépuscule s’étend majestueusement
au-dessus du lagon de Bora Bora …
a l’horizon, les particules blanc-bleues
de l’énergie lumineuse se coagulent
puis s’assemblent comme
dans une projection de diapositives
où l’on reconnaît les symboles antiques
et futuristes de mondes
depuis longtemps oubliés
et jusqu’ici inconnus.
Cet étrange langage n’est pas
qu’un simple phénomène, il a également
des pouvoirs de guérison,
d’enseignement et de communication.
Il ne s’agit pas que de simples apparitions dans le ciel,
ces symboles sont des sources d’énergie,
de bruit et de lumière, constituant
une nouvelle forme de télépathie
entre les humains, alors que
nous entrons dans l’âge d’or et
dans la quatrième dimension.
Malentendus et séparations inutiles
de la conscience au sein du triangle
qui forme la base de l’humanité –
l’intellect, le coeur et l’âme –
ne sont plus ni empêchement
ni source de désillusion.
(Chuuut …)
Ecoutez, écoutez donc …
vous pourrez alors entendre et sentir
les vibrations de ces symboles
qui accompagnent le battement
de votre coeur et le chant de votre âme,
apaisant toute révolte de l’esprit,
étouffant le cri le plus fondamental de tous:
“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh …”

Photos by Adam Donaldson Powell

Copyright Adam Donaldson Powell


Notable excerpts from other multilingual works.

EXCERPT FROM “2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel”:


Icueza cantare moenø pei
solani veinå quon mare
icueza mentari elizena che
quale øpfani en tana.

Zingara sten farno,
fantuvi goan rulci mene,
eluelco neuxpå zentaven amu.
Ulempå skovå nnana
cquerca wuleka … intelgo;
cquerca wuleka … zingara.

Zingara sten farno –
sten farno accompli.
Tes quofta Kristiania,
Tes quofta.

Tes qofta Kristiania, tes quofta Kristiania,
Tes quofta … tes quofta.


Cher Jacques,

Félicitations ! Ta chanson “Ne me quitte pas” est devenue un succès énorme. Tu fais sentir ta douleur … en utilisant la veine ensorcellante de Maurice Ravel, comme dans son ” Boléro “, où tu gardes le même refrain et le même ton calme, mais la colère en plus, dans tes mots. Et tu te protèges d’une manière si poignante en me demandant à plusieurs reprises de ne pas te quitter, à en devenir fou de rage. Ta chanson nous ravit, mais en même temps, elle a plongé le poignard dans le coeur de notre conte de fées.

Si seulement tu n’étais pas si lâche. Pourquoi n’as-tu pas pu exprimer tes craintes et tes émotions dans la vie réelle, au lieu de me faire passer pour un citoyen banal? Comme ta stupide maîtresse, qui a voulu exploiter ta gloire et ta réputation ? Tu sais que je ne me suis jamais soucié de telles choses. Je t’ai simplement aimé. Et toi, tu … tu as seulement été amoureux du romantisme, du simple fait “d’être amoureux “. L’annonce de notre “enfant d’amour” s’est avérée trop pesante pour toi. J’ai aussi eu peur. Mais tu étais un enfant, jouant à être un homme. Ma fierté ne m’a pas permis de porter les ombres que tu décrivais dans ta chanson. Et comment oses-tu inclure mon chien adoré dans ta chanson pitoyable… ? “Laisse-moi devenir l’ombre de ton ombre, l’ombre de ta main et l’ombre de ton chien “

Tu exprimes ta colère et ta confusion tout en me priant de ne pas te quitter. La vérité est que tu n’étais jamais complètement là dans notre relation d’amour. J’étais un jouet pour toi, un joyau à chérir dans le secret … mais tu ne m’as jamais vraiment aimée comme un homme devrait aimer une femme. Je sais que je dois sembler amère. En vérité, je ne le suis pas. Je me sens finalement libre de devenir la femme que je suis … libérée de cet homme immature qui me détruisait avec ses émotions toujours changeantes et extrêmes. Tant d’apitoiement sur soi-même, tant de colère et d’indifférence soudaine ! Non, notre “enfant d’amour” n’a aucune réalité et il n’existera jamais. J’aime ma chambre sans berceau. Pourquoi n’écrirais-tu pas une nouvelle chanson, Jacques ? “la chanson des vieux amants …”?

Ne me quitte pas …

ne me quitte pas …
ne me quitte pas …
ne me quitte pas …

Assez !

Je ne t’ai jamais quitté … parce que je ne t’ai jamais eu.

Entendons-nous : tu ne me parles pas – et je ne te parle pas. C’est mieux comme ça. Tu peux maintenant écrire toutes les chansons que tu veux de notre amour perdu et devenir ainsi encore plus riche et plus célèbre.

Et je me contenterai d’épouser le plombier ou le charpentier.

Je pourrai alors chérir mes enfants, des enfants conçus avec amour.

J’aurais d’utiliser ce subjonctif que tu aimais tant, je regrette de ne pas y avoir pensé plus tôt!



Kjære Lysarbeidere,


Jeg ble født her på Jorden i august 1962, og jeg har alltid ønsket å vende tilbake til den evige Kilden – i hvert fall så lenge som jeg kan huske. Det er mulig at jeg aldri burde inkarnert på Jorden på dette tidspunkt. Jeg har gått fra det å være en naiv person som forsøkte alltid å tro på det beste potensialet i andre mennesker – uansett hvor mye de såret meg eller andre; fra det å prøve å være en «engel» og rettighetsforkjemper på Jorden overfor mange som lider på grunn av at de ikke passer inn i samfunnets bilder av «fine, gode og lykkelige» mennestyper; og fra det å uttrykke gjennom mine kunstneriske arbeider mitt syn på menneskehetens helhet til å være en liten del av Gud som er utslitt og som har sluttet å skinne. Jeg har nå innset at jeg er kun et menneske … uansett hva jeg eller andre trenger å tro av ulike grunner – og at jeg også trenger en viss livskvalitet for at livet skal ha verdi i den daglige tilværelse.

Jeg har alltid sagt at jeg ikke er redd for å dø, men heller for å leve et liv uten mening og livskvalitet. Jeg har også sagt at jeg tror gjerne at jeg vil eventuelt dø av mine egne nevroser. Tiden har nå kommet. Mine avtalte oppdrag i denne inkarnasjon er ferdige, og jeg har bestemt meg for ikke å ta på meg flere i denne omgang. Jeg skulle kanskje gjerne vært med og stått i frontlinjen helt frem til 2012 og senere, men jeg velger å avslutte turen ved å følge Dere til døren. Nå er det opp til hver enkelt å bestemme om han/hun vil gå inn i den høyere dimensjonen, eller ikke. Jeg er ikke lei av mitt åndelige arbeide, men veldig sliten av det å leve i et verdenssamfunn hvor både «Gud» og egen identitet karakteriseres av grådighet, selv-opptatthet, manglende medfølelse, penger, makt og separasjonsbilder (dvs. troen på det at mennesker er separate enheter uten sterke tilknytninger til hverandre, plante- og dyrearter, miljøet osv.); hvor mennesker ikke vil forstå og akseptere at vi er alle sammen Gud – at vi alle sammen utgjør «guddommelighet» her på Jorden, og har dermed et stort personlig og felles ansvar med hensyn til det vi skaper og de virkeligheter vi opprettholder gjennom våre tanker, ord og handlinger. Det er blitt veldig vanskelig for meg å se hvor lett det hadde vært for Jordens innbyggere å snu på den utviklingen vi har skapt og som vi skaper for oss og våre etterkommere hvert minutt, og samtidig oppleve den store motstanden som stadig hever grensene med hensyn til både kynisismen og vanskelighetsgraden til den åndelige oppgaven. Motstanden skyldes ikke bare de firkantede og uhensiktsmessige politiske, sosiale, økonomiske og religiøse systemer vi har skapt og institusjonalisert over hele Jorden, men kanskje mest det store antallet individer og grupper som opprettholder tankeganger, ord og handlingsmåter som vi vet at vi selv ikke ønsker å måtte oppleve; men så lenge vi har det bra nok selv i øyeblikket (med hensyn til helse, til personlig og materialistisk trygghet og frihet) så ofrer vi ikke noe for å stå sammen imot det vi vet innerst inne er urettferdig og destruktiv. Enkelte stemmer har begrenset innvirkning – de blir forbipassende og best husket i historiebøker; men en «samlet stemme» kan bevege både mennesker og tankemåter. Jeg skulle ønske at vi var flere på dette viktige tidspunkt i Jordens historie. Det kommer flere nye hver dag, men til og med to menneskeår til blir for mange for meg nå. Jeg vet hva og hvem som venter på andre siden av sløret … og jeg har hatt hjemlengsel siden jeg ble født.

Jeg forlater dere her på Jorden, men ikke i den åndelige og virkelige helheten. Jeg håper at noe av det jeg har tenkt, sagt, skrevet, kjempet for og gjort har inspirert eller kommer til å inspirere noen andre til å gjøre en ekstra innsats for menneskeheten; og jeg håper at de som har vært såret av meg eller som har såret meg forstår at vi var alle mennesker og en del av det samme guddommelige uttrykket. Ingen er perfekte, og ingen kan bli det heller … det finnes ingen absolutt sannhet – men vi er her for å oppleve, for å lære av våre erfaringer og (forhåpentligvis) for å legge igjen noe positivt og verdensutviklende i den tiden vi er her på Jorden. Jeg håper at jeg har gjort det for mange … jeg har i hvert fall gjort det jeg har kunnet og frykter ingen fordømmelser i denne verden eller den virkeligheten jeg har nå valgt å gå mot.

Takk og farvel fra en som kanskje aldri var ment for denne planet, men som ble faktisk her mye lengre enn antatt.

Z. Christensen


“En este momento”:

Tenemos sólamente este momento. Una pausa sola, sin aliento.
Un momento sin comienzo o final. Una eternidad.
Un beso que quema nuestros labios. Una pasión ilimitada.
Un momento que nunca puede ser olvidado.
Mis sueños son siempre mojados cuando me duermo … pensando en tí.
Una mujer; un hombre … somos perfectos.

Pero no siempre perfecto juntos. Vivo para aquellos momentos
de perfección. Vivo para morir de amor por tí.
Tenemos sólamente este momento. Una pausa sola, sin aliento.
Un momento sin comienzo o final. Una eternidad.
Mi cuerpo tiembla … cuando tus pestañas cepillan contra mis mejillas.
Una pasión ilimitada. Un momento que nunca puede ser olvidado.

Abrázame, y nunca me déjes ir. Este es nuestro momento.
Una mujer … un hombre; somos perfectos.

Perfectamente ahora … somos perfectos.


Francisco — mi Mentor querido,

Pienso en usted a menudo … incluso ahora. Usted es, y usted siempre será, mi Mentor. Somos tan parecidos, usted y yo – ambos hombres de conciencia que condujo nuestros países a hacerse sociedades fuertes con economías modernas. No es siempre fácil conducir aquellos que rechazan ser conducidos … que deciden permanecer en la ignorancia. Ellos a veces deben ser eliminados para el bien de muchos. Es para eso que los militares y las fuerzas de seguridad son: mantener ” la verdadera democracia “.

Una de las grandes decepciones de mi vida era también uno de mis momentos más orgullosos. Era triste de ver que yo fui el único jefe de estado extranjero a asistir en su entierro. Al menos Ferdinand Marcos envió a su esposa Imelda en su lugar. Pero esto era un momento orgulloso para mí : estar solo ante el mundo en la conmemoración de uno de los mayores líderes de la historia … mi Mentor.

Somos tanto Católico, como por lo tanto somos concedidos con la gracia de Dios. Pueda la memoria de la historia de usted nunca morir. Un día seremos ambos reconocidos por nuestra grandeza y nuestro amor supremo y compasión por nuestra gente.

Hasta entonces, mi amigo querido, descanse en paz y le uniré sobre “el otro lado del tiempo” bastante pronto.

Pensando en tí,
A. Pinochet


My extreme literary works with gay themes.

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“Extreme literature” can be philosophical, political, religious, sexually-oriented, profane, or just downright ‘dangerous’ because it rocks others’ boat(s) personally. Not all literature is “pretty”, and even humour can be considered provocative. Many authors have works they (and others) consider to be “extreme”. All throughout the history of art and literature, artists and writers have pressed against and played with society’s tolerances – in both “liberal” epochs, “conservative” epochs and (as now) in states of “moral confusion”, where Western concepts of freedom of speech sometimes butt against national and local cultural mores and social politics; and where danger lurks and thrives on non-specific and situational social codes and fears.

The concept of ‘EXTREME ART AND LITERATURE’ changes all the time. What is actually ‘extreme’ today – in a mixture of globalised, regionalised, nationalised and localised perspectives? My own opinion is that ‘extreme art and literature’ today takes its starting point in the accepted banalities of everyday life, experiences and consciousness on the respective and combined levels (social, philosophical, political, economical, sexual and spiritual). Contemporary ‘extreme art / literature’ no longer attempts to shock in an obvious way, but rather entices the public to feel that he / she is a ‘member’ of the experiential understanding and consciousness, only to interject a “triggering” aspect that creates a sense of uncomfortableness caused by the realization that one has been busted by a banality. These “trigger mechanisms” are (in fact) integral parts of the art itself – often passing by in fleeting moments, sometimes blended in with an obsessive and “flat” (journalistic or photojournalistic) expression or a long tirade of banalities that do not even pretend to be surrealistic. These small “electrical shock” triggers will hopefully ignite an inner experience within the public so that the viewer / reader begins to investigate his / her own personal reality, his / her actual contributions to a collective reality and hopefully to re-evaluate his / her own concept of what one prefers to create as an individual and collective reality. The illusion of spiritual and emotion separation (the illusion that we are all separate, individual and self-sustaining entities that can determine our roles on Terra or in the Interlife totally without contact or influence with / from others) is a vital element here, and that common illusion is therefore “fertile ground” for artists. Here we artists and authors can play, provoke, prevaricate, entice, seduce and fool the audience to believe in us as a part of “themselves”, and then trigger the reader / viewer to consider the possibility that there might be (in fact) a miscommunication or misconception running loose … a sense of everyday reality that is inconsistent or which has consequences that one was never aware of.

Perhaps the most meaningful and interactive way to help another person to ‘wake up’ from their perceptual drowsiness is to enter into their everyday dreams and illusions (their banalities) and suddenly say “BOO !!!” Artists and authors who attempt to shock through their art with the blatantly obvious, often thus fail to explore and exploit the deeper, symbolic depths of the subconscious and the more mystical elements that make up our everyday and banal thoughts, activities, attitudes etc., and therefore are denied “personal access” by some viewers / readers who may consider the art to be too intellectual, too elitist, too directly confrontational, or too foreign. Sex and religion are often used today in art and literature as “shock elements”. It is not necessarily sex or religion which are provocative or interesting in themselves, but rather the unspoken and quietly accepted perceptions that we chain ourselves to unquestionably, and which can totally be set in chaos just by the artist and author changing or adding one simple element or context that we do not feel belongs in our reality-defining “picture”.

‘Extreme art and literature’ is thus not blatantly provocative in itself; it rather shows the audience the possible ramifications of acceptance, non-involvement, personal meanings and behaviour by confronting us with triggered or mixed in ‘extreme’ moments, and then lets the audience choose to begin its own personal creative life process of evalution and re-creation (if desired) … without commentary or guidance.

Adam Donaldson Powell, Norway

Among my “extreme literary and visual art works” are several with gay themes. These include (primarily): Gaytude (poetry), 2014: the life and adventures of an incarnated angel (sci-fi), The tunnel at the end of time (sci-fi), Entre Nous (romance), The Stalker (romance).

I have also had many art exhibitions with hiv/aids as a focus.

“AIDS er helt ræva” (AIDS is totally ass), a photographic cooperation between Adam Donaldson Powell and Per Eidspjeld