Attempts to communicate with the Universe. Lettres à l’Univers et autres destinataires.

The mere fact you’re a twenty-ten, rather than a two thousand something, makes you way cooler than your predecessors. There’s hope. I’m looking forward to you as the year where everything planted grows and rejoices under the sun. I’ve worked hard, this past year, to assess and improve. Come on, 20/10, you’re space, you’re time, so I ask you this: will you support my endeavors by being solid as gold whatever I’m doing, whether I’m writing, parenting, meditating, exercising, laughing, thinking, dancing, loving? There’s a little bit of David Bowie in me… I love time as much as it scares me. You’re my year to conquer all fears.

Mad Love,
MN

Wow. Where I should even start… I first thought, spontaneously, “good riddance”. But the second after, I thought, “Wow, holy craperoni, no way, 2009 was actually great, intense, filled with lessons and experiences…” So here is how I’ll start: Thank You, 2009, you’ve taught me a lot.

Lessons learned this year sometimes came wrapped up in sandpaper. Like the one about choosing to stay true to myself, even if that meant explaining to Clarisse, time and time again over the course of a few months, that, no, breakfast in bed with mommy and daddy wasn’t an option anymore, because sometimes people just aren’t in love anymore, and to each his own bed, and that’s ok, it’s a grown-up thing and we still love you forever and forever and that will not change. Or the one about accepting that people’s issues are not your own, that you can’t change people if they don’t want to, and even if they’ve changed you.

Lessons also come in a shimmery coat of joy, like the realization that you can do whatever you want to do, that you can let go of the angst and the pain and the past, and embrace the cracks and the quirks that make you special and unique and wonderful. Or that in a few weeks, you’re able to conquer all five positions of the Tibetan Yoga cycle. Or that writing is what your life is about and you’ve already co-written one book, three screenplays, 25 songs. Or that you have faithful loyal brilliant caring talented inspiring friends across the universe and beyond. And, above it all, that your four-year-old child can one day verbally express her fear of death and a few weeks later, how much she loves her life. And isn’t it what it’s all about…

2009, you’ve been good to me. Good because filled with changes, friendship, personal revolutions, and love, in unusual unromantic ways.

I’m grateful. And looking forward to 2010. But more on that later.

Mad Love to you, and to myself, and to everyone,
MND

Will you slow down already! I keep meaning to write new blog letters, to old friends and current witnesses of the various states of MN, and time goes by and I don’t write. It’s not even that I’m soooo very busy right now, it’s just that I’m diving into end of the year nothingness. Or allness. Or both.

The end of the year is traditionally my über-phase of reflection. What have I done and what will I do? What on earth and for crying out loud have and shall I apply myself to? I also have a letter to Lisa the awesome Aussie in the works on motherhood versus womanhood. Maybe I’ll try wrapping that one today, help add perspective to my end of the year debrief. Of course, that’s if I can extract myself from the movie marathon I’m engrossed in.

Clarisse left two mornings ago for a week of country time at her grandparents’ house, which means I’m free to do whatever the hell I want after weeks of Santa Clausing fury. You’d think I’d be off running the streets, getting myself into trouble and connecting to my deeper senses (read promiscuous sex, of course). But times have changed, they have, and men bore me. More on that later. So instead, I’m relishing the silence of my apartment, and am already well into my 8th or 9th movie, I think. Including a trip outside to check out 3D Avatar and 3D popcorn with my brother to chaperone me. He’s not a man, he’s my little brother.

The thing is, aside from Avatar because, while visually stunning, it really is just entertainment (though many lessons are to be learned for such a collection of cliché-based characters and dialogues), the thing is… where was I..? Oh yeah, so the thing is, after watching 8 or 9 movies which have all been pretty good, or sometimes really good, and even deep in their resonance within my own current questions, well, it struck me. Fictional characters depicted in movies are more engaged in who they are and what they’re facing than actual real human beings in real life, who seem to be floating between their lines and their scenes like bad actors. I find that, for the most part, people are not engaged in themselve, they’re just pretending, and they suck at it. In conversations. In reunions. And as a result, they’re mostly boring. Like bad actors. And the people who are engaged, well, they live far away, travel a lot, scatter their attention somewhat. So it’s no wonder really that I have been spending so much time as a recluse hermit of sorts.

That said, one of the things I’m looking forward to in 2010 is traveling. I’m definitely going to India, or New Zealand, or Japan. Somewhere different with different people who think differently from me. Challenge my perception of human beings.

That’s a good start to my 2010 list.

Mad Love,
MND

Ca va être compliqué de t’écrire cette lettre en français alors que j’ai promis d’être ta marraine qui te rendra bilingue, mais le fait est que tes petits et grands camarades ici présents ne vont rien comprendre sinon. Quand tu seras parfaitement bilingue, tu prendras conscience des limites crasses de ton environnement, et tu t’adapteras avec grâce. Euh, pour la grâce, tu vois avec ta mère, s’il-te-plaît…

Quand Fred -ta mère- toujours elle, m’a annoncé qu’elle et Marc (oui, ton père, le grand qui s’énerve tout le temps mais qui est drôle, donc ça passe), quand ta mère disais-je, m’a proposé d’être marraine, j’ai fait des petits bonds, j’ai applaudi, j’ai esquissé quelques pas de danse, bref, j’ai manifesté ma joie. Oui, en pleine rue. A ce propos, n’aie honte de rien, Charlie. Jamais. Ca fait partie des milliers de trucs que je vais t’apprendre. Parce que marraine, c’est un concept. C’est la classe. C’est l’interaction adulte/enfant sans risquer d’en coller pour dix ans de psychanalyse à qui que ce soit.

Marraine, c’est comme dans La Belle au Bois Dormant, ou Cendrillon, mais en symbolique, hein, parce que les citrouilles et les princes charmants, et les folles furieuses qui crachent du feu, ça n’existe pas. Encore que, dans une réalité toute relative, les folles furieuses… mais on en parlera plus tard. Donc une marraine, c’est symbolique. D’après mon expérience, c’est une femme excentrique, drôle, fantasque, qui peut te présenter la vie sous un autre angle. Ma marraine, elle est comme ça.

Tiens, récemment, elle m’a offert le drapeau des Etats-Unis entièrement brodé en perles et en paillettes, mais redécoupé version culotte et soutien-gorge. C’est ça mon exemple de marraine, et j’ai l’intention d’être à la hauteur. Et je crois que tes parents comptent sur moi pour ce genre de choses, parce que les paillettes United States of Disco glam, c’est pas leur truc… Je sais, c’est bizarre…

D’ailleurs, en tant que ma filleule, tu pourras aussi me dire des horreurs sur tes parents, quand tu seras en crise d’adolescence aiguë, et je te comprendrai, mais j’aimerai quand même tes parents. Et même quand tu me demanderas des questions hyper inappropriées sur les limites du bondage, je resterai ta marraine cool, ouverte d’esprit, et renseignée sur les choses de la vie. Et tes parents m’aimeront quand même.

En anglais, Charlie chérie, tu es ma goddaughter, mon enfant de Dieu, et moi ta mère de Dieu, ta godmother. La tradition veut que je sois là pour superviser ton éducation religieuse. Que je te guide sur le chemin de Dieu. Il y a 20 ans, je t’aurais fait écouter du Sex Pistols, lu des extraits de Zarathoustra pour t’expliquer que Dieu était mort, et que c’était bien fait, et te raconter comment la religion a de tout temps semé la terreur dans les coeurs et instillé la peur dans nos sociétés. Heureusement, c’est un baptême républicain, Charlie chérie, et tu n’es donc pas ma filleule dans un contexte religieux, mais démocratique.

En tant que citoyenne, tu dois cohabiter avec pleins de gens qui savent à peine qu’ils ont une âme mais qui veulent te donner des ordres. On en reparlera quand ce sera le moment, de ça aussi, des problématiques de l’autorité dans notre système, des atomes de l’Univers qui vibrent en chacun de nous, de l’hyperconscience cosmique qui nous relie à l’Amour avec un grand A, de la chance que tu as d’avoir des parents conscients, évolués, drôles, fous de toi, et plutôt pas mal de leurs personnes.

On en reparlera, parce qu’on a toute la vie pour ça, et que pour l’instant, tu es une petite fille à bisous, qu’on a envie de manger (symboliquement) et d’aimer très fort.

Merci, Charlie, Fred, Marc, de m’accepter dans vos vies de cette manière. Ca me met en joie. Et vive la République.
MND

So it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written to anyone. Actually, it feels like it’s been a few weeks since I’ve even spoken to anyone. Now of course, that’s not true. I have been communicating. Sorta. Over the phone. Via Skype. It occurrred to me the other day that my social interaction/voluntary isolation ratio has totally shifted in just a few years. The good news is, when I actually do interact with people, I’m charming and open-minded and interested.

Truth be told, even though I actually feel way more at peace that I used to, I sometimes wonder if I’m flirting with peace inside or with plain old depression. The answer is, I think, that I’m actually getting to know myself, and still beating around the bush a bit. I think. I’m on the second or third date with myself. Should I suggest we go upstairs for a drink, or play hard to get?

And by beating around the bush, I refer, among other things, to beating myself up for not doing enough, not being enough, not creating enough. The paradox, in these phases I go through, is that suddenly I enter what I might call my “Nothing” mode. Remember this song by Radiohead, the one in which Thom Yorke sings “I’m not there” and you’re not sure whether he wants to dig a hole and hide, or melt into a billion stars before merging with the Universe? That’s what my “Nothing” modes feel like (yes, I know, I’m in love with Radiohead). The problem with the Nothing is that I just stop doing, well, pretty much anything. That’s of course, uh, when I’m not entertaining and feeding and nurturing my four-year-old punk rocker, but since she now goes to school, my parenting duties begin at 7:25am, stop at 8:40am, resume at 4:25pm, and end with the grand story-telling finale at 8:15pm. In between, I feel like I’m doing nothing. Or trying to. Or trying not to not.

During those hours, I’ll fall in love with Hugh Laurie, Tim Roth, wonder how many writers work on TV shows, and if they have time to even watch TV shows, I’ll read, I’ll make food, I’ll write for 5 minutes, I’ll read, I’ll forget to answer mail, I’ll wonder about whether I should be writing, scheduling my life, meeting people, or not, and if not, why, and if so, why. I’ll also nap, smoke cigarettes, drink coffee, find excuses not to see anyone except my shrink, and I’ll just, again, wonder why, how, if, when, who, but and all that. Oh, and occasionally I’ll feel really good about everything being about nothing and nobody (which reminds me, I’m also in love with this recurring character in Neil Gaiman’s books, called Nobody).

So mostly, it’s a mixed feelings mode, because it usually implies I’m not working on a project that should be getting all my attention. *Or am I?* For example, right now, I mean this month, I need to be rewriting this romantic comedy I’ve been given by this great production company I really like. I worked ten days in a decent/manic mode on it. And for the last week, I’ve been in the nothing, toying with the screenplay in my head, taking notes every now and then, rewriting one scene at a time, in between Tim Roth and Hugh Laurie. Don’t ask. Needless to say, I have a lot of work ahead. Needless to say, there’s something pathological about being in the Nothing feeling like you’ve accomplished nothing, when you’ve got so many things to do.

Then, suddenly, I snap out of the Nothing. Usually, I figure this out when I get the urge to wash my hair at midnight and take my freakin’ Bach flowers and actually put on skin creme and make lists of what needs to be done. The funny thing, really, is that during my last few days of Nothing, three projects I’ve been a part of recently, have come out. Magma’s DVD I subtitled, Yodelice’s video FREE I danced in, and From Style Writing to Art, a street art anthology I worked on. So I guess my Nothing is my own way of finding directions to my Everything. And that in the shadow, lies my inner growling beast, waiting to leap out. Speaking of, here’s the really cool video for Free. I’m Mrs It. I dance, carelessly, happily, hiding under my fur. Damn, I love my life.

Mad Love, everyone and nobody, here, there, and everywhere.
MND

I’m really into your book, The Power of Now. I’ve made a point of reading it conscienciously once, and now am reading two pages a day, randomly, just to keep me on my toes, because I’m prone to distraction. A few thoughts and questions on how to further experience my sense of peace and connection with myself, those around me, and the world in general…

Really like the meditation pointers, especially the “focus on the space around you” bit. I can now actually see the space, the air, or the whatchamacallit. It’s not empty. It’s full. It’s see-through. So cool. It’s very soothing. Brings me straight back in the moment, trying to sip the greenshake despite its consistency (I’ve been experimenting with raw food). If Clarisse’s cat, Alice, wasn’t enthralled in her teenage kitty phase, storming through the apartment with the consuming purpose of destroying anything that moves, and everything that doesn’t (which includes me), I might be able to focus more than 30 seconds at a time on space and how it is made of stuff, just like the rest of the world. So, Mr Tolle, Sir, any advice on teenage kitty angst (she’s approximately four months old)? Do you think that her cat food is, possibly, laced with amphetamines?

Another question : Is it actually possible to stay in the Now between 7:33 am and 8:19 am, rather than switch to screaming and freaking out, even if loss of calm and control is due to the above mentioned owner of said cat, i.e. Clarisse (four years old and also in her teenage phase, though phase is known to have been active since her 18th month)? How does one remain in the peaceful Now when one is the mother of a human being who simply loves confrontation on pretty much any basis, but seems to have a fondness for driving above mentioned mother to the outer limits of morning madness, from breakfast to getting ready for school. Such confrontation litterally stops the second we walk though the door. By that time, though, considering the cat has found a way to turn the place upside down between 8:14 and 8:17, there’s no way we can pass the door before 8:27, which means we’re late, which means that Now is only a distant memory or a wishful projection, but certainly not a reality. And I don’t suppose reverting to violence (ie: kicking that kitty’s butt into oblivion) makes any sense for a non-violent person like me, but if I kick it with a strong sense of Now, does it count? What if I spray the cat with Water that has been blessed according to Emoto’s principles, ie water that is full of love and gratitude? If kitty gets a shower in the Now, does that make it ok? Please advise.

That said, your book is a gift for anyone looking to live better, and I’m grateful for the time you’ve put in writing it. It’s mind-opening. So thank you. Very much. It has validated my sense of expansion within, it has supported or given perspective, depending on the moment, to a lot of the actions and new habits I’ve been implementing over the last weeks, months, years, and it has brought me joy and elements for positive and productive self-reflection.

Mad Love,
MND

PS: Should the cat have been thrown in a dark closet at the beginning of this blog posting, to teach said cat a sense of Now, ie my own Now, not the kitty’s Now which seems to last forever, should the cat be freed from the closet by now?

THE POWER OF NOW, by Eckhart Tolle

I skipped a blog week, I know, just call it a vacation… But I’ve been busy. It’s been a great Summer, put quite simply. Interesting, rich, filled with contrasts and encounters and reunions. Let’s start with those.

My mother received a friend request on Facebook. From her brother. Actually, let me rephrase that. My mother received a friend request from her dead estranged father’s son whom she knew of, had looked for but had never found.

How ’bout them apples. Feels like an ad for Nokia. Technology. Connecting People. Next thing you know, someone will call with information on my biological father. I should set up an 800 number.

Our uncle is a former addict of just about everything under the sun. His story is enough to write a book on the Californian consequences of too much Flower Power in the 70s.

What else? I took the longest vacation ever, because I can do that now. Or rather, I can take a leave of absence from Paris and write wherever I am, meaning that vacation doesn’t exist for me anymore, but also meaning that writing facing the ocean is more inspiring than facing the boulevard out my apartment windows. I’m almost done with the Street Art book, which is very exciting. It goes to press in 10 days exactly. We worked very hard with Magda Danysz, and I’m hoping it will be well received.

I’ve been reading a lot. My first week was spent storming through Twilight, like a good post-teenager that I am. I enjoyed it, breezily. Not the best writing in the world, but very evocative, and I’m a sucker for vampires, what can I say. I’ve also been reading, in depth, the Power of Now. It was a perfect time for this book and me to meet. We’re best friends. I’m in the know of the Now, and utterly respectful of the work, the message, the references, the dimensions it can open. That and yoga are a giant combination. I feel the light.

I got to spend a lot of time with wonderful people over the last few weeks, and feeling very relaxed in my rapport to the world. It’s reassuring to know I have good friends to come back to, and projects to complete. I got to see Marion work on her new movie, directed by Guillaume, which was fascinating. Spent a couple of days on the set, and then would just meet them and the rest of the cast now and then for food, drinks, laughs, when I got too sick of Street Art. Real friends. Real intense people.

I feel great physically. I’m going to start greenshaking, in addition to everything else. Audrey’s been telling me wonders about it, and it seems like a good addition to my regimen. I got a bit off the raw food track during August, because of my various hosts, but managed to keep it somewhat on the menu, not to mention all the fish and oysters. And the clams I spent two hours lying down in the mud with Marion, Elise and Joel, scratching and digging blindly with my hands to find the smooth, polished little animals. There’s nothing like eating what you’ve ripped your fingers open catching.

I’ve been back in Paris for a few hours and can see how the daily things will be trying to sneak in. But I’m excited about facing the times to come with joy and peace and productivity.

I also have Jonathan, and then Trevor, coming to visit in the next few days, and I’m happy. I’m always thrilled to see old friendships evolve through time. Both of them are the kind of open and connected people who bring out the good in me. I’m also counting the hours before Clarisse comes home. Two weeks without her is strange and unusual, but video-conference is a great invention.

I’m sorting out a lot of my family issues, we’re getting a house for a mother. Very rocky process for them all, but somehow I’ve managed to completely stay sane and peaceful.

Over all, it’s all about growing and learning and being grateful and not judging and trying to improve everyday. Without judging. Ok, I’ll stop before I turn into a total hippie enlightened freak. Over and out.

Mad Love,
MND

I love writing lyrics. I’m thankful for the opportunities these last few years, and pretty amazed that finding the right words for Marcus has turned into such an experience. I’m really proud.

The song It’s Allright has been, from its inception, among my favorites. I hadn’t done any video work since leaving Art and You. So, because taking a REAL vacation freaks me out somewhere deep inside, I came up with a Summer project: to make a video with Marcus the neofolkmetal musician doing an almost acoustic version of the song.

Considering the close ties that I have developed with Marcus and his whole family these last 12 or 13 years, the adoring looks Magic Clarisse gives him and the fact she wouldn’t let me shoot in peace, these stolen images make total sense.

Lastly, I’d like to add that “alright” simply does not look all right to me. At all. So “It’s Allright”. And that’s how it should be.

Hope you like the song…
Mad Love,
MND

Hey you little star in the sky you, how goes it? I often wonder how long it will be before you start reading your crazy mom’s blog… Here’s to wishing you a wonderful fourth birthday. Four years, wow, seems like yesterday when all hell and waters broke loose.

Know this: you and your temper and your joy and your sense of humor make my life a wonderous miracle on a daily basis. I’m forever thankful that you’ve stormed in my life, bringing clarity and love into a focus I never dreamt I was missing til you came around.

Be happy, my loved one, as I am when I look at you. Because you are true. And that’s what counts.

Madly,
MN

Ok, chérie, c’est ton anniversaire, donc on va commencer avec ça, que la lumière soit, qu’elle déverse des torrents d’amour et de gloire sur ta personne céleste, c’est le moins que je puisse te souhaiter, en attendant de te retrouver pour déposer des pétales de fleurs à tes pieds. Les vraies amies sont rares, et j’éprouve régulièrement une immense gratitude envers l’Univers, pour ton regard, pour ton honnêteté, et pour le plaisir que notre relation m’apporte quasi-quotidiennement. C’est déjà beaucoup, mais peu au vu de la réalité.

Dans les news de la semaine, puisqu’on est lundi et que je fais ma mise à jour raviolis en même temps que de te souhaiter mes voeux, il y a tout de même mon aventure ferroviaire à narrer : en bonne super-maman, j’ai pensé que prendre le train de nuit pour traverser la France horizontalement avec Magic Clarisse était l’idée du siècle. Bon, d’accord, de l’été. C’est déjà ça. Autant te le dire : deux néo-zélandais ont sauvé ta Charlotte aux fraises et son engeance, non pas des eaux, mais du spray tranquillisant des cambrioleurs méchants, qui ont dû penser que deux kiwis musclés, valait mieux éviter, et se sont donc contentés de braquer nuitamment les compartiments voisins. A mon avis, ils ont dû endormir la contrôleuse qui avait juré de venir me réveiller 20 minutes avant Agen, parce que je me suis réveillée 30 minutes avant Bordeaux. Loin des pruneaux, donc. Résultat, brossage de dents avec les kiwis, et un grand-père resté seul, sur le quai, à 6 heures du mat’. Je vais en entendre parler jusqu’à Noël, c’est sûr.

Toujours dans les news, mon summer clip pour Marcus est presque fini et en post-prod camping, il devrait être en ligne d’ici fin août dans toutes les bonnes boulangeries. Le clip est fait d’images volées. Je refuse de les rendre, elles sont trop chouettes.

Enfin, j’avoue, je me suis remise au boulot, Street Art et Cinéma obligent. Mais là, à l’heure où je t’écris, je me console, à coups de rosé bien frais bien provençal, de la mort de Thierry Jonquet, grand polar-writer devant l’éternel, au sens propre comme au figuré, pour le coup. Mourir à 55 ans, quand on a son talent, c’est quand même trop con. J’adorais sa voix écrite, à cet homme, j’adorais sa noirceur teintée d’humour, enfin, je crois que c’était de l’humour, mais c’est peut-être qu’à moi qu’il faisait cet effet-là.

D’où un lundi tout en nuances, à coups de rosé, de street art, de pensées pour ton anniversaire et ta beauté exquise qui ferait virer toutes les cuties si je n’étais si hétéro, encore que, à force, on s’demande, et pour cet été en pente douce qui manque de yoga.

Allez, zou, barbecue.

I love you,
MND