Each of us has any illusions of being "someone" in something, or at least "something" someone, and lays his heart in such a substitute for happiness.
We excel then in some physical, intellectual or moral, or at least some technical skill, artistic or sports, and everything to draw attention to ourselves, to find a bit 'of that affection able to fill the void that confuses us.
"We suffer all of 'failing to be', one of the deepest needs of man is the need for identity: I need to know who I am, I need to exist in my own eyes and the eyes of others" (1) .
How many kids today are looking to build its own identity from the ringing of the phone, from the clothes you wear or other goods of equal futility?
"We are all born with a deep wound that we live as a lack, a lack of being. To try to remedy this lack for compensation: all human beings seek to construct a compensatory way, different from one another, Depending on the wound. Everyone will manufacture therefore a 'ego', different from the 'self' is true, as a big balloon that inflates "(2).
We are all filled balloons, even a small pin prick to go to pieces!
But then what is, ultimately, the only thing left and that it deserves to be preserved our identity?
Love is what remains when, despite our failures, our divisions, the words which survive, up from the bottom of the night like a barely audible song, the certainty that beyond the disasters of our products, beyond the joy , of the punishment, birth, death, there is a space that no threat, that nothing has ever put in danger and that there is no risk of being destroyed, an area intact, that the ability to love and be loved, which was founded on our being.
(1.2, Jacques Philippe, inner freedom)
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