"In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." –John Muir.
Having grown up in Grenoble, in the French Alps, one of my greatest passion is to immerse myself in nature. Whether it is through hiking, skiing, climbing, swimming, or camping, being in nature reminds me of where we come from, and how small we are compared to the Earth's immensity and power. Yet, it also reminds me of its fragility and that our duty as human beings is to protect it and all its inhabitants.
As a child, school wasn't my favorite thing to do. Fortunately, it was also filled with a mix of competition sports (5 years of tennis and swimming, 10 years of -european- handball) and mountain sports. A mountain lover, my father would take me hiking or rock-climbing in the summers. In the winter, we'd chase the fresh snow up the mountains with our backcountry ski gear, hike up the final steep corridors or arretes to reach the summits and their 360 views of the Alps, and float down the mountain sides. I've always felt deeply grateful to have access to this practice where I could find complete freedom and flow states.
I have always been fascinated by the universe. I guess I am drawn towards the great mysteries of our world. What is consciousness, why are we here, or how did we get here, or is there someone else up there? A few years ago, my amazing wife got me what I always dreamed of, a telescope. While I used to get a weekly magasine with the latest discoveries and stare into the stars and constellations with my own eyes as a teenager, I now love to take photos of the moon during a clear night sky. I am still amazed by the size and number of craters on its surface, and how it is frozen in time. Because Earth is still so active and moving, we forget how our own planet has also been hit by so many large objects and how much it must have influenced our evolution and that of our ancestors.
When I used to have some free time, I really enjoyed playing some piano (Moonlight Sonata was my great favorite) and try (or I should say fail) painting following Bob Ross' tips. One of my favorite practice was to draw geometrical forms and patterns using a ruler and a compass, rediscovering some basic mathematical laws and platonic solids in an intuitive and fun way. In this drawing, we can see the famous Metatron's Cube in the middle, with some beautiful patterns of resonance emerging out of simple shapes around it (e.g., circles surrounding triangles). I've always been fascinated by how resonance is compromised by tiny errors, showing how fragile that state is, even though its omnipresent in the brain and nature.