It is as if we lived in an instant of security and illusory tranquility just before the cataclysm. But don't be fooled, those familiar demons aren't what we think they are. We have been led to believe that their play is innocuous. A subtle ruse to better circumvent our all-too-trusting naiveté. Buzzing hordes of the subconscious, faithful subjects of the Lord of the Flies, messengers of dreams, curators of frustrations, givers, occasionally, of good advice. These phantasmagorias cultivate our instinct for self-preservation because our preservation also guaranties theirs, which, in turn, guaranties that -- in a sort of revolting symbiosis -- these greedy beasts can devour us.

It would be tempting to become allies with them, to enrich ourselves from the deep and obscure power, but this herd, half-cunning, half-aggressive, can only be tamed if we avoid their spells using strength and prudence. Then, victorious against the aggressive gate-keepers, we might have access to the light of the inner peace. The painting "La toison d'or " (The Golden Fleece)" expresses this serenity in the rediscovery of gold.