My mission—if that word isn’t too grand for what I’m trying to say—is not to preach. Nor is it to teach in the institutional sense. It is to bear witness. To recount what I have seen, with the precision of the heart rather than the accuracy of a report. Through these trials and miracles, I have become something like a ferryman—between worlds that reason alone cannot connect, between languages that ordinary life doesn’t spontaneously translate. This is not a role I chose. It is a role that chose me, and one that I now accept with a humility that sometimes costs me, but which I cannot afford to abandon.
* * *
And that’s how this book found its way to autism.
All those years spent with people on the threshold of their own consciousness—my wife suspended between two worlds, that old man lost in the fog of his own being, and myself at my own limit—had prepared me for a particular kind of encounter. Not a clinical encounter. Not a theoretical one. An encounter of being to being, in that precise territory where the certainties of ordinary communication fade away and where one must learn to perceive differently.
Autism—as I encountered it, as I slowly learned to approach it—is not what conventional categorizations make it out to be. It is not a lack. It is not a deficiency to be corrected, a standard to be met, a delay to be made up for. It is a form of existence that vibrates on a different frequency. An immense interiority in a world that does not know how to welcome it. Having myself been on the threshold, having seen other beings stand on that edge where ordinary consciousness wavers, I recognized in autism something that had become familiar to me: a presence of a particular nature, which the usual instruments of understanding cannot capture, and which only those who have learned to be sufficiently silent can begin to hear.
This is not a book that claims to explain everything. That would be a lie to its readers. Autism is not a puzzle to be solved—it is a mystery to be inhabited, to be approached with respect, to be traversed with an attentiveness that resembles love more than science. This book was born in the silence I have learned, with great difficulty, to maintain. And it is offered to you from that silence.
* * *
To you who open these pages, I don’t ask you to believe everything. I don’t ask you to agree. I only ask you to enter—not with your certainties, which are your armor and protect you, but with what is most exposed within you: your capacity to be touched. This book is not an answer. It is a question posed with love, to those who have the courage not to flee from uncertainty. If something within you resonates with something in these pages, then the book will have accomplished what it was written for. That will be enough. That will have been, in fact, everything.
This prologue was written as a direct continuation of the first book, but it differs in its nature: it doesn’t introduce a subject, it establishes a presence. Everything that follows in these pages stems from a conviction that the trials I have endured are not unique to me—they belong to anyone who has ever held the hand of someone who was losing their way, or felt their own existence teeter on the brink. This book is for them. It is for you.
Frantz Rimpel
*********
The situation reached a point where I felt as though I had signed up for a permanent subscription to his services.
Jokingly, I said to him one day: “My dear friend, you really ought to pay me a commission on every dance party you host!
After all, he was putting me to work—making me haul around that heavy keyboard!”
Why do I draw this parallel with Artificial Intelligence?
To demonstrate that an animal possesses capabilities that AI lacks: namely, sensitivity.
I once had a dog at home—a cross between a Doberman and another breed—but he was a magnificent animal: sleek and black, with a rather lithe, slender build. I fed this dog exactly as I fed myself; more precisely, I forbade anyone from giving him any meat-based food. My spiritual guide had taught me this: “You have no right to compel your parents, your friends, or anyone else to abstain from eating meat, for they possess the faculties of discernment and judgment.
Your dog, however, falls under your direct responsibility; therefore, you have no right to feed him meat or any other product of animal origin.” And, indeed, the dog became a vegetarian, adopting the exact same diet as my own.
And every member of the household respected my wishes.
That said, if a rat 🐀 or a chicken 🐓 happened to cross his path, things would end badly for them; all that would remain to be seen were the rat’s tail or the chicken’s feathers. This simply demonstrates that an animal is endowed with animal instincts—instincts that will undoubtedly remain unchanged until a future life, when they might be transformed through the power of our positive example. Much like our parents, who often speak well of us only after we have departed. I couldn’t say whether it was a direct consequence of that treatment, but this dog developed such sensitivity that it led me to believe he was the reincarnation of a musician.
To borrow an expression from my friend Émile Volel: I loved playing the harmonica, and every time I did, the dog would let out howls as if he were singing a song. My wife would then say to me: “Oh, don’t play that instrument! You’re making the dog suffer!”—unaware that this was, in reality, a manifestation of joy; that he was, in fact, a “musician-dog” whose very soul vibrated to the sound of the harmonica.
To understand Émile’s “problem,”
I attempted an experiment one day: I played those very same pieces—this time using the “harmonica” setting on my electronic keyboard—while sitting right next to the dog. He showed absolutely no reaction—nothing comparable to the response he gave when faced with the real harmonica. But the instant I picked up the “simple” harmonica again, he immediately began to “sing.”
One day, while I was at work, I recounted this anecdote to the staff, but they simply refused to believe me.
So, I asked my daughter to go and play the harmonica for the dog; he immediately began to “sing”—letting out a soft, gentle howl—and the staff members were delighted to discover that I had been telling them the truth.
All of this demonstrates that, even if one attempts to repress one’s true nature, it always ends up coming back in full force.
To console ourselves, let us tell ourselves that artificial intelligence can never truly replace humans; it is devoid of feelings—it is nothing more than a robot 🤖. In any case, let’s give a huge round of applause for us humans! 👏 👏 👏.
Frantz,
What I am discovering in my new life is that the majority of people cling to what they know, without realizing just how much it can limit them. There is often a resistance to exploring new things—new ways of thinking and new discoveries.
And yet, today there are so many tools, insights, and possibilities available to human beings to help them better understand life, to see things differently, and sometimes even to alleviate their suffering. But many remain trapped in a hellish routine—repetitive, almost mechanical.
Your book is, quite simply, a groundbreaking work that is slowly finding its way. I have also learned that good things—profound works and anything of true quality—take time to be fully recognized. But that does not matter, for we are in no rush: it is eternity that awaits us. Jean-Yves Hakime 🐛 🦋
Yes, when my grandson asks me, “How many books have you sold so far?”
I reply: “Not enough—yet. But I hope this work will gradually find its place. It could become your legacy; when the time comes—when I’m called away—and everyone suddenly rushes to get a copy, you’ll certainly have your hands full keeping up with the demand.”
There is an extraordinary episode of *God Friended Me* where, thanks to the author ✍️ of a famous book 📕, nearly 70 tenants and their families were spared from eviction from their apartment building. Private investors had wanted to purchase the building to convert it into a luxury hotel; however, because the book in question had been written within those very walls, the building had been designated a historical landmark—meaning no one could take possession of it under any pretext whatsoever.
That is Episode 13, mentioned above.
Thank you 🙏 for your kind words of appreciation.