Popolnoma sem zaljubljen v nič¹.
Kaj je tako dragocenega v tvojem življenju, kar je vredno zamenjati za večnost?
Česa se tako močno oklepaš, da je dragocenejše od brezčasnosti?
Kaj hraniš v tem življenju, ko niti tega telesa ne moreš obdržati?
Kaj vam je v tem vašem življenju tako dragocenega, da držite resnico suspendirano, začasno ustavljeno in se ne morete ločiti od svojih navezanosti in svojega strahu?
Ne zaupate, da lahko življenje poskrbi za vas bolje kot vi sami.
Predstava nas nagovarja, da se vprašamo, zakaj smo tako zvesti identiteti, njenim projekcijam in zablodam. Ta čas ne obstaja.
foto | photo: Kaja Brezočnik, Don Dron, Matej Marinček
Zavedanje nikoli ne more biti predmet. Pojavno ga ni mogoče zaznati. Zavedanje zavedanja je dejanje, ki ga ne morete storiti! Vpogled se preprosto odpira. Kar iščete, se je že zgodilo. Pravzaprav se ni zgodilo. Je, preden se vse zgodi. Je že tako. Verjamemo pa v gibanje, ki pravi: "Še vedno ne razumem." Ugotovili boste, da je "jaz", ki ga je potrebno "razumeti", sam po sebi ovira, ker je ustvaril občutek ločenosti.
Svet je samo šov, bleščeč in prazen. Obstaja - in vendar ne obstaja. Obstaja, dokler ga hočem videti in sodelovati v njem. Ko mi neha biti mar zanj, se razblini. Nima vzroka in ne služi nobenemu namenu. Enostavno se pojavi, kadar smo zamišljeni. Pojavi se točno takšen, kakršen je videti, vendar v njem ni ne globine ne pomena. Resničen je samo gledalec, recimo mu Sebstvo. Za Sebstvo je svet zgolj slikovita predstava, v kateri uživa, dokler traja; ko je končana, pozabi nanjo. Ob dogajanju na odru se trese od groze in valja od smeha, vendar se ves čas zaveda, da samo gleda predstavo. Brez želja in strahov uživa v dogajanju².
Slepa interaktivnost uprizarja koncepte, da odstrani vaše koncepte, in ko se izničijo tako naši kot vaši koncepti, je tisto, kar ostane, že tu, zdaj, bližje kot stik, bližje kot intimnost. Pravzaprav niti ni intimna, kajti intimnost pomeni razdaljo, in resnica je brez razdalje. Iščete z umom in um lahko išče samo predmet. Ali lahko um najde tisto, v čemer se sam pojavi kot predmet? Če ne razumete, je zaenkrat v redu. Ni nujno, da je smiselno. Potrebno je le intuitivno razumeti. Iščeš nekaj, ampak že iščeš iz tega prostora. Komu kapne?
___________
1 Tiho sedite in nič ne delate,
prihaja pomlad in trava sama raste.
Ali zahodna različica:
včasih sedim in razmišljam,
ampak večinoma samo sedim.
2
Sem preveč kvadratna. Pod borovci gluhega črička šelestenje boža September. Vtetoviran na notranji strani stegna se vlak spremeni v trajekt za pristanek letala Saltacovid. Oče je delal fasado, ko se je od nikoder pojavil mali nemški ovčar, ki je zdaj povsod z njim. Lunin krajec se debeli v krog lebdečih pastirjev, ovce se levijo v palice, ki se kot nerodni otroci klatijo po zakotnih ulicah. Nenavadne živalce pripovedujejo pravljice. Vse kar mislimo, da vidimo, je placebo. Dala bi mi ga, a ga nočem. Ne obstaja oseben problem, oseba je problem. Iz kufra štrli, vsak v svoji smeri proti meni. Kapljajo luknje tega krova, te police, ki briše prah z mene. Jezik raztegnem do tal in okoli vseh v prostoru kot na baročni sliki, debeli in votli sodi škripajo arijo. Dolžina 21.196 km še ni dokončna. Teci dron, teci. Suksi vittuun! Zasmučaj se v pizdo. Vsak dan je tvoj dan :: integriraj > [] < objemi :: univerzalno lepilo se odbije od časa za razmislek počitka in zamenja globo za rokavico in rokavico za Sevdalinko. Iz šestih senzorjev servira polž, v nebo jodla glinaste golobe. Časovnica Tiho Tiho pihne šumnikom strešice. Pod muco tepih levitira stopnice v nebesa, na zebri zajec harmoniko zori. Se zlepijo skupaj. Eno lončnica se je zbudila preden se je začela; na strehi sveta palica ne čuti potetoviranih nog. Vnebozetje, bum, zlata pručka. Lonec gori, ker ni vode, se smeji in se valja po tleh vsem na očeh. Na peščeni plaži samo še pokamo kufre: Maria la Portuguesa. Prijatelja spoznaš v zasedi: samo ljubezen je resnična. []
scenarij in režija | script and direction: Vlado R. Gotvan
supervizija | supervision: Simon Kardum
svetlobni kompoziti | light composits: Jure Rubelj
sokomponiranje in performans | co-composing and performance: David Cvelbar, Tatiana Kocmur, Miha Prašnikar, Manca Trampuš, Iva Tratnik
vdor realnega | the intrusion of the real: Gašper Pavletič Šenica, Matevž Ftičar, Andraž Šenica Pavletič
libera | liberos: Stipe Neretvansky, Don Dron
video animacija in robotizacija | video animation and robotics: Matej Marinček
kamera | camera: Tea Grahek, Nejc Ketiš, Pia Klančar, Matej Marinček, Baba Lan
v filmu | in film: Simone Forti, Peter Weibel, Marieke Sophie Werner, Jan Ritsema, Meg Stuart
tonski mojster | sound master: Jure Vlahovič
Attitude: Stefan Doepner
digitalna gurujka | digital guru: Dominika Maša Kozar
fotografija | photography: Kaja Brezočnik, Matej Marinček
analiza | analysis: Aljoša Kolenc
a=tF²: Igor Štromajer
posebna zavala | special thanks to: Mooji Baba, Joseph Beuys, Andreja Bolčina, Mitja Bravhar, Marjana Harcet, Iztok Ilc, Name, Nisargadatta Maharaj, Almedina Meštrovac, Jaka Mihelič, Borut Savski, Lojze Štamcar, Andraž Torkar & Alan Watts
I am totally in love with nothing¹.
What is so precious in your life and about you that is worth exchanging eternity for?
What you are holding onto so tightly that is more valuable than timelessness?
What you are keeping in this life when even this body you cannot keep?
What is so precious to you in this life of yours that you keep Truth suspended, paused, and you can't separate from your attachments or your fear?
You don't trust that life can take care of you better than you can take care of yourself.
The performance is adressing us us to ask ourself, why is it that we are so loyal to identity and its projections and delusions. Time does not exist.
Awareness can never be an object. It cannot be perceived phenomenally. Being consciously conscious of awareness is an action you cannot do! Insight is simply opening up. What you are searching for has already happened. Actually it didn't happen. It is before all happening. It is already so. But there is some movement being believed in that says, 'I still don't get it.' You will come to see that the 'I' that needed to 'get it' was itself the apperent obstacle because it created a sense of separation.
The world is merely a show, shiny and empty. It exists - and yet it does not. It exists as long as I want to see it and take part in it. The moment I no longer care for it, it vanishes. It does not have a cause, and it serves no purpose. It simply appears, whenever we are engaged in thinking. It appears precisely as it looks like; however, it does not contain any depth or meaning. There is nothing real but the witness, let us call it a Self. For a Self, the world is nothing but a picturesque performance, which one enjoys as long as it lasts; when it is finished, one tends to forget about it. Witnessing the activity on the stage, one shivers from fear and rolls about from laughter, but one is constantly aware of merely watching the performance. A desireless and fearless one enjoy the happening².
Blind interactivity stages concepts in order to remove your concepts, and when both our concepts and your concepts are nullified, then what remains is already here now, closer than contact, closer than intimacy. In fact, it is not even intimate, for intimacy implies distance, and Truth is distanceless. You are searching with the mind, and mind can only search for an object. Can mind find that in which it itself appears as an object? If you don't get it, it is ok for the moment. It doesn't have to make sense. This needs only to be intuited. You are loking for something, but you are already looking from that very place. Who gets it?
___________
1 Sitting quietly, doing nothing,
Spring comes and grass grows by itself.
Or the Western version:
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
But mostly I just sits.
2
I am far too square. Under the pines of the deaf cricket, the rustling caresses September. Tattooed on the inside of the thigh, the train turns into a ferry to land the Saltacovid plane. Father was working on a facade when out of nowhere, a small German Sheppard appeared, and now he follows him everywhere. The edge of the moon thickens into a circle of floating shepherds; the sheep are cast into sticks, wandering like awkward children through the back streets. A crescent moon is getting fatter into a circle of hovering dragonflies; sheep are shedding their skins into the sticks, which are as clumsy children roaming on the back streets. Queer animals tell tales. All we think we see is a placebo. She is willing to give me some, but I do not want it. There is no personal problem, a person is a problem. It is poking out of the suitcase, each one in its own direction towards me. The holes of this deck are dripping; this shelf wipes the dust off me. I lower my tongue down to the ground and around everybody in the space, thick and empty barrels are singing an aria. Length 21,196 km is not yet final. Run the drone, run. Suksi vittuun! Ski to a cunt :: integrate> [] < hug :: universal glue bounces back from the time for reflection and trades a glove for the Sevdah. The snail serves out of six sensors, he is yodelling clay pigeons. Silently silently the timeline blows carons to sibilants. Under a pussy, a carpet levitates up the stairs into the heaven, on a zebra a hare with accordion matures. They stick together. One stew woke up before it started; on the roof of the world, the holy wand does not feel tattooed legs. Ascension, boom, gold footstool. Pot is burning, since there is no water, laughing and rolling on the ground for everyone to see. On the sandy beach, we are only packing our suitcases: Maria la Portuguesa. You get to know a friend in an ambush: only love is real. []
