STEP TRAIL

@Director

Once I wrote the following short piece for a young woman who was feeling low. A physical problem was consuming, together with her body, also the energy that the body supports. She was English, I wrote to her in English; I had never seen her, I knew about her problem, she knew I wanted to help.
No contract or notified consent, but the condivision of a moment between a doctor and a patient, who would never be his patient, if not in the reliance/trust of a moment. The operation brought her 'luck'!
Please, don't ask me to translate it into Italian: it was conceived to be in English, but try and... fearlessly climb up!

"Come close… Once there was a steep trail that was sometimes chosen as a passageway by the rains in winter and much rarer by a solitary wayfarer. Never at night, though... the trail was always there, but it seemed that even the moon avoided it, so hidden amidst the thorns and bushes. Season after season it was shunned, viewed as inaccessible because it was out of the way or because there were less steep paths in the mountains.One day, unable to endure its fate no longer, the trail decided to slide down, tired with the life. It waited until the winter floods arrived, when the water wildly sweeps away all sorts of things in its path… and it threw itself into the downward descent during the first big thunderstorm… When it finally reached the bottom, the trail felt endless pleasure, stretching out in the plains, the sun warming every once inaccessible corner, and the sounds of a place that is no longer solitary, yet…... soon the trail became bored and longed for the steep thoughts it used to have alone on the western side of the tall mountain… The trail could no longer return uphill … so tired and dejected, it let the current carry it further down... ending up in the bed of a stream, where it found itself bathing the feet of a little girl … Slightly fearful yet curious, the trail – yes, that precise trail, so used to precipices -- climbed up the little girl’s legs… entered her thoughts… and silently convinced her to be taken once again to the mountain top, nestled now in her fresh, curious mind".

While thinking I would put this here as a post, to mean the use of energy in the theatre of life, I received a comment from Nina on Mr Hube's contribution. Incredible! A mountain there, a mountain here... Maybe telepathy does exist?! I've always believed it....

@ Nina -Indaco-
"...Because we come from water in the hapiest hours"

The story of the ‘path’ is my story.
Apparently, the journey seems to take shape at an extraordinary time of lull: the sense of exploration - vanished. I leave triumphs and victories to sadness, to a body that finds it hard to answer - it too thousands of years old.
This path - ‘ME’, is blocked, inaccessible, surrounded by thorny bushes and shrubs: not even that pale moonlight is soothing. The wonderful satellite is covered by a heavy layer of gauze. As if affected by blindness...it doesn’t enlight.
Does the journey stop at the departure?
No. The journey in which I was a Cortàzar’s Tiger in Humboldt, then Nina, in Checkov’s Seagull; now, definitely alone, I decide to be body and soul of a Sacred Mountain.

Answer: The exploration doesn’t end if I decide to stop.
Question: Compulsory stop?
Question: Have the signs disappeared?
Answer: I wait and, while waiting, I learn.We don’t know anything. We can sniff like dogs, leave it to intuition, welcome the pre-existent, enhance the mind, go along with the unconscious, found again the republic of the ‘I’ with drama and Ypnos.
Not exactly aware of having an unsuspected hurry, I find out that sadness is tired and it would like to set free from its sad condition.
And this is how I set myself the task of depressing depression, channelling a greater will, an energy that was thought exhaust and “scattered between brain and body” with the devastating fury of a storm on the peak of a Mountain: who was I – or the ‘I’ – or the Unconscious – or the Subconscious.
Does it matter?
It matters to know that I’ve lived this kind of paralysis forcing my Self to stone myself as if following a principle of self-harm.
This time I ‘slide down’ because I’m the one who decides to do it. Almost a shock-self-therapy.
And now a storm, like a frontal attack by fighter-bombers, comes like a benediction: I start rolling, I take with me all I encounter - including shrubs and thorny bushes; it’s a scuffle, a rough-and-tumble of stones, rocks, water, sticks and beating, clubs and clubbing…
“I’m not here anymore” I think, when I reach the valley.
The sun is warm, its warmth mitigates the pain. Finally light!
And yet…

…this valley is motionless. Nothing interesting happens here.
I know the journey doesn’t end here: I need to slide further down.
Down, further down, until I deposit my remains on the bed of a stream: “…Because we come from water in the happiest hours” he said.

If I came from water to get back to water, then I was still stuck at the departure.
No. Before being a Mountain, I had been a Seagull, and before that a Tiger, a woman, a child, a foetus. The origin, the sign, the language.
Universe: all in the Whole.

Photo: the caption to the picture that Nina has suggested is really good. It's from Jerry Uelsmann's Woman River. Because of copyright, we cannot show it here - we are not here privately, but with the sponsor of a Scientific Association - SSISCA. If you're interested, you can find it following these links:
http://www.uelsmann.com/
http://pdngallery.com/legends/uelsmann/
Translation, Thanks to E. Bianchi

VIVA La VIDA

As we often said, our meeting, here, doesn’t mean a therapeutic setting virtually extended to a group; the blog is not a therapeutic place. Surely, the personal and group workshop’s thinking, with its specific dynamics, is a “self-awareness process” here going on… A sort of a parallel discussion as it works in the workshops, regarding the group’s ideas along a dramatic path. This place works constantly through a level of abstraction and “falsification of the ideas” that often takes the readers into a cloudy, new and unexplored way to think. I mean that group dynamics, each time created, made of expectations -motivations- and supported by a specific training -drama-therapeutic method-; the challenge is to explore the intimate relationship between the actor’s personality and a “Performing Ego” or “Self-Performer” -the character-, letting figure out contradictions and permissions. Personally, I mean this as a “restitution to reality deed”. Even though we recreate it inside our mind -through the drama process-, it deserves to see us linked to it, beyond any presumptuous act of a cold objectiveness. It’s true, reality determines us, but immediately, as we meditate on this fact, we re-define the reality. A reciprocal process now available to the dramatherapic understanding.

People generally say that for each event correspond an effect, but in the psychological field, event and effect constantly influence each other -a circular process! This discussion would take us far, even talking about ethics and mind ecology, or that constant “miracle” of perception along the complex path from what is perceived to the finest thinking abstraction on that one. The last posts, as inputs, recently written on these pages, had the goal to be a challenge to read inside the shadows of our daily life, through instruments as cinema, theatre, fairy tales an music…
A warm-up that goes along the work in our meetings and the invitation to the actors and guests to enrich it with stimuli and notes.

A sea front is particular place, with the formality of whom is aiming innocent at making us have a walk; it is always that water shed border between the sea and the earth, the origin and the landing place. Do you really mean that, motionless, there is only the sunset and dawn sight to capture us?
I say an ancient memory does exist... Then, I propose you an ordinary one, not meant to be ordinary…to chorally remind us that it’s only us to exclaim Viva La Vida, on this wonderful and dangerous round world! In this case, Cold Play are right: whether kings or mendicants.

Viva la Vida, by Cold Play
"I used to rule the world/ Seas would rise when I gave the word/ Now in the morning I sleep alone/ Sweep the streets I used to own/ I used to roll the dice/ Feel the fear in my enemy’s eyes/ Listen as the crowd would sing:/ “Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!”/ One minute I held the key/ Next the walls were closed on me/ And I discovered that my castles stand/ Upon pillars of salt, pillars of sandI hear Jerusalem bells are ringing/ Roman Cavalry choirs are singing/ Be my mirror my sword and shield/ My missionaries in a foreign field/ For some reason I cannot explain/ Once you know there was never, never an honest word/ That was when I ruled the world/ It was the wicked and wild wind/ Blew down the doors to let me in/ Shattered windows and the sound of drums/ People could not believe what I’d become/ Revolutionaries Wait/ For my head on a silver plate/ Just a puppet on a lonely string/ Oh who would ever want to be king?/ I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing/ Roman Cavalry choirs are singing/ Be my mirror my sword and shield/ My missionaries in a foreign field/ For some reason I cannot explain/ I know Saint Peter won’t call my name/ Never an honest word/ And that was when I ruled the world/ Hear Jerusalem bells are ringings/ Roman Cavalry choirs are singing/ Be my mirror my sword and shield/ My missionaries in a foreign field/ For some reason I cannot explain/ I know Saint Peter will call my name/ Never an honest word/ But that was when I ruled the world"

Movie: Official Promo Video for new single from Coldplay, "Viva La Vida", taken from the Album Viva La Vida -Or Death And All His Friends-
Photo: "Sea Front", 2009

The Symptons

Secret folds are in our soul, where there’s no distinction between huge and small, beautiful or ugly, something more or less important. Sometimes, they stretch, letting the coloured untidy shadows of our dreams or dark ceilings memories slip away…

The strident logic of enormous thinking machines, with two arms and hands, has always preferred to set them in the night sleep, or in some jester’s oddness not telling the truth.

Others times, however, they own the hurry of an exciting discovery, made by patterns and affections, past and origins; the reason humility isn’t always enough to allow it a space. Better to imprison them through feelings, running over the body without breath, harboured in small caves, not recognizable, almost lost, misunderstood traces, the symptons.

Panic, The Smiths
"Panic on the streets of London/ Panic on the streets of Birmingham/ I wonder to myself/ Could life ever be sane again/ On the Leeds side-streets that you slip downI wonder to myself/ Hopes may rise on the Grasmeres/ But Honey-Pie you're not safe here/ So you run down to the safety of the town/ But there's Panic on the streets of Carlisle/ Dublin, Dundee, Humberside/ I wonder to myselfBurn down the Disco/ Hang the blessed D.J./ Because the music that they constantly play/ IT SAYS NOTHING TO ME ABOUT MY LIFE/ Hang the blessed D.J./ Beacuse the music they constantly play/ On the Leeds side-streets that you slip down/ On the provincial towns you jog 'round".

Music: "Panic", by Morrissey Marr, The Smiths, taken by the Album T"he World Won't Listen", 1987

Photo: "Symptons", by E. Gioacchini, 2007

Cinema-Dramatherapy: A Special Party

On Cine-Dramatherapy Stage
“A SPECIAL PARTY”,
Taken From "RUDOPH", a Dramatherapy Play (2007)
Written and Realised by E. Gioacchini

Let the Party start!

These are Claude and Mary. They participate in Sara’s Birthday. Georgia is already in with the other guests. She is in conflict with her boy-friend, Rudolph. He will come later.
Mary -We’re always late!
Claude -Honour guests are always wanted!
Mary -How elegant you are! Hold on a second…let me…
Georgia -(opening the door) Here I am! Hi guys! How smart you both are! Saraaa... guess what? Two special guests...here!
Sara -Oh friends… Wacht out! This is my place, not Giorgia's!
Georgia -Home made pastries! Help yourself! Sara has a party once a year...
Claude –Delicious…
Georgia -Robert, anything else?
Robert -Yes...thanks. What about Rudolph, where is he?
Georgia -He will be here soon...
Robert -You know..how much I miss those amazing moments... with him...reading and that vintage wine!
Sara -Georgia, Rudolph is here! Robert, pay attention… Giorgia is kidnapping you!
Georgia -Well...I'll go to rescue your friend!

Rudolph has come

Georgia –Welcome Darling!!
Rudolph -Flowers for you!
Sara -Thank you, really beautiful...
Giada -Please, take off your overcoat. Come on Rodolfo, join the party!
-The Party goes on-
Rudolph -Georgia...sorry...I'll go to get a tissue...

Dialogue between Rudolph and Georgia

Rudolph has got back the tissue. He is going to leave, but just then Jane comes and there a short conversation takes place. Suddenly Georgia comes in. She is surprised to see them together, especially upset to realize a sort of complicity between them. She is hurt really bad.
Jane -What are you doing here…all by yourself?
Rudolph – Here only for a few seconds…I need a tissue.
Jane - I see..with all that confusion, voices, music and food! You don’t love these things too much Rudolph. Do you?!
In the while, Georgia that has been standing at the door entrance and hearing all, comes in, watching Rudolph right in his eyes and giving her backs to Jane.
Georgia – (raising the voice) And what do you love Rudolph? You don’t love much confusion, friends…and what do you love?
Rudolph –Well, now it’s not the right moment Georgia…Jane was just saying that…
Georgia –Jane? Good Jane…that loves so much to be close to you, telling you how much she’s sympathetic…How much she is like you! Good…cause she always more silently tries to be noticed…Really courageous, my compliment, also while I’m here!
Jane, really upset, leaves the room.
Georgia -(talking to Jane) Right, good…go, go…
Rudolph –You’re saying foolish things! She has only said two words and you are making up all this story…
Georgia –Right, too much for you…But what do you know of two, ten, thousand words? For you words are a treasure…not to be wasted. What do you know about that. You are…few words, few smiles, little confusion…you are modest! Actually…I’m realizing…I don’t know what you would say if you will able to have some affairs with…
Georgia –Now you are exaggerating! You are shouting…maybe they are hearing all over there…
Georgia –And let them hear it! Jane will have already told everything to them…Stop it…with that dull face as I were mad! I’m not mad! I’m just tired…(Georgia starts to cry) Tired of your silence, to understand when you are with me or if you aren’t, if I talk too much and sometimes to feel even embarassed if I’m glad!
Rudolph –You glad? Sometimes you are besides yourself…as now! I’m tired too. I came here especially for you, but you get excited if I just speak with a common friend!
Georgia –Excited, you say? At least I’m alive! You, on the contrary, you are dampened! Get rid of that sad expression, always trying to gain sympathy for your damned background! Open your eyes, mouth and stop to escape from the world… You’re not the “snowman” anymore! I don’t want you to look at me like this! Look at yourself!
(Thanks to Carlotta Casalini for the translation)

What If I Get Stuck?

Once upon a time, there was a person in front of me and I was there, advising her on how to overcome a particular fear to do something that she actually wished to do.

I told her: “You know what you should do when you are stuck? You shouldn’t try to un-block anything, you simply ‘do’ that thing…Try and think…as long as you try and force yourself to un-block, you establish the block. As if it weren’t you the person who needs to overcome the block; as if it were natural…but recognizing your frailty…rather, write -she feared writing- anything that comes! And your soul will spring out like a mountain spring, without the fear of going wasted or of being strong or weak or of being already prepared for the low-land path. Each and everyone of us has behind them a large glacier, a genetic one, an acquired one, a subconscious one, from which to draw. That glacier is only waiting for our ‘Go!’”

Now, that person had lived in the mountains and had a wide experience of mountains, glaciers, streams. At first, she was puzzled; she brooded over something totally private in her mind and, really, for me it was not important to understand that, at that moment.

Then she interrupted that embarrassment and said: “So, you could count up to three…” There are moments in which, unless you become a child and let your ‘I’ communicate with that of the client…you can suddenly lose everything! I answered straight away: “Yes, of course…as long as you’re the one to say ‘Go!’”
Sometimes you need to let usual, every-day things become a bit uncomfortable…until you’re even scared of them.
But that way, it’s like trying to make a stream run up-hill! I prefer to believe in the gravity we live in and to follow it!

Whitout Fear -Toquinho, Vinicio De Moraes, Sergio Bardotti

Ma come fai quando tu sei bambino/ A prendere coraggio e fede nel destino/ Se papà ti mette per castigo al buio poi di notte a letto/ Zitto che c’è il lupo zitto che c’è il lupo zitto che c’è il lupo/ E la mamma dice chiamo l’uomo nero/ Chiamo il bau bau ti mangia tutto intero/ Nella notte scura ti fa la puntura, ti fa la puntura, ti fa la puntura/ Ma passa per il buio senza paura
Poi all’improvviso ti arriva l’età di amare follemente/ Un uomo che non va non c’è via d’uscita nè di qua nè di là/ Tuo padre guiderà tua madre pregherà/ Tua madre pregherà tua madre pregherà/ L’amante poi si butta giù dal fabbricato/ Perchè quello che è facile diventa complicato/ Dato che la vita è dura, che la vita è dura, che la vita è dura/ Ma passa per l’amore senza paura
Il pericolo c’è fa parte del gioco tu non farci caso sennò vivi poco/ Tieni sempre duro comincia di nuovo comincia di nuovo comincia di nuovo/ Anche per la strada tu stai rischiando/ Stai sovrappensiero stai rimugginando/ Passa la vettura della spazzatura/ Ed il conducente aumenta l’andatura/ Aumenta l’andatura, aumenta l’andatura/ Ma vai per la tua strada senza paura
Ed un bel giorno di qualunque settimana/ Ed un bel giorno di qualunque settimana battono alla porta/ Battono alla porta è un telegramma lei ti sta chiamando/ È un telegramma lei ti sta chiamando/ Per uno viene presto per l’altro tardi comunque presto o tardi/ Tranquilla e sicura viene senza avviso viene e ti cattura/Viene e ti cattura, viene e ti cattura/ Ma passa per la morte senza paura
Ma passa per il buio senza paura/ Ma passa per l’amore senza paura/ Ma vai per la tua via senza paura/ Ma passa per la morte senza paura

Musica: "Senza Paura", di Toquinho,Vinicius de Moraes e Sergio Bardotti, 1976
Drawing: "Composizione Black & White Composition, Blue Coscience", Andrea G., 2008