A performance by Giovanna Lacedra with participation of Barbara Raccuglia
Memory overbuilds in the effort of forgetting,
Instead of letting go, it grips
The labor of voiding is never complete
It takes its roots in us
That we want to sever in the illusion of redemption, does spring from our heart
It is deeply rooted in our beings
Forcing ourselves to forget is nothing else than a racking mutilation. It is like being blind- folded, covering our hears, clenching our fists, tightening the lips, is forcing ourselves not to feel.
It is an act of self-violence, antithetical to liberation.
If we cannot stay we cannot be free; we have to go through everything frighten us at the most.
Void, absence, abandonment.
There’s not escape that can save us from the force of what demands to be lived through and faced in order to finally let go, petal by petal, page by page.
We cannot really be free without surrendering
And looking, sniffing, touching, listening, examining.
Free falling, until the poison becomes sweet, and then minimal and then from minimal it will become distant and from distant it will reduce to almost nothing.
Is the almost nothing that we need to accept, each crack is a clue of what we experienced, a clue that doesn’t have to fade or be concealed.
Escaping from the void takes us nowhere, other than the place we are stubbornly escaping from.
Everything belongs to us; therefore the medicine just exists in us. Staying is the only thing that makes us free. Staying within our self is the real act of courage. Sliding inside us, falling in our own invisible embrace. Feeling the vacuum. Still going. Going forward. Gravitational pull. Still feeling everything, in its totality: the turmoil, the discomfort, the shock, and the astonishment.
Because whatever the wound is,
is going to be just ours.
Solitude is frightening. It demands us to listen.
The clamor of that silence is uncomfortable.
Severing is a hasty action. An amputation that all it has to offer is the feeling of a missing limb. Let the deadwood fall on its own rather than cutting it out, the branches know when it is time.
Eradicating, cutting off, ripping apart. None of this helps to let go; the only way of letting go is free falling. Treat your pain as water, a liquid night, dance of a river.
And breaths are broken. Under the crushing weight of something that cannot be pushed away, but just crossed over.
Force doesn’t help.
The only thing we can do is flowing
The only thing we can do is free falling.