xi-m-89

I don’t think so either, I think you’re Jill.

across, through, on the other side, complete change, transform, trajectory

Thinking about myself did not help me get out of bed. The thought that kept me alive was that I am not really me, but part of something bigger. This something bigger felt most convincing when I could not see it. The bigger thing I wanted to be a part of I felt sure was invisible to me. e.g. the atomic world, the ghost world, the energetic world. And, of course, practically speaking: all the things other people can see that I cannot.

I don’t know if all my tools and all my points of reference and all my writing and all my life have to be thrown out. I don’t know if reorganizing the past is a part of it, reshaping it so it can come with me, or if it will come with me anyway, something I will have to unlearn the whole time. Or maybe it’s something I have to learn how to see, I have to learn how to have the new special seeing I’ve never had before, and that’s going to happen now, at long last, after all this time?

How do I include my autobiography in the play and there be no attempted play-making in it? What is my job in this autobiography if it is not someone who is labouring at making a play? Like why does this person go to Greece? And why is there no play IRL? Why am I always trying to make a play instead of just making a play? And how hard was I trying, if there is no play to show for all this work? Hold up. What if the whole past ten years has been things that happened while not making a play? And if so, the play has been the framework for all this action and all this time and it doesn’t exist? Trying to make a play is the clay mold and my time is the melted bronze poured into it. All we’re left with is the life. But probably there should still be a play. Just not in the play itself.

Even I will die.

Now time doesn’t really work that way anymore. Time is more like sensations and moods. Time is like small seasons within actual seasons, broken up by days and night, by the weather. Like a snowfall helps you know that today is not also yesterday.

In my life, I really befriended time.

- Simone Weil

When a group knits together, we want to make a sweater. I wonder if we need to believe it will be a really popular sweater, a really good sweater for every single person, like a sort of magic sweater that you want to go home and tell your friends about? Or is it more just knitting? No genius, no glory, no failure, no nightmare. Just knitting.

How Brian said the only way to redeem all this lost time, e.g. the way I’ve spent my life, is to put it in a play. And for that play to be good.

How does life work? If you are tuned in to something, available to something, doing the work, do you get closer and closer to the story you tell yourself about what you are meant to be doing? Is this how life works?

This play as a proposal for how not knowing what you are doing yet can be a way of working.

Once I had a bad chemical burn in my right eye and could not open it, not even with my hands. Though my left eye was not burnt, it would not open either, because the eyes operate as a compassionate pair.

In Athens I consider my coming blindness. I think: you can still write when you are blind, though you will no longer be able to read. Then I realized the act of writing is mostly reading. Well. That’s okay. I need a new job, anyway.

- Lisa Robertson in the middle part of 3 Summers