We can’t do this. In any way. By “this” I mean Soulographie, and by “we” I mean the compact between collaborators, including inspirations and audiences. No play can take on suffering; it takes an infinite series – an infinity that bends to a circle, because linearity, when interrupted, stops and is no longer dramatic. Circularity can spin on a central stillness – active and stable at the same time. But there are infinite points along a circle so no cycle can be complete. We can’t take this on as individuals and we can’t take this on as a collective. Our lives are too complex, one at a time, with the load of suffering that comes in sideways, the longings, the achievements, the phone calls, the waste, the crushing abundance of joy. Ezekiel’s wheel, in its fourfold complexity, was the world’s sign – its problem (Osuna).
This takes us back to the axle.
When I say we can’t do this I mean we mustn’t “do” it – we mustn’t succeed in the sense that we make sense that can be had, that is not eternal. The heart of or project is our co-sufferering – the dramatic space between all our sufferings, where all diameters lap at an inconceivable immobility – a transfixion. Together we are more useless, we are artists – we are not in action, we are at the moment from which action flows (we do not describe dreams, we cause them).
At the heart of suffering is waiting. Then – the premise action is compassion, then – all this whirring life.
Two geometric considerations.
Like we’re saying – The core of Ezekiel’s vision wasn’t the wheel – the doing, the energy, the problem – the wheel was there as a way of finding the axle – which extends back into heaven. Wheel inside a wheel until there’s only the point of the wheel.
Looking face-on, it seemed to be a wheel – but it was actually a spiral – developing, always different form itself, breaking off (in the time of human perception). Not only will we fail together (if we’re lucky, if we get this right) – we will fail multiply, and fail incompletely.
I love what we are doing so much, for the suffering in it, for its aspiration towards a perfectly dynamic not-doing.