(118) The abracadabrante story of Child Moon

 “The theatre is in burning reality and not in imitation. It is not the reflection of life but life in what it has that is irreducible, burning, extreme.

[...]
The spectator must be placed in the midst of the action, torn from his immobility, surrounded, shaken, seized by a necessity stronger than himself. Theatre must no longer represent; it must act.”

Antonin Artaud, The Theatre and Its Double

 

Where the parrots, feeding upon the very words they repeat, continue their slow and surprising evolution.

— Might we be among those narrators who know that they merely repeat the voice of a master they never see, or are we instead witnesses to the “fall into inauthenticity”...?
— ...and yet, through our repetition, we are also the guardians of Memory. The master whose words we repeat is Being itself... it never speaks directly, but always through withdrawal, through the mask, through the echo.
— Then there would be a triple narration here... a kind of triad of interpretation.
— The theatre would be seen from within by Pinocchio the Other... or by the Moon Child... then from without by us parrots... and from the origin by our master... It is a trinitarian initiatory structure.
— Yes, and it touches upon what some thinkers have suggested: thought does not produce meaning; it exposes itself to it.
— Then this entire story would be an exposure. It explains nothing. It might set the reader's thought on fire.
— To participate in the theatre is not to play a role...
— Then what is it?
— It is to allow oneself to be consumed in the truth of the fire. The courageous spectators are not those who see well, but those who die in their own place, those who cease to be spectators and become fire.
— Then this would also be a metaphor for thought itself. To think is not to observe but to undergo the coming of Being.
— Like Pinocchio the Other!
— Or what he becomes...
— Exactly. He does not see the guides, yet he follows them. He does not understand, yet he walks. He does not interpret, yet he passes through...