Spoleto Festival 2010 - Official Website

I know that, following “psiconautici” routes, as is my custom and established practice, we must let ourselves go serendipitously to the unknown and enigmatic course of events, be led by the show as it is performed, by the evanescent signs that come from the soul. Eugenio Barba used the word “serendipity” to define the technique of finding what you are not seeking. For me it’s an integrant part of “psiconautica”, it’s part of individual integrity.
A live performance thanks to many roots, some visible, others unknown. These are often enigmatically hidden even to the eyes of the active subject. The roots inscrutably trace the mystic and, for many aspects, occult journey of the subject and they accompany him, as mystic intuitions, during the whole creative process. I could say we have measured ourselves with our boredom, with the pain of living. We persisted in understanding, with a pure attitude, the inner and occult meaning of things. We were aware that it was impossible to grasp the divine sense of life with our mind that wants to catch the mysterious shadows of life, and in the meanwhile it pierces us with thoughts.
In our “static drama” a girl, immovable, watches herself before fading away in the sunshine. She is preparing to live, unseen: she is born when she is at the end.
She passes this space of time talking about hidden truths to try to escape, to demonstrate she is alive, to resist Destiny.
She lives the space of a night, and to consider herself alive she must talk and tell us about her life.
Our challenge: create and propose an impractical and improbable “static drama” through a knowledge process, gnostic I would say, because not only mental but of integrity, in front of vigil witnesses (“I pisciaturi”). This has become the thin narrative thread that guided us in the darkness, from above: our history in retrospect.
During the “psiconautica” explorations we let the reptilian and limbic brain drive us, as if seeking a hidden and unknown object with metaphysical gestures. Our score has therefore been defined.
Signals and clues of my “black holes” became part of Emanuela’s personal and organic actions.
In this sense it’s possible to affirm, as Pessoa would say, that “we have been recited” by ourselves, as if the thoughts were suggested from time to time, “slaves of the multiplicity of ourselves”, though aware that we’ll die being ill for failing to speak out. This is part of the “serendipity” and “psiconautica”.
The performance happens by itself, follows a path that only we have encouraged, unknown even to itself: its mystery resonates beyond us.
We are letting go to the performance confidently , trusting fully in our intuitions (from intus, inside, it means “understanding coming from the inside”), in the deserted wounds of the soul, intuitions arise as “acts of intellectual magic”, on the intelligence’s instinct, “but without the use of intelligence, in a fourth dimension of the mind”, “psychically besieged in our Hell”.
Living is not thinking. A complete man is a man who ignores himself. Exploring ourselves, we have multiplied ourselves.
We ended up dreaming our own dreams, trying to "abdicate ourselves”, transforming ourselves into literature, inventing spiritual companions, writing with our soul as if it were ink, not pretending to be Argonauts with exhausted sensibility, but trying to “communicate, false popes, with the other world of ourselves”, trying to decipher the ineffable mystery of life, full of meaning, trying to thin out a bit of foggy confusion that surrounds the Destiny of all us, between souls and stars, through the forest of fears...
We think, we say this with great caution and some shyness, that a single fleeting certainty has emerged from our psiconautica and esoteric exploration: there is a place inside, right in the middle of us, where everything ends up, where everything comes from and we don’t know what happens there.
This is the real seed of our research, it is the very source that has guided us in our journey, driven by the breeze of our search for our shadow.
Roberto Ruggieri