In the dark angular eves of a Berlin winter, we had the chance to fill our cranky hibernating souls with some energy, some color, spectacle and a sense of community, something to bring us out of our caves.
Yet, after all the masks, glitter, madness and endurance art, in the end I was feeling a bit left out; the exact opposite as what I thought was the point. Oh, if there was a way for this festival to genuinely invite its participants to really investigate their own levels and means of ecstasy with the performers, could there be a real connection, then? Could we come together and really SHARE in this event?It begged me to ask, “What are you tempting and how do I fit in your temptation?”
More humanity. Less yelling.
More shared ecstasy. Less watching someone else have it and it not translate to me.
More lecturers who are ecstatic about what they are lecturing about (less reading word for word from research papers)
Grace to balance Seduction. Love will set you free. Love leads to ecstasy.
I suspect my expectations are high. I want deliverance in art. I want to be consumed by your fire, I want you to make a revelation happen, not just prance around in your underwear pouring out all your impulses. I want this freedom to come so that I may meet it, not be forced it. And therefore, I argue there was one article missing to give this festival the balance it needed: Restraint. I know it seems antithetical to the intention, but sometimes you have to provide the opposite to get the result. Otherwise, we have an Roman performance orgy on our hands. Interesting to watch, for about 15 minutes. Yet, how am I gonna care about your ecstasy by simply sitting down? This didn’t set me free, to get into ecstasy. Maybe I should have drank copious amounts of wine, or chocolate, or eaten more of those purple dyed chickens, or hell, just taken an E tab.
What I realized was that the performers states of ecstasy, or rather their sense of freedom, was not translating in my own being. Sure, chaos and ecstasy might have to go hand in hand. Yet, I was left wanting more than these improvisations were giving; more structure, more connection. Less performing. More participation. BE-ing with us. I think this was the hardest part…how do you perform the topics of ecstasy and not leave out your audience, because we are all starved for this bliss state of being alive. We as a species are starved right now for this most basic state of human consciousness. We are in need of spirit, of the deliverance and salvation from our own prison minds, and an imprisoning culture that cultivates this. I kept thinking, “What about meditation in this festival?” Some way to work alchemically with the Gunas, to get us into that Sattwic state. What I needed from these improvisation performances was something with even more humanity, which requires further thoughtfulness, and genuine welcome (Thank you Miguel and Reggie). There were times when the performers interacted with the audience, bringing a bit more proximity of their altered states of being to us, that was very inviting. But then why were we sitting in f* chairs! How would the missing “inclusion factor” change if we were made to sit in a circle, or free to sit wherever we wanted? And getting the viewer into a more receptive place, why not a laughing meditation every night, like a love affair, when it first begins? I craved something more akin to a Diane Arbus collection, or a nudist colony, or a freaks and suits are welcomed dance-off-party. But I was in the end just sitting down in a theatre, fourth wall safe, perpetuating an old model.
At least now, I am asking what is ecstasy compared to sybaritism? What is the difference? Is this festival really even possible of ever succeeding? Maybe, the reality is a festival braveneough to take on such a consuming subject ultimately can only really encourage us to take responsibility for our own vision of bliss and follow it. Maybe the tickets stubs are our future permission slips and reminders to keep reaching for our own ecstacy.
That said, Politics of Ecstasy was one brilliant proposal, a seductive yet messy ineffective ritual. My intuition says there was just not enough support. It had plenty of energy, intention, chutzpah and even courage; for ecstasy to occur, I believe requires bringing forth everything in us. It wasn’t that we weren’t given to, but it just felt misguided. Like it needed a Shaman, or some sort of blessing before each activity to re-state intention. The times when I felt most included in the festival was when I as a participant was listened to…lovingly. This was felt and fulfilled during the Silent Dinner….it was beautiful to eat with strangers in silence after sharing unbridled energy at the laughing; this returned us to a sense of grace and equanimity and it made me totally high. We earned it…. together. It was the perfect way to conclude the event and it didn’t leave me hanging. This sends me in to question how far does a festival like this go? When performing, how does a festival like this engage its audience, who were really more like participants too? It is a blurred line and needs some considering.
Honestly, I am certain for the rest of the year, I will be thinking what makes me ecstatic to be alive. What are the politics that deny us our ecstasy, our freedom? What laws, governments, tv and culture contribute to make us fearful of losing control, controlling education, gathering together, ways of being in the world that are considered delinquent, or worse, taking away our right to use plants and plant medicines that can create lasting ecstasy?
Even with all my neediness, I hope this festival happens again, because the idea of bringing states of unimaginable joy and ecstasy into our lives is so generous, that it makes me want to be generous back, and say, like a kid does on the playground, “I’ll come play with you again if you promise to share all your toys next time.”
