Q-topia

"We don't want a piece of the pie, we want the whole bakery."

Tachales Kunsthaus

I just spent a gorgeous day on the outskirt of a tiny little village, which is  located an hour northeast of Berlin.  I had been planning this visit to the countryside for a little while.  I woke up after not sleeping so long and so well, and part of me would have gladly stayed in to rest (and do some laundry!), but a greater part knew that there was a reason I was going.

So far I have had the chance to hang out  and chat with a good amount of hold time squatters as well as a few Berliners who are part of this thriving "group living" movement; but this particular community is doing it in somewhat of a different way.

I met G. about a month ago.  She had come to Berlin for the weekend to take part in a casual gathering for women and lesbians to learn and practice acrobatics together.  G. and I didn't get much time to talk back then, because she was in a rush to go pick her children.  Still, it only took a minute to realize we both came from America (meaning the continent, of course).  

In ten minutes, I learned that she has just moved to the area, from Prague where she had lived for the last twenty years.  She told me she now lives on a big plot of land, in an old boarding school that she and seven other people have bought together, "to live under anarchist principles."  "There is a lot of work to do, but we're very excited about this," she had added.  "You should come visit us if you have the time."

"Really?" I had answered with certain dose of … awe.  "Well,  I would love to help with some of the work if I can!"

So the connection was made.  And over the following weeks my new friend was impressively good at keeping in touch and making sure I could come check out her community's project.  So today came, and I took the train out into the German countryside…

Falkenberg Mark Train Station

She picked me up at the train station.  We greeted each other, and as she began to drive she pointed out: "The man and woman who live in this big building here (the station) apparently own five small train stations like this!"  
Really?
On the way she stopped by the only [little] store to get some cooking oil, but for some strange reason it was closed, so we went on to the house.

The house: a former communist boarding school that was abandoned for the past decade.  "There is one other big building, in the back!  It needs to be fixed," she quickly said, "but it's beautiful."  

I could so immediately tell, or rather confirm, how much all of this meant to my new friend.  "I will show you later."

She led me inside the premises… In the kitchen, I met three of her companeras.  Indeed queer looking, for the most part.  Except for G., there were also all German women.  Well... "biological" women I should say, because several of them actually identify as genderqueer or gender-fluid.  Besides, I should note that the project welcomes people of all genders, including men.

(Note: I feel that I don't often address the topic of gender queer-ness, even though it is actually a bit part of my life.)

We made coffee and sat around the kitchen table to chat for a bit.  Somebody came in: "Did such-and-such already talk to you?  Is it okay with you that we cut the tree?"  They were talking about a medium-sized tree, out in the front.  G. explained to me that these two women were "tree killers" (irony intended) by trade, that is, they are environmentalists and take care of diseased tree-individuals.  "And they also work as "pine cone pickers.. or harvesters.  Apparently these things are very valuable to growers.  So they climb all the way to the top of pine trees to collect them and sell them."

She was happy and eager to share the details of the situation: "We shared all the work there is to do, learning from another as we go." Then, she underlined: "This is a shared economy, which means it's a huge deal."

"Yeah.. it's pretty much like being married to seven people at the same time," I said.

"Exactly," she smiled.

There are about a dozen rooms on the second floor of the building, but each single one of them is in a state of total abandonment and in need of solid repair.  "We only set up the electricity of this house a couple of weeks ago.  Before we used a kitchen, with a woodstone, in the other house." 

There are many projects in line for the years to come.  First, there is the mold and the asbestos to take care of.  But then... There will be a whole section of the house available for people to come and give workshops, or organize community events.  There will be a small library and resource center also.  One day, they will knock down that brick structure in the yard and turn it into an outdoor kitchen.  They will invite the whole village to come and share in the food they will grow in their orchard and permaculture garden.

They have already organized a welcoming party for the local people to come and meet them.  What they found out, is that many of them actually used to work in the school!

After the tour my friend asked if I was still interested in working a bit.  She said there were a few options: we can build shelves, or clean the kitchen, or we can find something else."

"I've never built a shelf," I said, "that could be fun."

So we did.   We set up the working station outside the woodshed, and proceeded to assemble… or rather, to measure and calculate angles and try to understand exactly how everything would stand together.  There was no IKEA plan.  We were both learning how to do this!

A meeting has been decreed to take place between three o'clock and five, so G. eventually left me to attend.  And there I was: Halloween day in Germany, a human being on multicolored background, yellow and orange leaves floating gently down the trees, surrounded by silence and warm oxygen.  A sound above my head: birds migrating in a divine demonstration of collective intelligence at work.

Collective intelligence at work.

There is so much more I could write about today.  I could go into conversations on the challenges of community-living, because don't get me wrong: there are obviously a lot of challenges!  Personalities do collide and conflicts.  It is unavoidable.  Fears?  We all have them?  How to mediate the disagreements, the power dynamics, and the streams of feelings that are generated by those.  How much is one able to commit to a certain vision, and how much of a venture like that can lead people to confront themselves too.

But I cannot go into all the details.  This too is a process.

I was so blissed out while doing "carpentry", that I completely forgot to take pictures of the place! Oops.. my bad.  I guess we'll have to agree that our imagination each gave us a different picture!

--
A few more pictures:

"Atomic Power?  No thanks."
(Frankfurt - and here and there throughout Germany!)

(I found these three headless men at Tachales!)

Ritual, per-form-ance

I am writing from a different kitchen table today.  I left the room I had been renting for the past month, in Prenzlauerberg, where I was perhaps starting to get a bit too comfortable.  I am now staying at the outskirt of Berlin, in a flat with - once again- seven roommates.  I cannot get over how wonderful the Couch Surfing community can be.  I got here last night, and already I have had the most interesting conversations with my hosts.  But more about this later.





What is more urgent for me is this dance project I have joined.  I got an email from my ex-flatmate Jakob (the Butoh dancer) last week, calling for women dancers and performers.  I sent a CV and two photos of myself, and showed up for an "audition" at Tachales, on Thursday evening.
First, a few words about the famous Tachales.  Well in fact, let us ask the almighty (I am not saying this without a tone of irony, let me assure you)... wikipedia:

The Kunsthaus Tacheles (Art House Tacheles), is an art center in Berlin, a large (9000 square meter) building onOranienburger Straße in the district known as Mitte. Huge, colorful graffiti-style murals are painted on the exterior walls, and modern art sculptures are featured inside. The building houses an artists collective which is threatened with eviction.

Originally called "Friedrichsstadtpassagen", it was built as a department store in the Jewish quarter (Scheunenviertel) of Berlin, next to the synagogue.^[2] After serving as a Nazi prison for a short while, it was later partially demolished. After the Berlin Wall had come down, it was taken over by artists, who called it Tacheles, Yiddish for "straight talking."^[2] The building contained ateliers and workshops, a nightclub, and a cinema.

This is, to me, the most astonishing and fascinating thing about Berlin: there have been so many turns - within the last century only - in the constitution of the urban environment.  All over the city giant buildings have served a rotating bases for Jewish people, for Communists, for Nazis, and today, for Anarchists.  The evidence is everywhere.  Systems change.

Tachales is filled with graffiti.  It is also a bit filthy.  There are metal sculptures planted all over the back yard and inside the main part of the building, artists turn recycled materials into pieces of art while leaving the doors open for the general public - herds of tourists - to come observe the phenomenon.
There is something profoundly inspiring in this: Reclaiming (and opening up) spaces.


The audition was more like a deliciously-crafted workshop.  Our director, Paulina, is a choreographer and an "author of socio-cultural animation programs".  She is from Poland.  On the first day she introduced us to her friend and assistant, Mikki, who would be in the "more witchy"  aspect of the work...
Delight.
Soon we began to dance, twenty-or-so women coming from the seven corners of Europe.  I knew two of them; Iaro, a French Butoh Dancer who is staying now with Jakob and with whom I've had the pleasure to share in one delicious pasta dinner and precious conversations on the subjects of Butoh, life, and relationships.  The other woman I had encountered on the floor of Ecstatic Dance.  And that had been a silent communion, so I hadn't caught her name.  We both recognized each other with a big smile.
I wondered how many of these girls were "professional" dancers.  How many of them are in their early twenties.  How many of them have injuries.  What are their dreams?  What are their fears?

A sculpture in the yard, which
is a true museum.

After warming up we were split in different groups, according to... the look of our hair!  "We are going to work with some cliches" had explained Paula.
"Short hair" she said, and pointed to three of us to form a subgroup.  "Tall, long hair," was another group, along with "Blond hair", and "Dark hair." Funny how I have been so mindful of my hair recently.  Funny how I was placed in the "short hair" clan, but didn't quite feel it.
Anyway.  We each created a short choreography and were then asked to present it on stage.  Soon, we were also improvising solo bits, and groups intermingled to create, already then, a powerful series of moments and performance.
At the end of the session, Mikki gathered us around a circle of Tarot cards she had spread on the floor.  We stood shoulder to shoulder and closed our eyes.  We listened to the breath we shared, and the heart beating in each one of our chest.  We vocalized together in this sacred space, re-discovering how perfectly connected we fundamentally are.
Amen.


Then we each picked a card.  I thought about the many questions mine could potentially pertain to.  I couldn't quite structure a concrete sentence, but I thought I heard my heart say that it had to do with "art... and especially physical theater."  More specifically perhaps, It was about my future in relationship to those things.  For I cannot help it: what I worry about is the future.

Cold, industrial, bare dance-theater. 

I picked the Goddess Sige: "Take some quiet time alone to rest, meditate, and contemplate."
What?
I didn't want that answer.  I couldn't quite hear it.  I felt angry, et désemparée.  What is this supposed to mean?  I thought of my foot, because it is true that it still hurts me a lot.  It is true that perhaps I should not be dancing so much.  I should get some acupuncture, I should, I should, I should.
But I want to dance!  I thought I had finally found a way to express my most essential self.  I thought I had the perfect formula; being, after all, a former athlete with the soul of an artist.  Being after all, spirit in matter, having so much electricity to channel into form, through my body.
"Take some quiet time alone to rest."  Rest?  Why now?  How?  I swear I want to listen to the universe, but I just don't understand this one.  So I got home that night - on Thursday - and did a bit more research.  This is what I read on a blog I found:


 Shhh, dearest one. Quiet your mind. Breathe and let go of words, worry, and plans. Go into that space of silence deep within you, that vortex of peace where the world doesn't enter. Now is the time to retreat in silence and spend time alone. I'll lovingly help you rejuvenate and recenter yourself. Don't try to make any decisions now. Just allow your mind to be at rest. You'll know soon enough when it's time to take action. But for now, quiet your mind. Rest."


Well I do like that.  In fact, it sounds a lot like what I've already been doing on some level.  I have been observing myself wanting to make plans.  But I have also sat with it...


My foot hurts, but I truly madly deeply do want to be part of this project.  Twenty plus dancing witches creating a performance at Tachales over the span of four intense days?  No "workshop fees"?  Are you kidding me?!


I have come up with a "working hypothesis", as I meditate on the message of this card I picked.  (Perhaps this is mere "rationalization", or some form of cognitive dissonance; but it's the best I can handle right now.)  I like to believe that Sige is simply enjoining me to honor the part of me, which is Butoh.  She is offering me an opportunity to slow down while I do what I love.  There is no need to push my physical body beyond her current limitations.  There is no need to try and prove that I can dance.  I am a woman in a woman's body, my soul ready to overflow with love, wisdom and power.  This is Berlin, and it is Samhain season.  The Mayan calendar has ended for some, magic is upon and within us.  We are practicing the art of manifestation.  I am on a path to learn how to hold my energy, rather than mindlessly releasing and dispersing it.  I am on a path to become more conscious of my impulses and desires, and to be gentle with myself, and concentrate.
Con-centrate: "to centrate with".
:)

On a building near Tachales,
Oranienburger Tor

Ex-static Tanz!

I feel that something has shifted a little bit in me.
But first of all, I would like to make a commitment, that no matter how personal and idiosyncratic my writings might be, I will strive to connect it with a larger referential realm, that is, explicitly.  For I know the many underlying principles that justify my shameless sharing of such individual existential matters.  Underneath, I know we are all so similar.  Yet, I do think I should perhaps make an effort of laying out some of the assumptions and implicit connections I make.  I want my writing to be interesting to you.  I hope it can feed your soul.
Now, that's said.

As I was saying, I dare saying that I noticed something shifted a little bit.  I know it is all so cyclical.  It could, and it will fluctuate again in the near future.  But for now, it is most welcome.. this subtle sense of... inspiration.
I had been feeling stuck, purposeless, thus useless, for a moment there.  I had let thoughts of the future impede my presence in this experience: I am a free traveller.  Yes, I am impatient, rather "antsy" (yes, ants) to find my place in society.  The problem(s) is .. in most of the words that constitute this last sentence!  Impatient: is it really a question of time?
I am not an ant.
If time is relative, then so is "place".  This is the crux of the transformation I wish to be take part in.
Society: such a limited, also relative, fundamentally ever-"evolving", concept.  The world I live in is not what it was a generation ago.  Societies do exist; anthropologists will concur.  Yet the world I was born into is of a different era.  Being a citizen of the world is a challenging role.  How can I be part of one society?  What about humanity?  What about ecology?

Yesterday I invited a new acquaintance to join me and explore Berlin's Ecstatic Dance evening.  Those of you living in the Bay Area will know what I am talking about.  Those of you who have never heard of "Ecstatic Dance" should know.  I would call it a movement, because it is.  And the word is perfect!  At ecstatic dance events, people gather "under one DJ" and simply, freely... move.  There are very few guidelines (I tend to use the term "rules", but I should notice that.):
1) no talking on the dance floor;
2) nothing is too weird.. dance however you want.  It is suggested that one keep moving throughout the whole set (yesterday, it was two hours), however  "small" that dancing might look.  This is specifically the way one might discover spaces of transformation, of emergence, of flux in the energy of their being.
3) there is no alcohol.  It is not a club.  Rather, it is a gathering of conscious movers.  This is truly revolutionary given the fact that so many of us - in the West - resort to different "psycho-active substances" to lubricate social interactions; and especially such intimate and vulnerable social situation as where/when one is expected/allowed to dance.
Ecstatic dance could be classified as a "hippy" movement.  Call it so.  It's fine by me.

Camille is a twenty year-young carpenter I recently met at a Cabaret-Circus I attended.  He drove his (cara)van from Switzerland to Berlin and found work at the Circus.  He doesn't speak a word of German, nor of English.  The night we met, he walked up to me with a certain thirst and need; "Tu parles francais?!  Tu restes longtemps a Berlin?"  We had a brief conversation.  He shared that he was growing increasingly interested in dance and expression, but had no experience.
So I invited him to join me.  Because I needed to dance.  And I also desperately needed some form of friendship connection with someone.  Berlin-time has been challenging on those terms.  How does one relate authentically in the midst of such "transience"?  (Note how the word "transience" contains the two parts: trans- and science; as in "In-between knowing".)
Camille had no idea what he was getting himself into.  He was shy and a little bit scared, I'd say, but he is the type of person to thrive on that, I found out.  So he agreed to meet me outside the premises last side, and we paid our ten Euros to participate in Berlin's event.
The organizers explained to us how the session who go: the DJ plays a musical set which is designed like a wave.  The music begins smoothly and gently, until gradually the energy/rhythm accelerates and it peaks for a time, before the wave brings us back to rest.  There is a warming up into the heat.  There is a chance to journey and come back.
Camille took a time to warm up.  he needed to sit at the periphery of the dance floor and observe, while most people had begun stretching and moving, solo or in silent pairs.
An hour later, he was bouncing around on the floor within the frenzy of the group.  We used our voices, and we closed our fists, and we crawled and bent and jumped.
It felt so good.
Like being in church again.  Or home.

At the outset of ... the set, I laid down on my back in that most difficult yoga pose (savasana- corpse pose). The last song played was a remix of some indian mantra dedicated to Lord Ganesha.  Perhaps it was RamDas or something.  I began chanting out loud, somehow allowing myself that most "new agy" behavior.  I couldn't care what others might think; chanting to Ganesha was too appropriate for me to pass on the opportunity.  So I laid down, and sang... until tears gently came rolling down my face.
I miss San Francisco!
How I miss San Francisco!  For it was there that my spiritual self first found validation and support.  It was there that I could gaze into another human being's eyes and share in the known presence of something so vibrant and inexplicable in each one of us.
And I want that in my life.  I will that.

Camille said he had envisioned something just like that... "Je n'ai pas les mots... c'est... magnifique!"
We sat and shared a coconut after the dance.  We shared a bit of our stories.  He, a carpenter, is enthusiastic and carefree.  I have felt a bit of the opposite mood lately.  I have wondered about "my trade" and about mobility and idealism.  He, reminded me that the many options around us are blessings.  He helped me believe in this anew.
Perhaps I could go WOOFing for a little when my tourist visa expires.  I don't have to go back.  Except for family and friends, there is nothing urgently awaiting me in Quebec.  It'll be winter.  What's a few more months of being separated from my loved ones?
Perhaps it is not about "society", but about "culture", agriculture... permaculture!

Berlin Wall

I have a lot going on at the moment.  I have many adventures lining up in the next few weeks:
- I am moving from the Dunckerstrasse apartment tomorrow afternoon.  I'll be couch surfing with new people, in a new neighborhood.
- Then, there's my escapade to the country side anarchist house/land I have planned for October 31st.
- Following that, a quick trip to Weimar, Leipzig, and Röcken.  Then, a few last days in Berlin and HE's last show at Silver Future,
- before I pack up my belongings and head to Prague for a few days.
- And finally, after that.. there's a blank canvas...
well, somewhat blank...  Gestation is not non-being.

This little guy is all over Prenzlauerberg!

and he makes me smile, every time!

From what I understand...

From Sand und Schaum, a German translation of Khalil Gibran.

"Wie edel ist das traurige Herz, das ein fröhliches Lied mit fröhlichem Herzen singen möchte."

"Bäume sind Gedichte, die die Erde in den Himmel schreibt.  Wir fällen sie und verwandeln sie in Papier, um unsere Leere darauf auszudrücken."

"Wenn du dich nach Segnung sehnst, die du nicht beim Namen nennen kannst, und wenn du dich grämst, und den Grund nicht kennst, dann wäschst du wahrhaftig mit allen Dingen, die waschen, und brichst zu deinem grösseren Selbst auf."

"Wenn du Leben keinen Sänger findet, der ihm aus dem Herzen singt, bringt er Philosophen hervor, der von des Lebens Geist spricht."

(German people.  Would you translate those for us all?  I have a general idea but I wouldn't be able to do it justice...  Come on!)

turns and returns, and turns

These past few days have been a bit harder.  It's getting really cold here, and that brings me lots of places.. mostly inwards, to places that feel suffocating.  There's that bundle of spiraling energy in there, with seemingly nowhere to go.  I feeling a bit lost.
Falling leaves fly about, I'm walking in foreign land, in mid-air between homes.. searching.
What am I doing with my life?  I must have something to give, to contribute!  I am physically separated from the souls that know me already, and I find that difficult.  Then I think: Is it essentially what this is about?  ("Connection"?)  But what exactly is that?  And would it be otherwise in any other place or is it just fundamentally human and intrinsically un-fullfillable?  I wonder.
I can see myself desperately trying to grasp unto some idea of identity and purpose.  I bow to Saturn and remind myself that time has some answers in store... if I can keep listening.  If I am patient.

I eat a lot.  Food produces the illusion of comfort, but only as long as I'm in-gesting it.  After the last bite, I feel empty and restless gain.  I can see how cliche I am; stuffing myself with bread compulsively trying to fill the void; unconsciously hoping I could consume the world around me,  because it seems like the only way to have a relationship with it.
For my defense, there is a lot of baked goods and exotic dishes to try out.  For my defense, it is really cold outside.

Mural in Kreuzberg

I can't help but throw myself into the future.  How will I survive the dark January winter of Quebec, when I go back?  How will I make money while keeping myself free, so that I could go retrieve the boxes I have stored in San Francisco.  How will I visit San Francisco for any short period of time without feeling torn apart to pieces?  I am left with the conclusion that this unsettled, transitory status is going to last for a while...

So I try to breathe.  I give acknowledgment to that spiral of energy... I move and dance.  It's my way of keeping the channel open, lest I become severely depressed.  A lion in a cage...

I feel ready to leave Berlin.  It's as if I've accepted that I am not settling here (And why did I even consider that in the first place?)  I cannot manage to try to make friends and connect with people.
HE has a show on November 6th however, so I must stick around until then.  In the meantime, I am planning a few escapades.

On the 31st, I'm going to visit an anarchist collective outside the city.  I met a "expat" woman a few weeks ago, and she invited me to visit her community and the land they have bought.  They are refurbishing a big house, working along utopian lines, and thus encountering all the challenges that it involves.  I hope to have good conversations with these people.  I hope to find out where they come from, biographically as well as philosophically.  I hope to learn from them, perhaps be inspired.  For I am still considering myself somewhat of an anarchist.

There a several "shops" and spaces
that are openly "anarchist"

Fundamentally, I'm not sure it is possible.  We humans very much need leaders and organizers.  We like having someone of some group telling us what to do, where to go, and especially in times of crisis and instability.
There is so much of that going on in the world at the moment!  And how I am also such a microcosm of that principle!

Yet there is no God but the One of which we are the parts.  There is no God outside of ourselves to point the Way.  "The Way that can be named is not the Way."  The Way... is wu wei... it is a process that unfolds of it's own, in non-doing.











I am doing a lot of non-doing.  It's hard.

-------

Making a video of myself dancing on the rooftop... what a narcissistic endeavor!  Yet, I done it.  It was a vision I had when I went up there the very first time: a dance video!  And I hadn't come around to it yet; I hadn't bring someone up there to play with me.  I guess I like to express myself in private.. and then "publish" it.  That must be why I write all day, instead of juggling on the sidewalk.  Or does it matter?  After all, I also come from a spirit of offering...
I'm not perfectly sure I know what this means.  
But I want to "forgive" (strong word, yet) myself and allow this.  I'm not sure why.  Don't they talk about that new dimension, in which doing what you love and following your bliss actually connects with the gift you might have for others?
I tend to think that this obsession with introspection is something that can benefit the rest of the world.  And then I think about those who give of their time and sweat, in such altruistic ways; for example, by going to the most destitute places and working there.  "Humanitarian work", we call it.
Humanitarian.
Am I not able to do that?  Wouldn't I be able to go to Northern Uganda, like you Neilito?  I'm not sure.  I'm not sure I can do without money and without food in my belly.  I'd rather dance on my rooftop and make a montage with it!

Everyday, I think about my privileges.

Privilege:
1. a. A special advantage, immunity, permission, right, or benefit granted to or enjoyed by an individual, class, or caste.
  b.Such an advantage, immunity, or right held as a prerogative of status or rank, and exercised to the exclusion or detriment of others."

Kreuzberg!

I was born with privilege, indeed.  I was born in Quebec city; there where long winters have shaped us to create bonds.  I was born in a family that could have stability.  I was born in "the Western world", in a bureaucratic society of sorts, in a "democracy" of sorts.  Is that karma?
And I ask myself: why am I so discontent with, and distrustful of... government?
Why am I refusing to take part in the game?
Why do I live with this sense of urgency, of calamity.  Why do I continually have the images of people suffering, in the back of my head?  (That's why I don't watch tv.  No need.)  Why can't I just be satisfied with the world and take my place in it already?

Perhaps I am meant to become a monk.  Not a nun though, a monk.

Murals Murals (East Side Gallery)

The sun is shining gloriously today.  Alles ist so perfekt!

Because since I spent the whole of yesterday inside, writing and recharging, it was time for a bit of exploration.  I am starting to countdown the days before I leave Berlin and there are a few things I want to make sure I do/see/experience before I move on.  

One of them was the East Side Gallery:

The 1.3km long section of the Berlin Wall was turned into a "international memorial for freedom", after the reunification of Germany, in 1990.

Perhaps my favorite mural...

... and it was actually based on a real picture!

These are two communist leaders, Erich Honecker (East German) and Leonid Brezhnev (Soviet), in the midst of a brotherly kiss at the celebration of the 30 year anniversary of the GDR. 

The caption translates: "My God, help me to survive this deadly love."  I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to mean.

I walked along the Wall, soaking in the sunshine while trying to imagine what it could have been like...
though I know that there is no way I could relate.  I have always lived in such freedom.

I haven't been to many fine arts museums in my life, and I don't know much about painting or murals, but I sure could appreciate these pieces!

Murals... make me feel good inside.
It was certainly one major reason why I loved living in San Francisco.  For murals give visibility to the socio-political realities of the people.  In San Francisco, the movement is largely and directly influenced by Mexican and Latin American artists.
 
In Berlin, there is a slightly different tone.
For instance, I found that many pieces had a tone of agony.. of drag.. of heaviness and alienation.

This one reminded me of Butoh :)

Although, other ones focussed on hopes and visions...

Nevertheless, dare I make a comment, that I found what is perhaps an underlying theme:

Inter-Connection?

And what better medium than a wall!

When I reached the end of the Gallery I decided to keep walking for a while.  I was in Kreuzberg, the newest hip(ster-ized) neighborhood of Berlin.  Perhaps I could find a special pair (read: cheap) of leather boots in some second-hand store...

I walked the streets, tantalized by the amount of posters and graffitis that make up this urban landscape.  I wondered how much of my experience came with the fact that such things just naturally draw my attention.  Perhaps other people do not notice how Berlin is plastered with images and slogans... 

Nah.  I bet they do.

That's why they love it here.

Edelweiss Cafe, in Görlitzer Park

After a while, I found the perfect little spot to sit down and read, sipping a cappuccino.  It was called Kjosk, and I had never seen anything quite like it.  There was a double-deck bus/trailer in a big yard, and a bunch of tables outside with picnic tablecloths and parasols, plus a ping-pong table, and a bunch of kitsch art pieces... complete with a huge mural on the adjacent wall!

Kjosk @ Oranienstrasse 1
Kreuzberg

This Fall season is blessed.  I am blessed.

I'm going to ZirCouplet Cabaret in a couple of hours.  (Harvey got both of us some free tickets!)  After that, I'm supposed to meet up with a new friend I made at Beatriz's party: David, from Mexico.
!

die Stadt... ist Hier!

I slept until one in the afternoon!  I was quite extenuated I must say, as I have just terminated that Butoh workshop, and only had four hours of sleep after our last show at KingKong Club on the night of my birthday...
Yes, my skull is exposed.  But I am holding on to the top: my dreads.  It looks very strange.  As Harvey and I convened, it's kinda like "half monk, half clown."  Well..

Once again, I come to the page (the screen) with a load-full of impressions wanting expression..
Where to start?

I woke up yesterday morning, after four hours of sleep.  Pulling myself up on the bed I remembered the exercise we did in Butoh class on the previous day: "How do you get into your bed?  How do you wake up in the morning?  Find... those bodies, and develop them."  We're still all trying to figure out what this actually essentially means, but there is no specific answer.  Yuko has us lay down and get up for more than half an hour; playing with the quality of our movement. "Now, do the same... but break rhythm," she says with her wonderful Japanese intonations, "As if... taking picture.."
So we explore these two phrases over and over again. "Now, with other quality..." There is a silence in the room.  Yuko asks Roman, who is not a dancer but a therapist, a big and gentle man in his mid forties, who decided to take the workshop after he saw a performance many years ago and was deeply touched by it.  Roman tried not to think and gives an answer: "Spider," he suggest.
We all fall silent for a time.  "Spider?"
"Okay," says Yuko, "What kind of spider?  Are you scared of spider?  Does it... tickle you?  Are they inside your body?  On your skin?" and so on.. Going up and down again, trying to imagine the quality of spider in its many possible interpretations and in-corporations.
That is why I smiled when I got out of bed yesterday; "I'd never thought I'd be so aware of this moment,"

As someone brilliantly described it:
"Spontaneous constellations"

Uferstudios: a meeting point for the international dance community.

After class, some of us got together at a small, warm little cafe which was part of the Uferstudios compound.  Whared in some food and conversation; we exchanged flyers and laughed about it.

I came home with no time for a power nap.  I put together ingredients (which I got for free downstairs, thanks to the Christian organization who brings free produce from groceries around town! - see previous blog) to make a salad at Harvey's place.  We had plans to 1) "clean up" my head, 2) watch the video of our performance 3) get ready to go Beatriz's birthday party 4) go to Barbie Deinhoff to see Sadie Lune perform.  I was exhausted, but how could I miss such a night?  I haven't been especially socially involved while in Berlin.  Besides, I liked this Beatriz girl when I met her a couple of weeks ago.

Sharon: from Israel to Berlin
(He is brilliant!)

Sharon (from Israel), Harvey (from California), and I had a wonderful dinner of salad and omelette in the beautiful yet constricting apartment of "Frau" Bridge Markland (another character with a full-on story all in itself!)  Conversations about language, about dreams, about clowning and life and war and theater.  Soon it was nine thirty, and we figured out it was time to confront the cold and make our way to the birthday party.

We found Beatriz's apartment without too much hassle, relatively speaking, that is.

How can I express the impressions and feelings I had upon entering the place?  Home? (Again!?!)  With one look around I found what I guess I had expected.  At first glance one could easily tell: this was obviously a group of what you'd call ... "circus" people.  Indeed, they reflected Beatriz's colorful and carefree personality.  And since she is from Brazil, they also spoke Spanish!  Although I also heard some German.  What a nice combination!
Our host poured each one of us a glass of red wine before pointing us towards her bedroom where we could put our stuff down.  I noticed three guys (two of them German-looking) playing guitars in a bedroom on the right-hand side.  In her bedroom: juggling clubs, scarves and hats,  a unicycle, and a good-looking  fella sitting on a mattress on the floor, smoking a cigarette.  He looked like the strong yet silent and mysterious type, a dark man with black dreadlocks on one side of his head, giant tribal piercing on his ears and chin, and on both sides of his nose.  I said hello, and right away asked him where he was from.  "Mexico" he said.
"Cool," I said kneeling down to his level. "Dedonde en Mexico?" I asked, showing interest and recognition and adding  "Yo... fue a Oaxaca el año pasado..."
"Ah Si? Fuiste a comer los ongos?" he asked.
"Nein... ich.. I mean, yo no fue.. por que..
(Why didn't I go experience the medicinal mushrooms of San Luis Obispo when I went around there last year?  I'm not sure.  Nevertheless, I knew I would get along with this guy.)  We chatted for a while, compared our itineraries and commonalities, talked about getting together to juggle a bit.

Sharon came to find us because had made plans to meet with his Israeli friends at Barbie Deinhoff's, and the time was approaching.  "I think I'm staying here," I said to Harvey.  "I really want to see Sadie perform but I'm so comfortable and happy staying here."  She understood and said she'd probably come back.  Cool.

Maybe one of the best bottles I've had! Some spicy wine... from Ikea! ?

I went into the guitar room and sat with three German dudes.  They played the blues on an electric guitar, so I sat there for while, content.  I had never met them before but it didn't matter.  We all sat there with a smile and an open heart, sharing music.

A German potluck might look like this:  bread (is omnipresent in Germany), soup, pastries, potato and onion pie, cheese, potato salad, and maybe some vegetable salad.  A Berliner birthday party might look like this: German, Italian, Argentinian, Mexican, Columbian, Quebecoise, Iraqi, Israeli, Spanish... ( I didn't even get to meet everybody there)!
I am simply blown away.  Of course: I am loving this!
What do we talk about?  We talk about language a lot!  Well at least, I do.  Now I wouldn't say that everybody is concerned with the overarching presence of English, as I seem to be.  It is acknowledged, but it is accepted in different ways.  I wonder how the depth of my feelings on the matter is related to my cultural background, being French Canadian and all.

The German language is fascinating.  It is so structured, ordered, analytical.  When trying to make a sentence one must organize the pieces of the puzzle in a specific order, less the sentence be considered improper and barely intelligible.  Native speakers might understand what you're trying to say, but they will not consider what you did to be "a sentence."  Personally, I find that a little bit, let's say, disappointing - euphemistically speaking.
So we agree to meet in broken English, because at least there are no genders and no complicated verb structures.  (I read a quote that said: "If you learn good English, who are you going to speak it with."  This aptly speaks of the experience I have been having in Berlin!)

However, the marvelous thing is, that practically all these people are here for the very purpose of learning German!!  Well at least that's what they do in order to get the student visa that allows them to stay around.  It's a phenomenon, I must say.  I could do the same if I wanted; I could enroll in a month of German language course and easily, almost instantly, get the right to live here.  Not a bad policy, if you ask me.

But I must be on the move.  I hear Italy calling me, and France and Spain.  I also hear Belgium and Switzerland, although I am not sure I can go everywhere.  I have two months left, two weeks in Berlin...

Butoh improvisation.
Jakob -on the right- is also one of my flatmate.

I could certainly do it.  I'd learn German properly and I'd make art and meet people from all over the world.
But I've done that once.  It's a place I feel ambivalent about at this particular time.
So I tell myself that I am allowed not to know.  I am allowed to desire some time in Quebec.  I can fully enjoy Berlin and everywhere else I'll get to visit and then let it all marinate.  Meanwhile...

A majority of people somehow suddenly assembled in the kitchen - thus following what is manifestly a universal and timeless tradition.  Somebody had made a cake... and that cake was... heavenly!  I meant it: it was out of this world, a culinary orgasm, to make time stop for a moment of pure joy and pleasure, soft and sweet.  Perfekt.  And the best part?  Sharing the experience with others, who not too long before were complete strangers.
Beatriz walked in and introduced a friend of hers, a talk dark man with his guitar.  He said he had a gift for the birthday, and started playing...
His voice!  Deep, and soulful like a prayer... His playing.. The uplifting surprise of balkan-gypsy music with an arabic element.  A feast.  With a few notes he had filled us with true delight... In this crowded space, we clapped our hands and smiled... and danced...

Harvey and Sharon came back a little later, but the heat had receded a bit and the ambiance had returned to the more casual, multikulti conversations occurring in every corner.
I needed to go home and crash, so I began to say my goodbyes.  I entered a third bedroom to pay my salutations to a few more people I hadn't met.  But they were playing some Electro-house music of some kind.... so I put my stuff down for one last leg of living it up...

The four or five people in the room made jokes: "No dancing!" we'd say, laughing and dancing.  (We had been warned to keep the dancing quiet after the arabic-gypsy celebrations.)  Then a guy (from Somalia, but very white!?) began to read from a German book, and turned it into some rap.  "Die Stadt" he spoke.  And a few of us repeated "Die Stadt" in unison.  We started a rhythm, repeating "Die Stadt" while he kep reading from the text.  Soon, we had a full on beat ensemble going on, and the energy kept building, peppered with laughed of excitement at this spontaneous act of co-creation.
"Ist hier!" I sang, indicating the center of our dancing and singing circle.  Laughs of recognition.
When the track ended, and I had to say it: "Hallelujah."

I was going to take the night bus to return home.  I was explained that it'd be a bit of trouble, but what was I going to do?  Of course, I got lost.  So I ended up treating myself to a cab.  On my way out the driver said: "Du sprichst sehr gut Deutsch!"
"Nein" I answered humbly.
"Everyone must begin somewhere", he said [in German, with an accent (from Turkei?)], "Beginning is good."
Thanks for saying that.

Near Marrianenstrasse.