A dream

I had a dream.


Considering my previous experience, the fact itself is quite rare. My dreams are scarce and the usual trivial contents have not been attractive enough to bind my attention and keep them rolling and twisting my mind.


I found myself in London in the company of the Town Theatre actors. Somehow I was out of space hovering over and the me was not surprised of the peculiar transformation. Looking back to that moment I cannot remind any emotions. No walking on air or sorrow or despair. Just being their and watching the actors' company in their doings.


The company had a task of putting up a play on the Shakespeare theme by the end of the week having no limitations. They did not have director with them and weirdly more I cannot remember personally anybody of the company by name. They were just actors of the Town Theatre.


So they were engaged with their task and tried to make out some concept for the weekend to be performed. Every evening they rehearsed creatively some of Shakespeare's plays in the purpose of mixing them and pressing out the essence of the meaning and clueing the meanings then together in one fluid and omnipresent idea of the meaning of life.


One day it was "Hamlet", then "King Lear", "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and others I can't remember. They just improvised on the play, different moods, attitudes, approaches but being in the theme. By night they had every day come to one glorious, sacred meaning of that night's play.


But just before their performance in the weekend they found that the meanings of each days work were not compatible. And the reason was a metaphysical phenomena never happened before. They couldn't put the pieces together because in the nights that had preceded they had worked somehow in negative time space and now being in the positive sphere the negatives could not stick together and make it a working idea that had been their purpose.


They couldn't make it out what was the reason and they couldn't solve the problem. So the performance night was there and they had managed with nothing to perform. As their salary depended on the successful work to be performed they were in the situation of having no money for the returning tickets as a consequence.


So they ended up performing in a theatre that reminded more some sort of pub. They had to perform the essence of the plays in negative time separately because the pieces in negative time couldn't be bound together. Like electrons. And what made it quirkier more was that they performed each piece after somebody from the pub audience ordered it in a loud mocking voice. They were addressed like some dancing party band but still they complied and accomplished the best of their art. Just in pieces.


I love and admire our Town Theatre. I had a sad feeling to be hovering over and not being with them. But at the same time somehow it was the walking in the air.

Esimene post

Aeg on toonud üha uusi võimalusi aja täitmiseks. Nüüd saab siis arvutis klõbistatu hiireklikiga kusagile salvestada. Öeldakse, et võrku. Tundub, et on ohutu tegevus ja meelemuutuse korral ka tagasipööratav. Proovin siis pealegi.

Kirjasõber pole ma kunagi olnud ja seega ei pane ka erilisi lootusi talletatu kvaliteedile, aga ehk läheb aja jooksul paremaks. Hea tahe maksab ja koledat teksti ei kavatse ma kasutada. Loodan, et kunagi on tekstid kõlbulikud ka lugemiseks, aga selleks tuleb enne tühjad kastikesed millegi mõttekaga täita ja hiireklikiga võrku visata.

Ongi esimene peamurdmise koht käes. Mis on mõttekas, mida hiireklikiga avarustesse paisata ja mida kunagi võiks üle lugeda? Sellele vastan parema puudumisel esialgu lihtsameelselt, et ilu on vaataja silmades ja kuna praegu vaatab ekraani vaid üks silmapaar ja nähtut teadvustavad vaid minu ajus toimuvad protsessid, siis endast kaugemale ei tarvitsegi vaadata. 

Esialgu reegleid pole, klõbistan rahulikult edasi, alguse jaoks käib küll. Soojenduskatseid ei tehta ju kohe kõrge latiga. Kui korduvalt tõdeda, et ponnistusest jääb väheks ja tuleb alt läbi pugeda, võib tusk saamatusest peale tulla ja isu saab ruttu otsa.

Eks ma pean arvestama ka sellega, et kiire klahviklõbistaja ma pole ja tükid jäävad lühikeseks. Millest klõbistada ei tea, aga kunstnikuna väga isiklikuks ei suuda ma minna. Võib-olla siis minakeskselt ja vabalt. Minakesksus on ühest küljest paratamatu ja loogiline, teiste tahkude, nurkade või jumal teab kust vaadatuna ammendamatult keeruline küsimus. Mina annab tähendused.

Ühest küljest on mina üksi, silm jõllitamas ekraani, teisest küljest ikka inimeste keskel, olevate ja olnute, meelesolevate ja meelest läinute, minevikust kajavate ja unistustes heiastuvate inimeste keskel. Üürike osa kõigest, mingis mõttes alati olemas olnud, kuid siiski olematu. Ei saa öelda, et ilma minata pole midagi, aga miski ilma tähenduseta on mõttetu.

Niisiis - minakeskselt ja vabalt. Kui minakesksusega jõudsime sinnamaale, et ilma selleta tähendust pole, siis vabadusega on asjad nii, nagu enamuse asjadega. Minu meelest. See on siis, et ühest küljest nii, aga teisalt jälle naa. Kunagi õpetati koolis, et vabadus on tunnetatud paratamatus. Tundlemine kirjasõnas.

Mõned filosoofid armastavadki välja käia poeetilisi paradokse. Tundub, et on mõttekas lause, lähemalt vaadates jääb ainult tunne. 

Minaga on aga nii, et ta tahab aru saada, selgelt ja lõpuni. Ja kui lõpuni ei saa või ei oska minna, siis kõik see algus ja keskpaik on mõttekas vaid jagatud ühisosana. Mina jagab ennast teiste minadega, teisiti ta ei saa. Teisiti poleks teda olemas. Jagamine ja jagatud olemine on minale olemises see parem pool. Selles küsimuses oleme kõik hüvapoolsed.