INTRO [Imogen]

The following documents were recovered from an archive of encounters with darkness. 
Their recollection is incomplete, fragmented 
The author remains unknown. We only know they begin here.
We await further entries 

I. First entry [Ines]

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER 
 
Whatever is moving
it moves slowly, and soundlessly, I move towards it, it pulls me in. I try to open my eyes, to see.
To see it. My eyelids are already open, my eyes are moving nervously. I see
but I do not see. I’m intimidated by the density of it. I can almost feel
it, I can almost touch it.
No. It touches me, it catches me, holds me, holds me tight. It doesn’t let me
move. I cannot see my arms, I cannot see my feet, I cannot see my legs. It
pushes me, pulls me, scratches me.
No, it lies silently on my shoulders, on my head, on my hair, covers me like a
blanket, a soft cloth of smooth black velvet. I notice the friction of the soft cloth on my
skin, on my hair. It nestles around me, caresses me, whispers to me. I gratefully
reach out my hands towards it.
I push it softly with my thumb, I form with my fingers as if it was potter’s clay. I
dig a hole, try to make it bigger and bigger. I push with my palms, push it
back. Here I am. I reclaim this position.
Here I am.
I say it doubtfully. Please do not take me over! Do not swallow me, I’m begging.
But it laughs. 
It pushes me, makes me stumble and lets me sway.
is rotating, rotating around me, driving faster and faster. I feel dizzy. It solidifies itself. Is it making fun of me?
I’m worried about hard objects, I do not see, sharp edges that are moving closer and
closer. I reach out my arms, 
my arms, without knowing how far they reach,
they are lost, lost in the darkness. I cannot distinguish anymore, what’s out
there, my arms are out there, out there. My legs are out there, out there,
somewhere.
Suddenly, I hear a noise. I  hear a noise. It stops moving. i jerk, remain silent to listen.
 I feel relieved.
Here I am. Back in the garden, back in this garden. For a very short moment,
it’s permeability is revealed.
Darkness, darkness, I’m laughing about you. About me? About me, here.
3.13"

SECOND ENTRY: [Michal] 

CARTOGRAPHY OF THE DARKNESS

Pressure feels like my only body, as if the compressed knowledge of myself decompresses somehow, bubbly.

Taking one step after the other, I notice how much attention I give to this simple action of walking, the surfaces vary, from smooth to spongy, the levels of dryness alter my sense of stability ,become another way of orienting myself, and the sharp and pointy parts of something scratch my skin, and I leave microscopic parts of epidermis on what I imagine to be a very old species of an apple tree,  I assume. Perhaps this is another way of meeting. I can barely notice particular shapes, maybe just a small differences of blobby outlines in the shades of gray of penumbral perception, and even tho the darkness seem to be all encompassing, and unquestionably altering my perception, I can distinguish it’s different forms, and the longer I’m here, the more apparent it becomes that it is not a monolith, but a composite always containing a light too, even if I’m not equipped to sense that precisely. 

I could partially sense it a moment ago, when my skin was meeting with something else, and that indeed caused some sort of pain, also brought the possibility of having my skin open, letting something enter, letting something flow out. An apple tree? A skin? Their meeting in these conditions make me think how much the situatedness and relationality of this moment, how much knowledge they keep about the dark. As of the apple tree, grounding and nourishing in the underground with its roots spreading, housing various types of beings, and thriving in the sphere of decomposition. As above, nocturnally, resting from the photosynthetic activities. The eaten apple carries the seed, germinating, expansion and growth, all happen in the field of darkness, and even beneath my skin, the fascial network allows for the flow, for the elasticity and receptivity, and the unclear outer layer of my body, that I can barely distinguish now from the surfaces I’m stepping on. Certain things become difficult to describe
others easier


the trunk sticks out of the soil, the roots extend into the sky and absorb the light coming from the stars 
[an invitation for a collective voicing)

 the air thickens around an absence
 the terrain registers it differently depending on how long one stays here
 alignment is avoided 
measurements are taken but never compared 
records exist, though they contradict each other 
 no effort is made to reconcile them 
 consistency is considered a form of damage
 
 when patterns begin to stabilize, small errors are introduced
 these are not corrections, they are adjustments to prevent closure 

Beneath my feet, I bump into something, beneath my, my feet?

the oldest stone in the garden, it kept absorbing the warmth all afternoon then releasing it slowly after sunset
people sit near it when language becomes too sharp 
Stone listens while the garden forgets its names 


    
 I reach out, try to grasp
i?
no I!

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr tremble
sssssssh, hum
psssss 

In the inseparability of light and darkness body always arrives too late


no weight, no weight, light, no, nothing, 
 

 if the word would be burried, or suspended, or sinken deep into a penumbra, or lack of something thicker 
 would it thrive or try
 
 trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
 
 a sort of whirring
 our pulsations in unison
 only by touching, feeling the jolts going through us
 
a breathing territory, breathing
breath
breathe through you

...and then, a crackling sound
a jolt
a tingling monument, the opposite of a stone!

and there is still whisdom, in all of it, lingering, waiting


06:27

THIRD ENTRY: [Imogen] - 

INSTRUMENTS FOR THE MORE-THAN-HUMAN

what instruments do i need to move through this world? 

yesterday i began building tools

A ruler to measure proximity
A notebook with pages wide enough for only unfinished answers.

Most of them did not appear to work, but darkness seemed to appreciate the effort.

I hold the end of a cone up to my mouth and direct it into the darkness

What should I call you? 

My lips contort into new shapes
Sounds emerging that I hope it will understand

Eeeee 
Shhhhhhhh 
Rrrrrrrrrr
Ppppppppppppp

Does that make sense? 

words are followed by a gentle pressure of recognition  
and then tools become games and I hurl my thoughts out into the darkness 

Can you catch them? 

... what will happen when i stop treating myself as separate?
... how do i decenter enlightment 
... is that my shadow or someone else? 
dissolving the boundries between I and the world
(compost pile) dissolution of the boudries between life and death, just the endless transformation 
new sensorial sensitivity, senses expanded

A game of suspended beliefs 

But in this game the same thoughts do not return to me

a boomerang
spinning and whirring and flying 
on a path from what? to where?

whatever returns is contorted, reconfigured, only barely recognisable

marked and twisted 

... what if endings are simply another way of participation?
... observe what thrives when nobody is watching
... where in your body do you sense closeness? 


who do these thoughts belong to? 
are they mine? or are they yours? ours? 

thoughts emerge in atmosphere without a place to land or an ear to catch them 
but this is no longer a problem 

in the absence of foundations they drift and stretch and reassemble, seeking other words to form new affinities, new meanings 

i am momentarily relieved of their weight 

do not be alarmed, this is a normal procedure when playing in the hours of darkness 

I do not ask for my thoughts back
please, you can keep them
I will keep yours, ours 

we can speak later



07:31

FOURTH ENTRY: [Lou] BECOMING THE DARKNESS
    
I reach out, try to grasp
i?
no I!

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr tremble
sssssssh, hum
psssss 

 a space 
 
 between

 it it it it feeeeeeels 
feeeels like 
beeing 
in air 
never alone

 a nice spot to rest, to let go

 a link to being with 

rekindling with the air 
inhaling while exhaling 
remember 
to 
to 
to 
to 

 disperse and reassemble
while becoming a porous entity  that allows to hold the unknown, the incomplete, the infinite 

I cannot distinguish anymore, what’s out
there, my arms are out there, out there. 
My legs are out there, out there,
somewhere. 

I’m in the darkness. 

I am the darkness.

There was a time when we searched for orientation. Now we search for proximity.
Pressure,
Temperature.
Weight.
The movement of air around another body.

we become porous entities.
Holding 
the unknow.
the incomplete.

no weight,
no weight.
light.
nothing.
everything carried.
carried away.
carried closer.
be carried.


I'm in the darkness
We are in the darkness
we are the darkness
9.12

OUTRO: [Catarina] A MYTH for a world to come 

Long ago, it is said, the world feared darkness.
People believed darkness was dangerous. unsetling
They entered it carrying lanterns, maps, rulers and explanations.
Every time they returned, their lanterns were dimmer.
Their maps less accurate.
Their explanations full of holes.
For a long time they considered this a failure.
Until one day someone returned without an explanation.
Then another.
And another.
They returned carrying only stories.
Stories of roots speaking beneath the soil.
Stories of stones that remembered.
Stories of invisible threads connecting distant bodies.
Stories of shapes that could not be distinguished from one another.
Gradually, the people understood.
Darkness had never been withholding knowledge.
Darkness had been teaching another way of knowing.
A way based not on mastery but on relation.
Not on certainty but on attention.
So they began planting darkness.
In gardens.
Between words.
Inside institutions.
Within communities.
They cultivated places where things could remain partially unknown.
Places where futures could emerge before they could be described.
Places where new worlds could rehearse themselves.
And it is said that every world worth inhabiting grew first in darkness.
Not because darkness hides things.
But because darkness allows things to become.
Opacity is not a problem to solve.
And perhaps that is why, even now, when we encounter darkness, we are not entering an absence.
We are entering a nursery.
A compost pile.
A rehearsal room.
A garden.
We are entering A world preparing another world.
11.20


QUESTIONS:
    
    How do you cure dark sickness?
    How do you orient yourself in it?
    How do entities navigate through and with it?
    What the dance of matter and darkness is like?
    What the dance of density of the darkness feels like?
    How to immerse in the dense dance of darkness?
    Is an open heart enough? 
    
    How can I get to know more about you?
    How can you help me grow and expand?
    How to root together for nourishment and thriving?
    In the symbiosis of our lives, what can I offer to you?
    What do we exchange? 
    How to open to the co-becoming?
    And hold space for the unfamiliar?
    
    How to attune to the uncertainty through  stories guiding collective into the not-yet?
    How do we write stories where we cannot yet - and may never - know the beggining or the end?
    What to to find oneself in a story? What is a beggining and what is an end?-
    What does the beggining of the story sounds like? Can I touch it?
    Is it tangible? Does it  linger? Is it  tangible in this way? Does it enter bodies?
    Can we percive narratives as vibrations? And acknowledge its effects on the materielity of the world? And      embody the change? 
    
    
    Darkness, do you speak through language, do you speak through elements?
    Darkness, what's your technology of exchange? 
    Darkness, what tools do you use to communicate?
    How to read you, dear darkness? 
    What shapes are formed in the alphabet of the darkness? 
    What shapes emerge from the language we unlearn together?
    How to create a space for decomposition, and all it produces to nourish the imagination?
    Will you come with me even when - especially when - things fall apart?

  
  How does darkness become an ally?
  How to befriend the uncertanity? 
  How do you make the unkown feel at home, comfortable?
  How to wake the unkown to a comfortable place,  to a place of ease? 
  What if the unkown is inside of us, how does one befriend itself? 
  How do I nourish the unknown inside me? What do I make it for a dinner?
  How do I let the unkown grow? Do we need a ritual?

2:50
14.18 total 

25ish 



























































































 today the air carried yellow dust from the south 
we left the windows open
and we walked until something changed our pace
three people returned wet
one arrived carrying fennel 
someone else never came back but sent recordings of wind entering construction holes

buildings release heat slowly
plants reorganise the humidity between streets

the oldest stone in the garden keeps absorbing warmth all afternoon then releasing it slowly after sunset
people sit near it when language becomes too sharp

sometimes we suspend decisions for days 
leave them exposed to the weather 
see if they survive contact with air









on the inside someting new grew
just where the weight was pushing through leaning into some granualtion  
a space within, an expansion allowing for a new sort of movement
not an organ, maybe a resonant chamber or 

it touches some very distant parts
and invite the flow of

what is the word for pulsating presence 

eversince the whirlwinds alowed for the 

currently cu current entttttiirle entirely in intrvals 

she was yellow, with dark parts and she was both completly new to this place and 






schschschschschsch
fast movement at place
granular texture, enters my ear canal, tingling my bones
lungs extend prominently
absorbtion and expansion into the infinitude
I'm doing sorcery with every breath!
and I reach out with long arms
an air wave that touches you gently
we have oppositional ideas of the notion of strength, both are valid
I jump back to the point of departure
left and right is opposite, or not, just the same, interchangeable
I turn around my axis
still have to expand my perception of time
is this sound directional? I wish it is not
found the empty corner, just to come back and gather
hello!