FullMoon Archive: 九月滿月｜重組 September — Reconfiguration
London, UK 11:34
reconfiguing...
In this moment of my life, one that is becoming more fragile with each moment, lack of stabile housing/lodging, limited work, ageing...I am in a constant state of reconfiguration.
When I begin to be overwhelmed by it all, I focus on breath, yield into the situation...the space/site, my body, the materials/elements that surround me...figuring out a new configuration of being, to fold it all, with it all into a temporary nest/nesting, my corporeal carrier bag. One that is buoyant, ready to shapeshift when needed. Aligning to water, to the sea, drift, afloat, provides tethers of joy. I try to re-embody that sensation with each shift with each re-configuration.
Taipei 11:10
The broken will be mended
The fallen be putting back
And the lost will be
Found.
Berlin 23:10
I remember a poem, or perhaps a Mooncake or Soy sauce advertisement from the 1990s, when many people from HK were migrating. that planted an idea that wherever you are, you can still look up at the same moon.
Tonight, after a long day of rehearsal, performing, mothering, gathering,
The moonlight falls on me here, on this particular balcony, on the ground where I stand. The moon I see feels like an abstract moon separate from everyone. It is bound to this place so tightly that I almost forget the idea that we are looking at the same moon.
"We may share the moon, but we do not share the same ground."
As I write this on my phone, I hear children screaming from one balcony. Then a mother screaming from somewhere else. Not from the same house; they might not even hear each other, as if they are cause and effect, answering each other without knowing it. I cannot completely understand what these sounds mean. But I feel them. The irritation, the exhaustion, the underappreciated, the rejected desire... something moving between us that I cannot quite name…
And yet, tonight, I am happy to celebrate the Moon with my found family here.
We are all busy, and yet each of us brings a small piece of how we once celebrated it. All these fading memories moving softly, like a cat passing through a room.
Something remembered, cooked, something carried across places and time; we place them here together. Perhaps this is another way of passing something on. Not preserving it exactly as it was, but reconfiguring it along the ground that we stand on. For our children and for us, those who have been drifting for long.
《望月懷遠》：
海上生明月，天涯共此時。
