- Ms. Lou
's dawn in the rain, a smear of powder on the horizon rendered light blue, with an indescribable emotion.
Attended a funeral last night.
There is no review of the life of the deceased. Some people who worked with them during their lifetime put their hearts in front of the spectators. Their memories are full of sadness or calm expressions, bringing all the past that belongs to them and the deceased closer and farther away.
It was a funeral for Pina Bausch.
The Rite of Spring, the youth social scene, the full moon, the Mueller Cafe... Layer upon layer is interspersed in the memories of the nostalgic.
When the mental activity becomes a human figure, it is presented in body language and expressions, and those hidden restlessness, anger, joy, grief, are exposed to the sun one by one, and you know that these can never be expressed verbally.
Where did it end up going yesterday. What will it look like tomorrow.
The present is always going to pass away. The new year turns into an old year, one day.
Some emotions have been brewing for a long time, just like Pina's examination of the soul and then expressed through dance.
Or sing, or remember, or recite. Just don't state it in words.
Maybe it can be very pure, but not very transparent.
This is related to a person's self-examination, monologue, catharsis, as well as failure and depression that can never be admitted.
Maybe still addicted, addicted also sober.
People tend to indulge in a double life, playing both the real and the surreal.
And discuss whether it needs cooperation, or maybe it's just because the surreal characters are so fascinating.
And the final conclusion always boils down to the following: Being able to be yourself, no, being a thousand times better than before is so fascinating.
It seems to have become an inseparable theme of life.
The funeral is over, and we're going back to the ordinary world, back to our own drama.
But I can still choose to live under Pina Bausch's shadow.
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