O Centauro Ferido/Roda de Cura

Arte, saúde e seres híbridos: transgressões e integrações de fronteiras

Bianca Novais e Luciano Guimarães

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Uma Noite Feliz Diferente – Débora Gil e Cyrene Paparotti Gounin

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Tenho orgulho de dizer que a Cyrene é minha amiga e de apresentar aqui um pouco do seu trabalho com voz e dicção.


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Ao infinito…. e além!

R. C. Migliorini

Desde que fiz a cirurgia em 1992, fiz raríssimos cursos de dança. Isto me faz parecer um profissional negligente, uma vez que eu sou bailarino, coreógrafo e professor de dança. Por estar relendo um texto em que o cito, lembrei-me de um feito em 2014. Ia republicar o artigo original, no entanto, achei por bem apenas basear-me nele e escrever outro totalmente novo.

Eu falava de dançar com um corpo que adquiriu uma semiparalisia. Pois bem, como “dono” desse corpo, confesso que, ao mesmo tempo em que, pra mim, dançar é um imenso prazer, não deixa de ser frustrante.

Quando eu danço, não gosto de me confrontar com meu jeito de locomoção, uma vez que ele não se harmoniza mais com os movimentos que eu faço com o resto do corpo enquanto eu danço. Certas horas, por exemplo, eu coloco o pé em um determinado lugar, tipo muito perto do outro, simplesmente para não cair e, num ritmo que não se relaciona em absoluto com a cadência dos movimentos do braço. Nessas horas, a dança é secundária ou mesmo inexistente, pois a coordenação dos movimentos é quebrada por inteiro.

Tampouco é agradável tentar fazer um gesto preciso com o braço afetado, e ele meio que continuar, porque eu não consigo pará-lo. Por exemplo, ao tentar tocar a testa de alguém, eu posso perder o controle do braço e da mão e aproximá-los com muita força e rapidez da cabeça da outra pessoa. Assim, um toque que era pra ser suave pode virar um tapaço.

Porém, estar disposto a dançar, movimentar o braço semiparalisado e sentir minha maneira de andar não deixa de ser um progresso, já que meses antes eu não me disporia a fazer isso simplesmente porque essas coisas iriam aparecer.

O resultado dessas contradições é que há dias em que sinto prazer ao dançar e dias em que me estresso. Então, no isolamento da minha casa, eu busco o meu centro. Faço isso recorrendo à trabalhos somáticos, yoga, relaxamento, controle da respiração e, sobretudo, muita intuição. Mas diga-se de passagem, isso também pode ser bem desconfortável porque, querendo ou não, mente e corpo brigam dentro de mim.

No entanto, essa dinâmica me mostra que tudo bem se sentir frustrado, desanimado, ansioso… Faz parte. Até porque são esses sentimentos que dão início aos processos que nos levam a avançar. Talvez bem mais devagar do que gostaríamos, mas sempre.

Fev/2018


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Milking Before Dawn

In the drifting rain the cows in the yard are as black
And wet and shiny as rocks in an ebbing tide
But they smell of the soil, as leaves lying under trees 
Smell of the soil, damp and steaming, warm.
The shed is an island of light and warmth, the night
Was water-cold and starless out in the paddock.

Crouched on the stool, hearing only the beat
The monotonous heat and hiss of the smooth machines,
The choking gasp of the cups and rattle of hooves,
How easy to fall asleep again, to think
Of the man in the city asleep; he does not feel
The night encircle him, the grasp of mud.

But now the hills in the east return, are soft
And grey with mist, the night recedes, and the
The earth as it turns towards the sun is young.
Again, renewed, its history wiped away
Like the tears of a child. Can the earth be young again
And not the heart? Let the man in the city sleep.

Ruth Dallas Collected Poems 15


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TENSIONAR NÃO É PRECISO

texto escrito em 2013 para o site fãs da psicanálise. Revisado e republicado em 2017

R. C. Migliorini

Este é o primeiro texto do ano. Contudo, ele não é tão próprio para esta época, pois nele apenas menciono que coisas maravilhosas aconteceram em 2013. Embora elas tenham tido continuidade neste início de 2014 que, portanto, já começou bem, algumas, muito necessárias, ainda não aconteceram. Deste modo, por mais que eu tente, relaxar é bem difícil.

Falo aqui do relaxamento porque já faz algum tempo que eu estou com a palavra na mente. Conquanto eu já tenha escrito sobre o assunto, por ele me parecer bem importante e ainda não ter sido esgotado, resolvi prosseguir com ele.

Apesar do meu interesse no tema ser bastante atual, pode-se dizer que sua semente foi plantada há muito tempo, pois quando eu era pequeno fiz ludo-terapia e uma das técnicas usadas ali era o relaxamento. Foi a partir daí que eu comecei a gostar da coisa, até porque naquela época relaxar fez muito bem a mim. Depois, ao longo da vida eu voltei a me deparar com o procedimento inúmeras vezes, e voltei a fazê-lo na prática somática que adotei, já que, invariavelmente, todas as atividades corporais que agregam mente e corpo usam bastante o relaxamento.

Assim, venho me perguntando sobre a sua função em contextos de cura.

Especificamente sobre terapias somáticas, Martha Eddy em “A brief history of somatic practices and dance” diz que nessas práticas as pessoas dedicam-se a “ouvir o corpo”, em geral começando com o relaxamento consciente no chão ou em mesa de massagem. A partir deste estado de redução de gravidade são orientadas a prestar atenção nas sensações corporais que brotam do seu interior e a se movimentar delicada e lentamente para adquirir uma consciência mais profunda do “self” que se move.

Aí estão algumas pistas: relaxar significa aquietar corpo e mente para ouvi-los e ouvir-se a si mesmo. Em geral, isso é algo que nossa cultura e nosso estilo de vida nos impedem de fazer. Se a cisão conosco mesmo começa assim, relaxar, embora pareça o extremo da passividade, é uma forma ativa de começar a restaurar a nossa integridade.

Sendo assim: relaxar, é preciso.


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Former jockey Declan Murphy tells his story of winning again after reading his own obituary

CREDIT: SUNDAY TELEGRAPH <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/racing/2017/04/29/former-jockey-declan-murphy-tells-story-winning-reading-obituary/&gt;

Exactly 23 years on, Declan Murphy cannot remember anything about the accident that almost killed him. “Nope, nothing,” he says. “I have no memory.”

It is perhaps no surprise he cannot recall the details of what happened at Haydock Park on May Day 1994. That was when the horse he was riding fell at a hurdle. As he tumbled from the saddle, he was knocked unconscious.

While he lay on the turf, unable to roll from danger, a following horse stamped on his head.

So traumatic was the injury, as he remained apparently unresponsive in a coma, the doctors advised that his life support should be switched off, a move that prompted the Racing Post to publish his obituary.

The device, however, was left on while his parents travelled from Ireland. But because his father refused to come by plane, instead of six hours to get to Warrington, the Murphys took 24. And after 22 hours their son showed the first twitch of life. Subsequently his mind may well have erased the thought that he only survived because his dad was afraid of flying.

But the odd thing is, it was not just the accident that was expunged from his memory. Long after he had recovered, long after he learned to walk, to run, to ride again, long after he forged a new career as a hugely successful property developer living in Barcelona, the time he was at the peak of the riding trade remains a complete blank.

“Four years, six months, four days: gone,” he says. “I can remember up to the point I became successful. But it wiped out all the best parts of my career. It meant for years I pretended what had happened to me never happened. Because I couldn’t remember. When people talked about it I’d acknowledge it, but never engage. I removed myself from it.”

Yet now, two decades after the accident, he has just published his autobiography. It seems an unlikely proposition: the memoir of a man who can’t remember. “Maybe that’s why it’s taken so long,” he says, in his publisher’s office. “There are so many pages of my story torn out. I never wanted to do a book. I turned the idea down many times. I’d walked away, become someone different. I didn’t want to go back there. How can you assess the psychology of someone who doesn’t talk about what’s happened to them?”

The beautifully tailored suit he is wearing suggests he didn’t need the money. But in the end he was persuaded by his ghost writer, an American academic called Ami Rao. She became his ghost in every sense, trying to inhabit his past in the quest to help him recover the lost times.

The result is Centaur, a brilliant, bold and at times brutal examination of the process of re-constructing his memory. “What appeared to happen to me was I had an accident and I recovered. It wasn’t as simple as that,” he suggests. “It was a deeply personal battle. I didn’t have a fight going on within me I had a war. I chose to fight this war on my own.”

In the long process of recovery, he cut himself off completely from his past. Although strong enough physically, he only rode one comeback race. He won it and then walked away from racing. Ami Rao, however, made him confront who he was, made him look at every single piece of written or visual evidence of his riding prowess.

Declan Murphy and horse
Murphy pictured a year after his accident CREDIT: GETTY IMAGES

“I’ve never cried so much as I have doing this,” he admits. “We talked to so many people about me. Their memories of what happened, it was like I’m a third party listening to this story. Really? That was me?”

One of the things he read during the process was his own obituary. “They were very kind about me,” he says of the Racing Post eulogy. “No complaints there.” As he recovered, Murphy had deliberately removed himself from those who had been central to his life before the accident. In the reconstruction of his memory, Ami Rao contacted all of them, several of whom had not heard from him in nearly 25 years.

“That was the amazing thing about this book,” he says. “Everybody we spoke to was desperate to talk. It was like they had finally been given permission.”

He discovered all sorts of things in the process. Like the fact his accident had happened the day after his hero Ayrton Senna had been killed and that he had apparently been filled with foreboding as he got ready to ride. Or like the way his fellow riders had reacted. “It seems when the doctor brought my helmet in and it seeped blood on to the table, every jockey in the weighing room that day, their blood went cold. You can’t imagine that type of scene. I certainly hadn’t.”

Ami Rao also contacted Joanna, Murphy’s then-girlfriend, who frantically tried to call him 20 or 30 times the afternoon of the accident, only for her calls to be ignored by the other jockeys, too traumatised to answer the phone ringing in his kitbag. She stood by him throughout his recovery, but they broke up soon after. The problem was Murphy had no memory of her before his accident. Nothing at all. Which was something his seven-year-old daughter struggled to understand.

Declan Murphy today

Declan Murphy’s book is “a brilliant, bold and at times brutal examination of the process of re-constructing his memory” CREDIT: SUNDAY TELEGRAPH

“My daughter opened the book and found a picture of me with Joanna,” he says. “She said to my wife, ‘Mummy, daddy had a girlfriend’. Then she said to me, ‘Why didn’t you marry her?’ My wife said: ‘Daddy had an accident and he can’t remember Joanna’. And you know what my daughter said? ‘But her picture’s in his book’.”

As he moved on in life, leaving his past behind, Murphy says the fact he was such a successful jockey became ever less significant. “I’m absolutely a different person. I have never used racing as a currency to trade in. Never. And I had a great career.” That said, he does admit that some of the mental requirements needed to become a top rider have been useful in his subsequent life.

“I absolutely used the disciplines I used as a jockey. But I think I had those anyway, and would have applied them to whatever I have done. I certainly had to be very disciplined in my recuperation.” Mentally, he says, his recovery was easily the most difficult thing he has ever done. Or at least that he can remember doing.

“I had to make sacrifices that you can’t imagine ever having to make. Yes, of course, there were consequential effects to that. Everybody said I changed. I became very private. I became obsessed with trying to create an identity for myself. That’s the thing when you don’t have a memory: you don’t have anything that tells you that you are the person you are.”

Now at least the memories are there in his book. Even if not in his mind.

  • Centaur by Declan Murphy and Ami Rao is published by Doubleday (£16.99)