What follows is the result of an idea to connect the field of philosophy and thought with the world of drama. Let us choose sentences to ponder from the statements of the members of the philosophical group, which are archived in the “Chistiha Blog” (http://chistiha.blogfa.com); and after manipulating the concepts of those statements, and doing a brief exercise and editing, let us create a dramatic idea that will continue to form another dialogue, another concept, and another thought.
In the principles of drama writing, “ideation” and “drafting” have a specific method; but we tried to be one step before the idea and the plot. At the same stage of mental spark or, in our own words, the “study” stage, where the writer’s hand is open to writing down any image, concept, or point. Here, we have not limited ourselves to not mentioning the technical instructions, performance arrangements, dialogue, staging, and other matters, and left them for more detailed plans; on the contrary, we have completely written down whatever came to mind at the moment.
During our group meetings, we came to the conclusion that it was not necessary to obtain refined and precise plans from our conversations. It was only necessary to immediately edit and record everything that came to mind in an instant as a “study.”
And now we share the same with you. May these exercises and sketches be the beginning of a path to step on a bridge between philosophy and drama.
Ideas on the Bridge from Philosophy to Drama: Etude One Hundred and Twenty-Second
Note: These sketches have been registered with the Islamic Culture and Guidance Department. And the intellectual property belongs to the author.
These sketches are only allowed to be republished on the “Chistiha” site.
Idea number one hundred and twenty-two
Etude No. 122
This “Advice to a Colleague” is currently a readable text. But it could also be a theatrical performance. With a main actor and others whose shadows are visible behind a white curtain. The main actor on stage can speak to the audience. And in that case, when he goes behind the white curtain, there will be silence. And the sounds of missiles and bombs that put a distance between his words. And the stage can become a battlefield with red and purple lights. But everything is from behind the same white curtain, where the light on the other side has turned the objects into shadows. That is, a combination of monologue and a kind of wordless performance with anxiety and trepidation from the combination of music and the actors’ movements.
In terms of form, perhaps the example of Arthur Schopenhauer’s play Sledding by Yasmina Reza is a good model for this.
Do you know what happened one day in the office? One of the typists told me that her husband was thinking about this and that. And now he wants to get a divorce with a child and that’s it. I said, what’s the point? What next? Do you think you can live with a child on your salary? She thought. Her parents couldn’t help either. She couldn’t go back. She thought. She changed her mind. She happened to call and the next year she brought her second child. We went with my colleagues to buy her a piece of gold as a gift. Their house was in the officers’ barracks. The military’s organizational apartments. A one-bedroom unit. Carpeted. With a heater. And that’s it. We sat on the floor on a rug and brought fruit and we saw the child, who was also beautiful. A cute brunette with her own figure. We were all in my car. It was such a heavy car that I drove the whole way in second and third gear. We were all happy on the way. Gifts. Babies. Sweets. Peace. Well, life is not an ideal thing. These are the things. The old smell of a child. The smell of the boiler. The smell of the carpet. The cement apartments of the company. A husband who is not very faithful. And the scolding of two children in a row. And typing, typing, typing. For a bite of bread. To be honest, I should have told her that I took more from her than she took from me. That’s it. You see, one day, like today, I didn’t even think about it. When I’m thinking about you, this memory suddenly pops up from the back of my memory. I feel like telling you this. You know, I’m not a consultant. But I gave a lot of advice. There was another colleague of mine who really wanted a child. But she couldn’t have one. Her husband had also gotten divorced. She couldn’t come back either. There were many sisters. I don’t remember how many. This was the eldest sister. And her father wasn’t well either. I talked to her husband a lot. And the long phone calls. They reconciled. I forced them to reconcile. But a few years later, when I was no longer in that office, I heard that they had separated. And so it was something that happened. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was a decision. I have very good memories of him. When I first joined that unit, he taught me many things. We also had a very good boss. There were good days. Maybe those good things will remain. Maybe being a good employee, having a good boss is enough. Days go by one after another. Behind those desks. Among files and papers and computers. They are archived in memory. Suddenly, like today, they overflow. She also had a bachelor’s degree. Her husband had a diploma. Maybe this educational gap had made her feel that they were far apart. She always said this. She said she saw herself as inferior to me. It’s people’s standards. She couldn’t have had any other reason. The child was more of an excuse. Like any other war that needs an excuse. We had another colleague in the same office. She had married a veteran. She had asked for it. Her husband had had his spinal cord amputated in the war. She lived with her mother-in-law. She had this ugly face. But you can’t put yourself in her shoes. No one can. They had given him an award from the Veterans Foundation. At the celebrations. A coin. With honor. With a plaque of appreciation. A few years later, when I heard that they had also divorced, I asked myself, so what would happen to the coin and the plaque of appreciation now? I don’t know why they broke up. But his face had become more open. A look as if he was flying, not walking. I saw him in the office hallway. A few years later. That was also the one time. I didn’t see him again. It was as if the sound of mortars wasn’t playing in his head every night anymore.
You know, war is not just about itself. It has its aftermath. It has its memories. War is once and for all. Just think of one of the bodies that, after a few years, is found in pieces in the middle of the plains and mountains. It has been on a mine and years have passed. Well, these are not just a few pieces of bone. This was a body once. It had a mother, it had a sister. It had a wife. It had anger and reconciliation. One day it had hopes and dreams. It wanted to have children. Or maybe it wanted to divorce its wife and move on to the next. In any case, it was free. Now it has fallen in the grass. On the ground. Nothing is left of it except a few pieces that are not even clear now whether they belong to the plaque that used to be on its neck or are mixed with other bones. This is war. War is perhaps everywhere. It is also in this grass and soil. At one point, the grass tries to come to life. It does not give in to the soil. It is so dry that the grass runs out of life. It dries up. And it is over. War is everywhere. It has always been there. From the moment the old baby smell blows into the room with the heater on, you have to think that the war has started. When you review your memories, you see that the memory of the war will never be erased. Why? You think why? Because now you asked me to talk to you, maybe your problem will be solved. But I have to tell you that your problem goes back to the war. When you were very little. Your mother was drying your old clothes in the steam room. You were also in the border area. The sound of the missiles wrapped in meat. You may not remember it. But it is there. It is at the bottom of your memory.
We were here in the center. But the sound of the missiles is still in our ears. When it is, it also has its effects. Aren’t these wars and arguments the effects? The fact that men feel that they either have to fight or they have to use the child as an excuse and divorce and not bring it up because of the gap between their diploma and bachelor’s degree. Which would be very ridiculous if they revealed this. Or they have to suddenly make excuses that they don’t want to continue and tease women about their taste for beauty. Or right in the middle of an officer’s barracks, their eyes are looking for this and that. Don’t you think this is war? Aren’t these the effects of war? Why; it is. When your soul becomes violent, you can’t do anything about it. When your soul becomes violent, it becomes violent. From the moment the stale smell wafts into the room, and the sound of the barracks loudspeaker comes on and the sound of rockets and mortars comes on, the soul becomes violent. When the soul becomes violent, the days of office calendars and entry and exit cards that could have been archived like white and yellow files and stamps never end, and you have become just the same paper with stamps and signatures on it. You don’t know if you are worth it or not. You don’t know what you are. Your soul has become paper. Now I want to go visit each and every one of the survivors of those young men who went underground in their combat uniforms. Let’s go see what they say. Have their souls become paper or not? Just like stamped and signed paper. Not white paper. You can write poetry on it. No. Like archive paper. Let’s go visit each and every one of their houses. Let’s see if they are still there? Where did they go? They changed their houses. They even forgot that there was once a mourning flag on the front door of their house. They have built the same houses several floors over the years. Everything has changed. The color has changed. The alleys and streets have all become a different shape. But what you can’t deny is that everything is artificial. Like the plaque of appreciation given to the wife of a veteran, and then divorce, and a paper ghost, and the state of flight. All of these are related. We never understand the connection. Only when we realize that we step on the other side of this line, we see that there is someone just like us on the other side of the line. The lives of people who were just like us. They also buried their children in combat uniforms. After all, they also had mothers, sisters, and wives. They also became violent. They became more violent. They lost their souls. They came to your house, where you were living on the border. They dropped bombs and missiles. The sound is still in your ears. You hear it when you sleep. It’s still in the back of your memories. Even if you say you don’t remember. If they had found their way, they would have probably kicked your door open. Like the dirt they dug around the plains and mountains and laid mines. Maybe they would have come to your house. When you were a child, you were wrapped in old clothes. Maybe they would come and walk on the carpet of your room in front of you and your mother, and their blades would cut everything. But these children of this land stood up, put on their battle clothes. They didn’t let that day come. Look, if you want to talk to me today, it’s because your soul has become paper, you don’t know about that day. Now you’re asking what to do. Look, I’m not a consultant. But I gave a lot of advice. Maybe the whole time in the office. Whatever our offices were, they happened to have a soul. It was a place where there was a relationship. We weren’t just employees with stamps and signatures. We had a soul. Skin, blood, veins and tendons. We talked. There were offices where we had to do administrative work, for example. But most of the talk was about relationships and advice. We helped each other get through the days of the calendar. So that it would be archived. In a beautiful way. I want to tell you, don’t worry. Your situation today is not much different from the situation of my colleagues that day. These are the untimely events. They are also war-related. It happened anyway. It couldn’t have happened without happening. There’s just one difference. You have to resolve this conflict within yourself. First, discover it. First, see why it happened this way? Ask yourself. Why did you get involved in a war? A war that may have taken root in your essence. Then, see if you can archive everything. Maybe you’ll say no. But “time solves everything.” I told you once. I heard this sentence from the woman who left my brother-in-law alone after a lifetime together, and he couldn’t last in the hospital, and left his cancerous body, and left this sentence for me. Cancer took him down. Someone who relies on such a sentence is not a warrior. But you see how war comes to him. Cancer took him down. He fought with it for a long time. But he was defeated. He flew for a moment. My brother-in-law also took off and left. He didn’t feel like staying anymore. He stuck with himself. He stuck with himself. You once said you were stubborn with yourself, I said it wasn’t right. He did the same thing to himself. He got so addicted to alcohol that he wanted to get rid of his body as soon as possible. This is in men. Maybe we won’t be able to find the reason. I don’t know why they are so violent with their own bodies. When they are at war with everything. When they don’t want to accept that everything can be left to time and the days of the calendar can be archived, they start to fight with themselves. These people have always been the same. They will always be the same. There’s nothing you can do about it. Now let me call you after all this talk to see if you’re right. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. But don’t forget that the sound of bombs and missiles is still in your ears. That’s it.
Author: B. Khosravani
It is recalled that any copying and extraction of these ideas, from an ethical and legal perspective, is only possible by mentioning the address, and use for performance will only be possible if the author’s written consent is obtained.