Sylvie Barbier

Spoken in English. Their words, as they said them.

I I see all the people behind the walls.

All of us seeking to connect.

Kissam and all his artists.

This is becoming artwork. It's not becoming a interview.

I mean, this is a kind of performance art piece right here.

And, I wanna express my gratitude.

I think everything is alive. The house is alive. We hear the sounds that she makes When we treat the world or the house or the things as if they're dead, that's because we're quite dead inside and we see things as dead. But if you're full of life inside, you see their life everywhere. You see the traces of life in the stone, in the wind. The people who move the stone, who put the stone, who crave the stone. The people who walk on the steps.

The life that made everything we're here.

And life is a metamorphose. It's constant change, constant transformation. If there is no transformation, then it becomes a stagnant lake where disease forms because there's no movement of life.

Being alive is uncomfortable.

There's pain.

Like, can we embrace the pain?

I create you, creating me, creating you. You create me, creating you, creating me. I create you, creating me, creating you. You create me, creating you, creating me.

We're here in that prison of our imagination.

The key out to that prison Maze within and in each other. If you and I are interbeing in one, how can I get out of that prison without you getting out of that prison?

And maybe getting out of that prison is far more easy than we think.

And the body, and the skin, and those teeth and those hands. Are they mine? Are they my ancestors who I am without them.

Are those eyes mine?

Or are they my mother's?

Are those ears my ears? Or are they my father's?

Is this nose my nose? Or is it my grandmother's?

Is this mouth my mouth or is it for you? Is this voice my voice? Or am I speaking for the ancestors?

You can create anew. If you don't let the path of peace Is this body my body? Or is it the body of my children? Is it this body? My body or is it the the womb of my son? In this body grew my charm, so is it mine, or is it his? And this party came from mine, my mother with who I was one. Oh, I was one.

I was one until I was born.

To be born is an illusion and to lie is oh so an illusion to be on and to be you is also the illusion of separation.

And so I have this life to be one again, to be one, to be my true nature.

Oh, oh, And so this voice is not mine. It is the voice of the ancestor. And so the spice is not mine. It's the voice of the future.

And as you witness, you witness beyond yourself as your gaze is not yours. Your gaze belongs to the world. It is the gaze of the ancestors, and this case is the one of the children looking for answers.

And he answers, La, here.

And he answers, the high ear.