Moreechika: Season of Mirage

Moreechika is fueled by violent stories of greed and mirages driven by economies based on oil. Images of nightmarish schemes of progress, relentless consumption of material objects, and the exhausting of reserves of non-renewable resources run through this piece. Large-scale puppets, casting shadows on the back wall of the theater, suggest ideas of human history and accountability.

Moreechika brings together many stories: the belief of the U’wa people of Colombia, who think of oil as ruiria, blood of the earth, which must be respected as part of the natural world; the protests of the indigenous Kichwa women of Ecuador to Chevron oil; the debates in North America about the Keystone XL Pipeline through Native American lands; and the fight and martyrdom of Nigerian activist Ken Saro-Wiwa against Shell Oil, responsible for the destruction of the land and ecosystem of the Ogoni people. At several points in the work, the dancers whisper Saro-Wiwa’s courageous words, “dance your anger/and your joys/dance the guns to silence/dance dance dance.”

Almost Gone
From the ashes of death/ Charred bodies/ Breath rises/ Again
Alokdrshti/ revealing/ that which has happened will happen again unless.
Lotus-disc formation/ difficult to enter/ more difficult to exit/ Mythical?/Or is it the trap we live in?
Wings heavy with oil/ spilled spilled spilled/ across life
Plastic Desire
Eddies of power/ gestures of flow/ that sit on supplicating bodies
Speedy machines/ efficient yet ruthless/ poking their eyes out/ on a whimsy of the night.
Pursuing the perfectly chiseled/ dancers embody rhythms and mudras/ age-old practices/ her face meanwhile/ staggers underneath her.
Surreptitious/ the disease crept up/ jumping into water/no longer joyful
Weep, weep, weep/ Unlikely passings/ Unheeded tragedies/ The terrible degeneration of/Elements
Charaiveti charaiveti
Keep walking/ Not forward not back/But in ways/ That circle/ Around each other/ To find that still center/ That is action
Ruiria/oil drop
The flow/ of/ ancestral cultural memory/ that heralds in/ new wisdom
Tremors of spring
How many times did we/ almost…/ before we finally burst into flame?
We will fight/ the promise of the women/ we will protect
Blinding storm
What is left to us/ when that which we knew/ as nurture/ as blessing/ turns against us/ raging a storm in our eyes?
Join the space/ transform the dream-space/ into the arena of action/ working small gestures/ that create epic hope.