Cristobal Jodorowsky died, of unknown causes, at the age of 57. The family made the announcement at 9.48 pm on September 15. I state that every time someone significant disappears and I see the social parade of images where everyone is published in photos with the good soul I remain at least perplexed.
It always seems that the gesture prefers to obscure the memory of the lamented in favor of that fleeting smile, gesture or autograph exchanged. But equally it makes little sense to talk about someone who masterfully did it of himself in his autobiography The tiger collar. A fundamental autobiography if you want to understand something of Cristobal Jodorowsky.
That collar that the beast shakes, realizing that the limit does not exist except in one’s inability and distrust to overcome it is one of the main access keys to his work: breaking boundaries, debunking beliefs, breaking through stratified neurological networks, from genealogical dust and social convention.
To those who decide to follow him, even for a small portion of knowledge and experience, Cristobal gave himself wholedisarming, exposing constant anecdotes and personal transformations, whole, as shameless as his experience of an overdose coma or skin falling off like a snake at the beginning of a new cycle of teaching.
There were many legends about Cristobal Jodorowsky and his character that was certainly not mild, but strong, sometimes immovable, founded, lived, generous, choleric, passionate yes, always. As a good teacher he knew how to warn against the easy expectations of the result of a psychomagic act created by him, so that it would never be experienced as a passive solution to an important conflict, but as a profound act of responsibility towards oneself and, sovereignly, the whole of life, a restructuring of one’s perceptual and behavioral map.
Shaman, spiritualist, writer, therapist, magician, channeler, actor, artist tout court, he was able to hold endless chats even until the night to an audience exhausted by intense bodily and psychic work, emphasizing the risks of patriarchal thinking, of power structuresof the calcified roles of clichés on masculine and feminine but without completely dismantling them, indeed recalling their appeal to a feral primitive consistency, not sweetened, unlike many masterswithout ever diminishing any other choice, from homosexual to non-traditional forms of family.
Strict and compassionate teachertoo human, unsettling, like Don Juan with the perplexed Castaneda, always looking for that stone that could break the thick crystal of an existential blockof a deaf rancor, of a paralyzing unresolved, sometimes too proud, other times of a disarming humility and tenderness, especially when his sweet Lola and assistants Fabiana and Stefania were next to him, she almost his Italian limb.
In terms of family constellations, he surely knew how to create and lead a field of connections of rare powertheatrical, histrionic and hypnotic, often adorned with elements of the South American mystical tradition, oils, sheets, nails, similar to blood, used to design decidedly unusual choreographies for the traditional Hellingerian setting.
Yet in Cristobal Jodorowsky there was also something similar to a solid psychoanalytic training, syncretic but never trivialized elements of the greatest world religions but not only, intertwined in a constant dance of love-hate with the tiring, inescapable paternal inheritance; a relationship often cited with very different accents, from pride, to gratitude, to awe, to a dull pain, Kafkaesque and Freudian too.
Amaze … astonished always, leaving even a few hours of his meeting created a brotherhood, a sisterhood difficult to tell, that still continues today, that of those who have laid themselves bare in every sense, revealing their most intimate fractures, their unconfessable anxieties at the confessional of the shared ritual, knowing them to be safe.
Great protagonist with him is the body, returned to its original connection with the sacredcapable of constantly reinventing an innocence of connection that has nothing to do with abuse, with the morbid, rather with dance, massage, caress, challenge, play, channeled anger, a primordial alchemical purity.CopyAMP code.
Entering his sacred space of work was participating every moment in some unsuspected initiation, even when he shouted, seemed not to understand, insisted with apparent unpleasantness on the blind spots of each participant; but knowing how to stop where there was no road.
At the end of a course he told us that diplomas were useless and he picked a flower for each one. Then came the diploma.
I don’t think he would be happy if I wrote about it, he knew how to keep distances, boundaries, podiums, to lose them by displacing you in a sudden laugh, overflowing with provocation and conscience. One night, after a kind of quarrel with him – perhaps I was always asking too many questions – I had the feeling that he came to see me in a dream in the form of a walrus, to remind me of the importance of irony, of lightness, of sharing not necessarily comfortable.
It sure didn’t make you comfortable, but it didn’t waste a blink of an eye. I will not waste a single comma on the documents he delivered, he tells many of them in his writings about him, but certainly following his intuitions required courage and determinationthe absence of a taboo vision, even in the deep respect of every story, a challenging opening to the unknown and a massive dose of humor.
For a few days, for various reasons in the environment close to me, I have been hearing about the place of Borgo Paolawhere he privileged to work in a glass yurt in the middle of the green, and it makes me think that his profound life, what we could for convenience call soul, was preparing to become greater than it was – a lot – to directly experience all the dimensions that his meditation proposals hinted at.
I had to say that I have resolved the instances for which I have investigated his thinking, not yet. Yet I do not feel I have lost a moment in shedding powerful light, in my constant research bulimia, on an immensity of structural themes, enhancing the love for contradictions and the acceptance of the imperfect. I love him.
I apologize for the narrative bias, me Not I knew him well. I am grateful to him for everything and in spite of everything. The rigor towards authenticity and the ability not to stop halfway, for any reason, are the strongest memory that I carry engraved, in blood and light, of the territories where he roamed freely and where he probably continues to do so.
One like this does not disappear as if nothing had happened.