Stories That Work

2011-08-24T07:52:00.000-07:00

"Wherever a story comes from, whether it is a familiar myth or a private memory, the retelling exemplifies the making of a connection from one pattern to another: a potential translation in which narrative becomes parable and the once upon a time comes to stand for some renascent truth. This approach applies to all the incidents of everyday life: the phrase in the newspaper, the endearing or infuriating game of a toddler, the misunderstand-
ing at the office. Our species thinks in metaphors and learns through stories."
-Mary Catherine Bateson, Anthropologist

Are you haunted?

2011-06-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

1. Are you haunted? Does a strange quest, question, compulsion follow you?

These cards emerge from an unrelenting inner compulsion. Finally, after months (years) of ignoring, arguing, avoiding, I will finally give up and write. I can give an hour in the morning to this strange pull. My critic rages that this is crap. Yes, ok, perhaps. But I make space for this obsession—to record lessons learned in my own dark woods. These cards are like hunks of bread I’ve torn and smashed together in my hand, and then tossed to the ground. Can I understand my long strange trip? Can I create a path of meaning, if not for others, at least for myself?

What idea pursues you? It lurks beneath ipads, tv, and tweets. It sits like a Loch Ness in your own deep waters. Will you sit quiet and watch your waters and learn what stirs within?

Are you called to some strange quest? Is the work too large? How can you hope to finish it in one (not even one) lifetime?

Still. Isn’t it time to start?

Give in to the idea that haunts you and watch your stress recede.

Write, paint, dream. Walk, play, watch. Where, how can you serve?

What is more moral: following your true nature or doing what others expect?

Cheating, lying (to myself or others) is not moral. But following my heart? If it will not hurt another, I must follow my own path to discover my true gifts.

I WILL make mistakes (that is the only way to learn). But I will find my way.

Deep in your heart, you know what you are being call to do.

Do it.

Another Quote to Cling To

2011-04-28T19:38:00.000-07:00

You need only claim the events
of your life to make yourself yours.
When you truly possess all you
have been and done, which may
take some time, you are fierce
with reality.

Florida Scott Maxwell
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A Quote to Keep us Going When we Doubt our Abilities or Calling

2011-04-27T19:14:00.000-07:00

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. ... No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching…….…Whether you choose to take an art class, keep a journal, record your dreams, dance your story or live each day from your own creative source. Above all else, keep the channel open!

Martha Graham

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Bending in a Storm

2011-04-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

Found this essay from a year ago. Seemed apt for this April weather.

A tornado passed near our town yesterday. We were blessed. Although we’ve been without electricity for over 24 hours now; our home, garage, and cars are intact. Some of our neighbors haven’t been so lucky. Many of their towering old trees broke in half or cracked along an enormous limb. These came crashing down on cars, homes, streets and sidewalks.

I was home when the violent storm started. The power shut off and I debated whether I should go into the basement--but it was hard to leave my view at the window. My three-story-tall Black Walnut trees were bending and swaying ferociously. The 80mph winds shook my lovely, old giants—but they did not break.

How did my stately trees survive? Despite their great size, they somehow were able to bend in that murderous wind. I’m not a tree expert; perhaps Black Walnuts are a heartier species. Still, the three in our yard must be internally healthy to have weathered that incredible force.

The storm battered our psyches too.

My husband, Rick, doesn’t feel confident with household maintenance. And since he is “the man of the house,” and I know much less than he does, the burden falls to him. When something goes wrong in our home, he often panics.

When we lost electricity in the storm, I assumed it would be restored quickly, as usual. But as the hours passed and the sump pump filled, Rick began to feverishly bail water. We didn’t have a backup generator. Without electricity our pump wouldn’t work and our basement would flood. I pitched in bailing as Rick carried buckets away. But the storm continued and after several hours we had only kept pace with the incoming water. We couldn’t bail all night. Now it was late, stores were closing and we had few options.

Rick was in a downpour of panic now. I recognized the symptoms. When overwhelmed with fear, in a situation I detest, I too make poor decisions, creating more work and more stress.

Luckily, at the last moment, a neighbor offered an outlet on his generator.

The next morning, I joined a crowd of neighbors to view the devastation. While the wind had only raged for 10 minutes, the cleanup would take weeks. I thought of the psychological storms that rage inside us and how these too cause damage that requires lengthy clean-up. When confronted with the situations we detest, both Rick and I can be overwhelmed by an emotion, or battered by an alter-ego. The storm takes over, devastating our thinking or our plans.

Why did some trees break? Were they brittle inside? Or diseased? From the outside they appeared healthy (at least to me).

The storms come, both inside and outside ourselves. Either way, we clean up the damage. Today we move tree limbs and clean warm refrigerators, hoping the electricity comes soon. Likewise, Rick and I try to learn from our emotions. We strive to keep ourselves from getting brittle. Then, when the storms come, we can bend.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Trusting God or Another Bad Move?

2011-04-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

All my life I’ve been stuck halfway between faith and doubt. When others talk about trust in God, what does that mean? Do I passively wait for my Destiny to arrive? How will I recognize Destiny vs. My Own Stupidity?

Rick has been trying to trust God more--especially regarding money. Now God is graciously giving us many opportunities to practice that trust. Financially, we feel like Job--every day brings a new savings account hemorrhage. Car needs new brakes (3K), our insurance didn’t fully cover Rick’s colonoscopy (1K), little Sophie needed 8 teeth pulled by vet (3K), and last week’s big item-- sewer pipe busted ($12K). Rick is convinced that God is “testing us.” Do we pass when the bank account is empty?

Meanwhile, my freelance gigs have dried up. Does “trusting in God” mean looking for other work or should I enjoy this time and write? The question is moot to me—I can’t wait without feeling like a big irresponsible jerk. I’ve been actively seeking other work. But questions of “trusting God vs. being responsible” never end. Should I just take whatever job that I can get? (I’m getting too old for that!) We still have some savings so I can wait and “trust.” But is that simply laziness? Or is waiting more responsible than grabbing the wrong job—one I’ll want to immediately jettison? As expenses increase and time passes I feel the pressure of “just taking anything.”

Ironically, waiting for good things (is that what trusting God means?) feels immoral. I’ve never been able to do it. When I produced theatre, I’d get frantic over late props or costumes. Others would trust that “everything will work out.” I judged them as simply having low standards. Even though I believe in God and try to live with a spiritual focus, I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) “trust” God to help me with costuming. God isn’t following me like some assistant, taking notes of all the things I need and promising to deliver—often at the last, dramatic moment-- when all seems lost.

I don’t want to depend on God to bail me out if I don’t manage my projects well.

On the other hand, I’ve too often aborted jobs and projects when I encountered colossal barriers. When problems came, I felt overwhelmed and confused. I didn’t know that obstacles always come—especially when we’re creative. Mythically, they’re the ferocious gatekeepers we must overcome on the way to our dreams. Why must they block our way? Because--as we overcome the dragon or evil stepmother, we discover our strength and power. Without the obstacle, the hero is still undeveloped. Seen this way, I understand the great gift of my impediments — the nitpicking bureaucrat, or the lazy costume designer forces me to learn leadership.

Last year we put our home on the market. Our plan was simple—reduce our mortgage. My fantasy was to move somewhere cheaper so I could pursue my dreams. I wouldn’t have the struggle between being responsible and following an inner calling. But, in the dismal market, our house sat--ignored. In the past I might have pushed my agenda, lowering and lowering the price. But this time, I tried to watch the flow of Life. Instead of forcing my will, I surrendered to the frustrating reality: we couldn’t sell at a reasonable price. Since we could still afford our mortgage we decided to accept the unknown. We “un-staged” the house and reclaimed our space.

Months later, I saw the blessing in our failure. If we had sold and bought a cheaper home, it would have been much smaller, and in poorer condition. We would have found more financial freedom, but Rick would have hated the tradeoff. How much money and time would we have spent, trying to improve the space? Would we, unhappy again, want to move—continuing our dysfunctional cycle of impulsiveness? By trusting in God (not forcing my own will), we may have avoided more pain.

I believe in a Higher Power that is somehow involved in my life. I’ve learned that it is far wiser to go with Life’s flow (Destiny, God’s Plan?) than to fight for my own agenda. I’ve seen the difference. Sometimes opportunities move rapidly toward me, and sometimes a relentless parade of barriers block my path. Being responsible is learning to respond (be response-able) to Life’s changing circumstances, moment by moment.

Instead of letting my emotions dictate my actions, I’ll become aware of them. I’ll uncover my deepest fears (“What if I don’t get what I want? How will I handle that?” or “What if I screw up again? What will everyone think?”). I trust in God to help me tolerate these feelings and move through them. Then, when watching our bank account dwindle, I can admit these fears to myself and to God. “I’m afraid regarding money. I don’t want to be irresponsible but I want a vocation that is meaningful. What should I do?” Then I can listen and wait. In the quicksand of strong emotions and distorted thinking, I’ll need to discern what is true. At this time, in this place, what is the responsible action? What have my past mistakes taught me about my reactions now? My mistakes are my greatest teacher, helping me recognize my faulty thinking. With practice I’m learning how to balance between waiting on Grace and taking responsibility for my life. It is a high wire act.

Be Kind to the Scaredy-Cat

2011-04-22T07:14:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed of a skittish cat that I’m trying to calm. A man near me begins to handle her roughly. The cat is growling, almost barking with fear and anger. I angrily tell the man to never do that again.

In my dream journal I write, “Who is the cat?” Me? Yes, I am skittish. Especially when leading others in any heart-felt work.

Then I feel a jolt of remembrance—this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered the “scaredy-cat.” Years ago, I worked with the archetype and recognized my own cat-like traits--positive and negative. As a leader, I am acutely sensitive to the energies of a group and can adjust to their needs. But too often, my hyper-alter state morphs into a paralyzing fear.

Thank you Dream, for the reminder--to be kind to my internal scaredy-cat. This isn’t an intellectual dream analysis but a deeply felt recollection. I’m posting cat pictures and signs throughout the house and will gently cherish my inner cat today….

State of the Art Plumbing Project--Inside and Out

2011-04-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

Getting lots of sympathy from family and friends over our recent plumbing project. Interesting! For me this construction/demolition has been a #3 level of annoyance while my search for a compelling job continues at a #8-9. (To be fair, I don’t share my struggles. How could others understand, if I’m perpetually confused? Or is it embarrassment? Shame of my constant search for my vocation?)
This morning I saw the synchronicity--that my soul is also undergoing an excavation. At the base (ment) of my personality I feel exposed as old habits and assumptions are ripped up. I’m exploring the deep underground of my psyche. Is this difficult time really about removing an old psychic system and replacing it with one geared for the present moment, not the past?
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Working with dreams

2011-04-08T14:18:00.000-07:00

For years I’ve read about the importance of actively encountering the images in my dreams. Slowly, I’ve begun to have a small inkling of what it means to “work with my dreams.” I’ve come to appreciate the advice I’ve often heard to “not overly interpret” but to “live with” the symbolism. I’ve drawn dreams and made crude artifacts, but mostly I’ve tried to actively imagine the characters and situations. Not all dreams lend themselves to further “amplification” so I’m always grateful when a juicy one comes. I’m thankful for the powerful symbols in last Wednesday’s dream. Here’s the section that has affected me.

----I am at a smorgasbord/Chipotle kind of place. Very abundant, incredible food. I don’t know what to order. Suddenly a robber comes and all the staff leave and I’m left alone in this smorgasbord. I can’t decide what to try and feel afraid that I’m going to get caught pillaging. But the staff is still gone so I go around rapidly trying things. I pick up a giant mango, peel it and taste. While the food is amazing, I’m not really enjoying it because I’m not sitting down to a meal, I’m just snatching tastes, furtively. I become paralyzed trying to figure out what I want. Eventually the staff comes back and I get ready to leave with my tiny burrito that was never fully made.

Much more happened in this dream but these images (of my greed and sneakiness robbing me of joy) have given me guidance. I continue to remind myself to relish my wealth of opportunities, ideas, and impulses. Instead of rejecting this abundance within me (my many dreams of writing, training, running retreats etc…..) I can allow myself to fully savor different flavors.

These dream images have had a profound influence on my last few days. I am embracing my impulses and enjoying them instead of rushing myself from idea to idea in a frantic need to “figure myself out.” Several projects have presented themselves to me (like a luscious mango). I’m tasting each and enjoying the taste without worry. I’m allowing myself to have a plateful of different items, instead of insisting that I decide on one direction.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Careful, watching this Eagle and her eaglets on camera is addicting.

2011-04-07T07:53:00.000-07:00

Live Video streaming by Ustream

Character study—Grace

2011-04-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

Like a puppy, I follow my Muse, here, there. Another wasted day. How is it, after all this time searching, there is no path for me?

The church, work, friendship--all bores. And now, even my beloved Writing holds no life. What difference does it make, if I clean the house, buy a new bra, or attempt to write—something, anything? There is no need for me. How does each day pass? Somehow I move from superfluous to redundant to unnecessary.

For decades I had dreams and goals-- but now? I belong to no one and nothing. Bobbing, lost, on a sea of selfish distractions, afraid and unsure how to give. Why am I so stingy? How can I serve?
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Do you know Marlene? Are you Marlene?

2011-04-01T11:27:00.000-07:00

Marlene feels guilty. She loves George but sometimes, after hanging out with charismatic neighbors or coworkers, she feels an aversion to him. “He’s not that attractive,” she thinks. How did I end up with him?

Marlene avoids conversations with cute ex-boyfriends or former bosses. These beautiful people stir up her feelings of discontent. She loves George. She’s happy with him. She just wishes he was more handsome.

She is happy. This is a small problem.

Still, Marlene’s secret and her guilt are heavy burdens.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

The Alchemical World

2011-03-23T08:12:00.001-07:00

My happiest moments are joining the world in its churning, alchemical process. I take hard rice and transform it, with veggies and squash, into a new reality—a healing meal. I bring the scraps to my compost and, months later, bring rich dark earth to my garden beds. I bring tiny seeds also, which transform into plants and sturdy veggies that I bring to the stove and metamorphose into rich soup.

How wonderful to work with these mysterious powers that create the slow miracles of daily life. The world is a playground of magical matter that transforms. Likewise, with prayer, meditation, or mindfulness, our psyches transmute too.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Competition

2011-03-22T08:11:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or have you noticed that (within the last 20 years) the din of competing voices has grown more strident and piercing? As our population rises, does our competition for resources intensify? I’ve felt this--both inside my own psyche and in my world. Social “networking” is our current euphemism for our evermore aggressive rivalry. If there isn’t enough (jobs, money, prestige) to go around, I must howl louder and grab what I can. Even if the prize doesn’t truly satisfy or fit me—I must seize it and hang on tight. To seek “right livelihood” or my vocation (what is THAT?) is crazy. Wake up. There are not enough good jobs or decent salaries. I shouldn’t indulge in pipe dreams.

As a theatre artist and writer, I’ve always felt the scarcity of options and the intensity of competition. But now, in my 51st year, I’m exploring a new way. Could it possibly be true that there is some kind of Force (call it God for short), that calculates our unique needs? This Force doesn’t magically deliver our prayer-orders, like some Benevolent Bureaucrat in the sky. But consider this—an unseen algorithm--some mystical order that is part of the God Force. When we align ourselves in this Field of God, we find the path that leads to creativity and “just what I need.”

But how could this be true if reason shows me a small number of theatres producing plays and many more playwrights seeking admission? How can this work when 90% of the world’s resources are in the hands of 2%?

Good questions! But maybe the wrong questions. I am beginning to believe in Abundance as another frame of reality. One that, like the new physics, I cannot see (or even understand) but a fact that I experience every Spring when I throw out seeds and uncover my perennials.

How would it feel to believe that “there is enough for me” and “I get exactly what I need?”

Just writing that sentence brings peace and calm to my heart.

I’m writing lately without obsessing about selling, marketing, or promoting my work. What if I did what I feel called to do? What if I simply wrote and did the best I could? What if I trusted in God and Destiny? Why not try this? I’ve tried competition. Not only have I “failed” but my soul has withered. Trusting in God revives my soul. I give up worry, and a shriveled soul and get peace and joy? Not bad. It’s not easy—I have to have the courage to look selfish and fail. But I can do this. I can finally (finally! FINALLY!) start down my own unique path without retreating because I lost faith after calculating my odds of success.

What if I took my own path without the calculation?
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved. No more to read on this post. Even though Blogger says

Last night's dream

2011-03-21T06:58:00.000-07:00

Have you seen "Inception?" Cool and provocative re: dreams.

Did you know that reading or hearing others' dreams can encourage them in you?

Here's part of mine from last night.
Dreamt I saw a very young doe sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. My dog Sophie trots over to the doe and I’m afraid that she will attack it. But she barely acknowledges it. I’m relieved. The doe rises on its thin limbs and starts to walk in Sophie’s direction. I intend to follow to check on it.

(I'm struck to see that my innocence (a motherless doe) and my instincts are about the same size in me. I may be a bumbling, fumbling fool in the world, but I have retained this rare doe. It has not been lost or killed (thanks be to God).

Where is the doe going? I don’t know--but it follows the dog. I follow these both—my instincts and innocence).

Would love to hear your dreams also....

Falling Backwards....

2011-03-17T13:44:00.000-07:00

Lately, I’m very conscious of my persona--the part of me that seeks to impress or pretend interest where there is none. It's a necessary construct but I long to spend more time working from my soulful, innocent, center. When I experience that truthful, generous space, my heart longs for it. My heartfelt prayer is for a vocation that brings out my best. A work that allows me to offer my unique talents from a more open, peaceful, and noncompetitive place.

To my worldly self, my willingness to trade money for meaning can feel like falling backwards off a steep cliff.

I’m comforted when I remember the archetype of the holy fool. Others have embraced his crazy journey. I can too.

Illustration by Ma Deva Padma

Emotions and the Hero's Journey

2011-03-11T08:03:00.000-08:00

There is no way to take our own hero’s journey without facing our confusing and painful emotions—especially fear, anger, and shame. When we fully explore this inner realm (of our emotions), we will experience the struggle of all heroes. The details of our outer life may be mundane, but our inner world contains the same demons, angels, allies, and monsters of all great mythic journeys. Our inner phantoms may be invisible but they are still very real. And just like adversaries in myths—our inner foes disintegrate and disappear when conquered.

Since our inner landscape is invisible to most others, we are tempted to ignore, avoid, or deny it. No one can prove that we are lying to ourselves when we disown our anger, fear, or shame. But our self-deception only prolongs our journey through our unique trials of self-actualization. The sooner we begin slaying our dragons, the sooner we can win our beloved and the pot of gold.

Like the knights of King Arthur—we are obliged to find our own unique path and take this journey alone.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved

Interior decorator of my soul

2011-03-10T07:04:00.000-08:00

We’ve lived in our tiny bungalow for 8 years. Even now, we are just learning to use the space well and organize our things. After each small or larger change, we wonder why it took us so long to fix our previous disorganization, clutter, or poor design. I’d like to live in “house perfect” (like my friends and family) but it’s a low priority. Improvements to our home move slow slow slowly…….

My inner world gets most of my attention. I ponder every inch of my soul’s living space. When I notice a broken thought, a dangling nerve, or a mismatched perception, I focus on it with laser-like attention. But I cannot simply give away this damaged piece of myself. I cannot simply buy a new thought, mood, or impression. I can only create new parts of myself slowly—if at all. But, once I glimpse my own brokenness, I find it hard to look away. I’m like my friend, Donna, who cannot rest if she sees a tilted picture frame. No matter how tired, she must get up and straighten the picture. It bothers her.

I’m like Donna. But instead of brainstorming about my kitchen that needs remodeling, I stare at the dented, scratched and damaged parts of myself. I move toward them and observe. I ponder and pray, ponder and pray, journal, ponder and pray. That’s all I know how to do.

Am I torturing myself by pondering my perceived “failures” so often? Feels like it. But I want to be in a showcase soul. As every homeowner knows, construction in a home (while you’re living in it) is harrowing. But we suffer through it because the rewards are great.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved

Who am I?

2011-03-09T07:03:00.000-08:00

My life is a skirmish—a war between my true Self and my Frankenself, the one pieced together from hurts and fantasies. Her gleaming smile, her Eileen Fisher suit—this monster charms as she steps over the bodies. She aims high. She will win.

So I confound her. I change my mind. I put away the suit and think. And pray. And wait. Who am I? What am I here for?

Frankenself shrieks. She screams about my failure. “Stick to the plan! Why can’t you stick to the plan??”

But I don’t want to bask in awards and an impressive bio. I’m searching for an elusive Self, the one who speaks little and disappears.
© 2011 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved

Can You Be Happy Anywhere?

2009-08-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

As I study the research on happiness (for my training workshops), one idea dominates: happiness is a state of mind. This probably sounds overly obvious (in the abstract) but applying this to my daily life is a struggle.
We all have dreams and goals. These are vital to life. But if dreams slip into "when _____ happens, I'll be happy," it's time to question these thoughts.
Lately I've become obsessed (again) with living on Lake Michigan. I long to move north-some quiet beaches in Wisconsin are the most peaceful and spiritual places I know. Since I believe in the power of intention, and prayer, and hard work, I approach this desire with energy and optimism. But even with my best creative thinking, I can't find a way to make this dream happen soon.
Today I've felt a shriller inner voice pleading, "Come on God, I really want this! I'll pray so hard you'll have to make this happen!" (Here I'm like my puppy who begs and begs until I give her what she wants).
But then I remember happiness research. If I got the home on Lake Michigan, would it really make me happier? I find a deep inner peacefulness at the lake but isn't there a way to create that peacefulness anywhere? Happiness research says yes. Our thoughts, not our circumstances create happiness. Certain daily disciplines, (like meditating and practicing gratitude can even change the brain toward a happier state).
Can I really create the same peaceful feelings in my urban backyard as those that envelop me when I sit on an empty beach, listening to the waves? I will try. And even now, as I shift from the desperate need for something in the future to the quiet acceptance of the Now, I know greater peace.
I'm a passionate person with many goals and desires. It is a challenge to balance my enthusiasms and ambitions with an acceptance of Life's limits. Today I make a new goal--to keep practicing both gratitude and acceptance of the limits of today. © 2009 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved
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System Restore

2009-06-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

Had to take our computer in last week and do a "system restore." The techs remove everything from the hard drive and restore the original settings. It's up to me to try to replace all the software and gadgets I had added to my desktop over the years.

Seems like I've been doing a system restore on my soul also. Several years ago many of my established roles "crashed" and I was forced to start my life again, from scratch. I've been rebuilding ever since. The goal is to rebuild myself (or my computer) more intelligently. To use my hard-won knowledge to create a higher functioning system.

When I turned on my "restored" computer yesterday, my desktop was eerily empty. I still don't know where many of the files are hidden. There seems to be much work ahead and it is my least favorite activity. For me, working with technology can often feel like "one step forward, two steps back." But I know this isn't really true. Slowly, I fight the waves of Life's inertia and hack away. Using mysterious software and hardware, I work to create messages of meaning. Miraculously, I build a blog. I build a website.

Rebuilding my computer or myself will take time. But I know that eventually good work comes. Sometimes there are faster solutions (I could have simply bought a new computer). But despite the frustrations of growth, I now trust Life's methods. Progress requires my tenacity and hard work, and my trust and patience. Having these, I find great beauty in working within Life's flow and making slow but steady progress.
© 2009 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved
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Blind But Now I See

2009-06-26T08:53:00.000-07:00

How can I be so blind to my own personality?

I am almost 50 years old and yet it was only yesterday that I more fully saw and understood the “gold” in my shadow.

I’m feisty. Competitive. Ambitious. Painfully honest (sometimes). These qualities give me tremendous drive and passion. They also can seem “not very nice.” Especially for a woman.

Yesterday I “got it.” How I’ve “split off” those “not good” parts of myself. How much more powerful would I have functioned, as a theatre director/producer, if I had embraced these traits, instead of driving them underground?

How do we discover the truth about our own nature?

For me, it has been the willingness to keep an open mind, to watch outer events, and to pray for guidance. I’m fascinated and overwhelmed by how God, the Unconsious, the High Self (whatever name you use), eventually brings the hidden to light.

All mysteries are slowly revealed. All oppositions ultimately transform themselves into (unforeseen) solutions.© 2009 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved
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Holding the Question

2009-05-16T07:06:00.000-07:00

I have a recurring dilemma. I want to be part of a church I've been attending, but parts of it scare me. Voices in my head give arguments for staying and leaving. These debates rattle around my mind like billiard balls. I hate the daily distraction. Should I stay or should I go? Why can't I make a decision? Of course, even inaction is a decision. My resolve has been to wait and see. I call this, "Holding the Question." To embrace these opposing forces is hard work. My hope (and belief?) is if I can withstand the pull of these opposites inside me, a new greater wisdom (and solution) will be born from this tension.

I'll keep you posted.

© 2009 Laura Lewis-Barr all rights reserved
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What is Your Unique Contribution to the World?

2009-05-15T09:04:00.000-07:00

I hear a lot about the need to “brand” myself—to create a clear, crisp, lean message/image of who I am and what I do. I can despair as I attempt this. I feel too quirky, too idiosyncratic to make myself easily understood. My wide range of passions, talents, and attributes don’t fit together in any conventional way. Will I ever be able to create something that resonates in the marketplace?

Lately, I’m comforted with new thoughts. If the world seeks to put us in a box, our own originality will always defy this. Great artists and thinkers can resist the crush toward conformity by either creating work that is easily accessible (bestsellers and blockbusters) or creating work that won’t be appreciated for a very long time. I may not be talented enough to do either type of great work, but at least I know that my eccentricity isn’t the problem.

If we give ourselves the chance to fully blossom, we will develop wonderfully novel personalities. Since we are always under pressure to conform, it may take decades to develop our unique character. But adults who follow their passions and talents will create a singular template that is a gift to the world. I am realizing that my own gifts may only be seen or appreciated by a few (hopefully). But this is important (despite our culture’s worship of fame and acclaim).

As children, we come into the world in a certain time, place, and circumstance. But as soon as we’re planted in our immediate environment (family, neighborhood, school), we begin to have an utterly unique experience of life. Even identical twins see the world through their own solitary lens.

This idea consoles me. We will each, like the drawing above, start out with peers and siblings but life’s events and our particular temperament will twist and bend us. We will develop an utterly novel perspective on life. Can we cherish our originality instead of denying our rare and beautiful gifts? Can we develop ourselves fully instead of trying to be like everyone else?

What is my unique contribution to the world?

Changing our Patterns

2009-04-22T08:44:00.000-07:00

I had a strange dream this morning. I was helping a new employee who had just been hired in our department. We worked comfortably together but then, at the end of the workday (as can happen in dreams), I suddenly realized that this new worker was actually a former colleague. How did I not recognize her?

In “real life” (a Jungian has to put this phrase in quotes), my former co-worker, “Cathy,” had caused great disruption and chaos in our department. She had felt like an adversary to many of us. But since I had no recollection of this in my dream, we began our “first” day at work together with ease and collegiality. My dream-state-temporary-amnesia allowed me to treat Cathy with warmth. If I had recognized her, our interaction would have been much different.

How many conflicts could be averted if we had selective amnesia with our rivals or foes? Our conversations would then be free of the tiny microexpressions and unconscious vocal tones that send out defensive messages (despite our best intentions). The problem is, our brain scrutinizes our environment for threats and then sears these threat-memories deep into our mind-- for our protection. Our brain doesn’t want us to have amnesia precisely because we would then be more vulnerable to dangers around us.

Emotional Intelligence theories and techniques help us understand our brain’s design. We can then, depending on our circumstances, work to utilize or circumvent our evolutionary programming.

While we can never have complete amnesia about past events, we can at least be conscious of our feelings. These can give us a clue to the unconscious signals we are probably sending. That is why self-fulfilling prophecies work. If I come into a conversation anticipating the worst--my expectations are likely to be fulfilled because of the signals I’ve sent.

Even if we can’t control our unconscious nonverbal behaviors, we can try to compensate for them. If I were to meet with Cathy today, I could emphasize listening, eye contact, smiles, and a gentle tone of voice to counteract other signals I may inadvertently send. Then we might have the same easy relating that we had in my dream.

Destructive patterns of interacting are very hard to change since both parties become stuck in patterns of aggressive or defensive signals. Still, knowing our feelings can help us break these patterns and create new exchanges with our coworkers. © Lewis-Barr 2009
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2009-04-20T05:25:00.001-07:00

Stories of:
the wise person submitting to the will God
the wounded healer
God incarnating in the world
are ubiquitous. (The Jesus story has all three motifs.) Here are Jungian expressions of these ideas from Marie-Louise von Franz in Puer Aeternus.

“Eliade tells a story about a very successful reindeer hunger, a provider of food and therefore a big man in his tribe, who has no thought of becoming a shaman. However, he gets a nervous disease which keeps him from going hunting, and then he discovers that as soon as he learns to drum like a shaman, his disease disappears….he cures himself. But once he is cured, he has had enough of being a shaman and goes back to hunting. Then the illness gets him again. In the end he sullenly puts up with it and becomes a healer since it is the only way he can keep himself fit. Against his wish and his will, reindeer hunting is finished for him forever….”

and

“When the Self and the ego come together and get in touch with each other, who is wounded? ….both are wounded…these two entities cannot meet without damaging each other. …the Self is damaged in that instead of being a potential wholeness it becomes a partial reality…it becomes real within the individuated person, in the realizing actions and words of the person. That is a restriction for the Self and its possibilities. The ego is wounded because something greater breaks into its life. Which is why Dr. Jung says that it means tremendous suffering to get in touch with the process of individuation…we are robbed of the capacity for arranging our own lives according to our own wishes.”
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Sophie and the Bone.

2009-04-16T08:31:00.001-07:00

A local merchant likes to give my small terrier a large bone when we visit. Sophie takes it in her mouth and carries it like a prize. Why doesn’t she eat it on the spot? Maybe she wants to have it at home in one of her private spaces? Or is it too big for her to break?

We continue our walk but now Sophie doesn’t stop to smell her favorite bushes or trail behind to look for squirrels. She seems in a daze, heading home, bone in mouth. But I’m not ready to head home. It is a beautiful day and I want a longer walk. Sophie lives to walk, but this time she keeps trying to head home.

“Sophie, let’s keep going!” I coax. “Why don’t you eat your bone?” Sophie looks at me blankly, waiting.

“Come on, girl; give it to me…..” Sophie is drooling on the treat clenched in her teeth.

“Is it too big for you? Isn’t it a bother to keep it clenched like that?” \

Sophie stares blankly.
“Come on, give it to me.” I tug. “Sophie, drop it.” She tugs back.

“Come on, Sophie, give me the bone.”

Finally, her jaw tired, she releases. I take the treat and break it in half. Now she will eat it with gusto.

Satisfied, my puppy gallops forward, released from her trance. She sniffs trees and follows squirrels. I must cajole her to keep up.

Sophie is easier to walk when she has a bone in her mouth. She doesn’t pull, she doesn’t lag, and she walks distractedly, without passion. But I want Sophie to enjoy her greatest pleasure (a walk), so I break her bone and get her to eat it.

What do I hold onto instead of relishing? How do my preoccupations keep me from the wonders all around? © Lewis-Barr 2009
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Food for the Soul

2009-04-11T07:19:00.000-07:00

I’m re-reading “Puer Aeternus” by Marie Louise Von Franz. Such good food! I’m finding it hard to pull away from the book this morning. It feels like sitting with this remarkable woman. Her deep insights are healing. If you value Jungian scholarship, I highly recommend this book.

What book feeds your soul lately?
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The Inner World

2009-04-10T07:49:00.000-07:00

I sit. I wait. I recharge.

But instead of basking in the sunshine like Wall-e (in his namesake movie), I bask in silence. I sit and wait. New ideas will flow in-eventually. I know this process well.

But this morning, after a hectic week, my recharging will take longer and I'm slow to access new insights. My psyche is “processing” the week but I can't yet hear my intuitive voice. Vast stores of information are hidden from me, just outside my consciousness.

So I sit. I wait. My mind wanders or sits blank. I'm “sharpening my saw,” (a la Stephen Covey). It feels great and I know this “idle” time will pay large dividends in future creativity and insights.

I stare at a beautiful pine tree. I am here, now. The tree speaks of strength and patience and the spring approaching. I notice the branches waving in the wind and the gray sky. I hear my chimes and birds. I feel grateful for this moment as I draw near my soul.

How do you recharge?
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Changing Your Mind

2009-04-03T08:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve been reading books on brain science for years. Some of my favorites include: The Mind and the Brain: Neuroplasticity and the Power of Mental Force, Change Your Brain, Change Your Life, Healing the Hardware of the Soul, The Feeling of What Happens: Body and Emotion in the Making of Consciousness, and Descartes' Error: Emotion, Reason, and the Human Brain among others.

One lesson I’ve extracted from research is that neural pathways in the brain build up through repetition. These become our perceptions, ideas, and beliefs about reality. We see what we expect to see. We experience what we expect to experience. The good news is that we can extinguish negative perceptions (such as irrational anxiety) through cognitive exercises. This isn’t easy work and it does require persistence and focus but my books tell me it can be achieved. I’ve been experimenting on myself lately with some success.

It is ironic--since I am a trainer/presenter—that for years I’ve suffered anxiety over public presentations or other teaching events that are important to me. (While I know a certain degree of anxiety/excitement before speaking is normal, I would prefer less of the former and more of the latter.) I’ve used a variety of methods to manage this internal unrest and I’ve had many great teaching/training experiences. Even so, I can still sense that my brain-computer seems programmed to link “excitement over presenting” to “something will go wrong foreboding.”

Through research into my past, I’ve discerned how this glitch developed in my psyche. That knowledge is helping me “talk back” to the disturbing thoughts that rise to consciousness. But there is another level of pre-conscious thought that will increase my heart rate as a presentation approaches. Can I get to the root of this apprehension?

I’ve been experimenting with meditation, visualization, and hypnotherapy techniques. My goal is to create a new synaptic pathway. Instead of “excitement over presenting” leading to “something will go wrong fear,” I want to link “excitement over presenting” to a very positive memory that creates calm in my body. I’ve been using memories of sitting on a private balcony on a cruise ship sailing Caribbean waters. Each time I think of my presentation, I try to conjure up memories of the smells, sights, sounds, tastes, and tactile sensations of that week. My body has been relaxing. I think I’m beginning to extinguish my former associations and replace them with this new link.

While our minds and bodies naturally seek health and wellness, sometimes our physical or psychological systems can get stuck in dis-ease. We can use pills to fight our backaches or counteract anxiety and sometimes these are necessary. But medicine can also mask our symptoms without approaching the root of the problem.

Have you ever used visualization to change your performance or your perceptions?

© Lewis-Barr 2009
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The Power of Church

2009-03-26T06:28:00.000-07:00

I have found a new church. Is it a good omen that this scares me half to death? (Aside: writers aren’t supposed to use such clichés but I’ve journaled this phrase twice this morning. What does it mean? I’m not scared to a full death but “half to death.” I’m scared just enough for my ego to be moved (by fear) from psychological center-stage to the side. Now my habitual, unconscious habits and dynamics can overtake me in this vulnerable state, or, if I’m wise, I can yield to the brilliance of my Higher Self.)

But back to this church. It is a radically inclusive community but I’m still afraid I don’t belong. That I will be judged. This terror comes, not from the community itself, but from my own deep woundedness. But perhaps my terror of judgment is actually a projection of my own judgment of Christians and Christianity. Is that why I felt so comfortable (yet unfulfilled) with the Unitarians? We shared an anger towards right-wing Christianity. Have those feelings morphed in me to include all Christians? One of Jung’s many gifts to me has been his writings on the toxic nature of normative Christianity. The tragedy of our modern age is that so many of us (in the West) have become estranged from our mythological home (Christianity). It is an excruciating existential trauma.

But what I’m really exploring this morning is my own fear. Fear of judgment, fear of my own prophetic gifts. Fear of stepping into my own power. Fear of the power of the church to transform me. © Lewis-Barr 2009
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For longer essays, humor, and other fiction....

2009-03-25T12:31:00.000-07:00

visit: www.storiesthatwork.wordpress.com

A Nudge from my Higher Self?

2009-03-19T09:35:00.000-07:00

What does it mean when I go unconscious (“unc” as hubby says) and “forget” something? We brought our car into the shop last night. Both Rick and I didn’t make the connection that I was working today and would need the car. My schedule is very flexible so there wasn’t a big problem but I wonder: what is my unconscious doing, or trying to tell me in this event? Just like lost car keys or paperwork, my ego couldn’t access the vital information even as Rick and I discussed our week. Instead of an “aha, I can’t bring in the car and go to work with it” moment, my ego “was kept” in the dark by another part of me. This caused me some inconvenience. Instead of a simple flow into work or staying home, I was disjointed, thinking I was going to work and then needing to regroup, make phone calls and stay home.

Is this all specifically symbolic or is my Greater Self just nudging my little self and saying, “You think you’re in the driver’s seat but you’re just a passenger that sometimes helps navigate the ship.

How do you understand these everyday hiccups and mishaps? © Lewis-Barr 2009
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Story of the "Cracked Pot."

2009-03-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

I heard this lovely story over the weekend. It is a wonderful reminder that our flaws are often the source of our greatest gifts. If we can be honest with ourselves and accept our less than perfect traits, we may also come to realize that even our shortcomings can lead to beauty and distinction.

A water-bearer carries two large pots on a yoke across his shoulders up the hill from the river to his master's house each day. One has a crack and leaks half its water out each day before arriving at the house. The other pot is perfect and always delivers a full portion of water after the long walk from the river.

Finally, after years of arriving half-empty and feeling guilty, the cracked pot apologizes to the water-bearer. He is miserable and says, "I'm sorry that I couldn't accomplish what the perfect pot did."

The water-bearer says, "Why are you apologizing?"
"After all this time, I still only deliver half my load of water. I make more work for you because of my flaw."

The man smiled and told the pot. "Take note of all the lovely flowers growing on the side of the path where I carried you. The flowers grew so lovely because of the water you leaked. There are no flowers on the perfect pot's side."

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Waking Up

2009-03-12T07:37:00.000-07:00

In my recent post, I wrote of the delay between the beginning of a feeling or thought and our conscious awareness of it. Ironically, I was about to have that “realization-emerges-from-the-darkness” experience myself.

I was in a foul mood last week. Unfortunately, my hubby Rick was also in a bad mood. This led to some testy moments. As the evening wore on, we both retreated with a journal and began to write (one more connection with last week’s post). We both began tracking back through our day, trying to determine what triggered us. I knew I was upset with my cousin. But why? I didn't know. My anger was hot but I couldn't tell you the why of it. Finally, unable to determine a trigger, I thought, “We just don't get along, that's that.” I let my anger cool and had a satisfying end of the evening with Rick.

The next morning, while walking Sophie (my “aha” moments usually happen when I'm walking or taking a shower), I “suddenly” realized that I was angry about an email from my cousin. My message to him expressed some sadness and he had responded with several jokes. Click. That was it! The insight snapped into place. I had felt ridiculed. Now, what to do about it?

But first, a few other thoughts. Without this insight, I had no responsible course of action. I was angry--but why? Without a why, I could only be angry. Second, in the paragraph above, I put suddenly in quotes because I wanted to show that another part of me had known all along. Only the “I” of me, my ego-self, was out of the loop and suddenly understood. The rest of me already knew--and was reacting.

Now, what to do. My choices: do nothing or say something. I decided to let my cousin know that I had been expressing sadness in the email (maybe he didn't know this) and I wasn't happy with his response. This was, at least, the beginning of our dialogue. I still felt a lack of trust between us (based on our history) but I could at least share my perceptions with him. He could examine his reactions (or not). A true reconciliation could develop (or not). In this moment, I’m simply grateful I realized the message of my feelings.
© Lewis-Barr 2009
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Research Says--Some Anger Good for You.

2009-03-06T19:46:00.000-08:00

I’ve been writing about anger lately and was sent a terrific article on the subject. Confirmed my bias. Would I post it if it didn’t? Subtitled—“Repressing emotions leads to unhappiness, says Harvard psychologist,” you can read the entire article here.

The article says that while uncontrolled anger is never beneficial (for the giver or receiver), balanced expressions of anger can strengthen relationships, provide focus, and keep us healthier.

To live healthy, honest lives, we must find ways to acknowledge (even honor) all parts of ourselves. © Lewis-Barr 2009
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Healthy vs. Neurotic Suffering

2009-03-02T09:55:00.001-08:00

I'm in the midst of a mid-life renaissance. After years of frantic feelings, dashed dreams, and mystifying mishaps from without and within, I finally feel "in flow." This does not mean that life is easy. I struggle against my fears every day. But I sense a difference between the old struggle and this one. My previous life was filled with a "flaying around." I was constantly striving to achieve against endless obstacles. Today, I still have goals but they seem given, not chosen. When I finally surrendered my cherished dreams (to win the Pulitzer or become a famous theatre director), I was reborn to a new life, without my Ego's agendas. Suddenly, instead of throwing myself against metaphorical brick walls, new doorways opened. I felt like a teenager, suddenly awash in thrilling challenges that tested my abilities.

Before, my mind obsessively circled my fears. Today, I still suffer from fear but now, instead of constant worrying, I step into the rapids and let both fear and excitement wash over me. Instead of trying to control the waves--I'm riding them. Now, each moment both lingers and rushes past filled with millions of fresh and intoxicating ideas. I feel pulled toward a mysterious destiny that I still don't understand-- but trust more and more. I find that the great Taoist sayings are true: more gets done when we surrender and let ourselves be carried by our unique Fate.

How do you deal with worry and fear?

More Thoughts on Anger

2009-02-27T18:24:00.000-08:00

In my previous post, I asserted the importance of acknowledging anger as vital to our health and central to self-knowledge (emotional literacy). But it is complicated. How do I honor my anger but still create more compassion in myself and in the world? Until recently, these felt like mutually exclusive mindsets. I'm only now beginning to reconcile my internal split--between the positives and negatives of my Midwestern upbringing. I'm relearning a spirituality without succumbing to a little-girl piety. My piousness may have looked good to my neighbors but it also repressed and distorted my true spirit.

With time, I gain more perspective on the pendulum swings of my inner journey. If I was the overly sweet girl who lacked basic self-knowledge and assertiveness, I grew into a tough woman who lost track of the tenderness in myself (for more on this, see my recent review of the movie “Wall-e). I see this same split or swing in others. The challenge is to both allow anger while not becoming overwhelmed or obsessed by it. An Olympian task! Still, to live fulfilling lives where we nurture ourselves and others, we must learn to walk this razor-edge.© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Anger--The Great Taboo

2009-02-23T09:35:00.001-08:00

While I’ve never lived in another country, I have lived for long periods in the Midwest and California. As I moved from one region to another, I felt a seismic shift between two cultures that seemed radically different in their approach to emotions. Were my encounters atypical? Perhaps. Still, as I contemplate my 20-year study of the “inner life,” I’m fascinated by the differences I found—especially regarding anger.

At 26, I left the Midwest (and the Catholic Church) and moved to California. I began a 10-year odyssey, exploring theatre arts, psychology, and “consciousness studies” in Berkeley, San Francisco, and other mind-bending communities. I was surrounded by groups who explored their emotions without dodging the great taboo—anger. With talented professionals and earnest friends, I intrepidly began to explore my own inner minefield--sore spots, wounds, (complexes for the Freudian/Jungians out there) and springs of anger.

When I returned to the Midwest I, felt immediately disoriented. My family and friends seemed to have a radically different set of norms. While I had painstakingly learned to identify my feelings and gently admit them to others—now even the slightest acknowledgement of anger seemed to threaten my companions. All my hard-won inner knowledge and commitment to honest communication was suddenly destroying a fragile emotional ecosystem I no longer understood (or appreciated).

I’ve been back in the Midwest for 12 years now, longer than the time I spent in exotic California. I continue to explore my own inner landscape and the taboo of anger. In my workshops, it seems to be the emotion that most haunts my participants, especially the women. When I discovered the field of emotional intelligence, I was grateful for its validation of my own beliefs—that anger was a necessary emotion that should be examined, not repressed.

Have you experienced cultural differences regarding comfort with different emotions?
© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Finally saw "Wall-e." Wow!

2009-02-22T18:50:00.000-08:00

I finally saw the movie “Wall-e.” (Spoiler alert—discussion of movie themes follow.) It is a fabulous meditation on learning to love and balance our work (our "directive") with love. Why was I so affected by the struggles of two robots? Both characters felt deeply true to me—both expressed a deep archetypal dimension of modern life.

The bumbling, trembling Wall-e reminds me that heroes can be (and often are) afraid. His example calls me to act courageously (writing a revealing blog post) despite my own terror. Wall-e’s selflessness and generosity also inspired me. No matter the circumstance, this tender hero would introduce himself and learn the name of each character he meets. Could I also spread more love into the world through simple kindness and attention to others?

Eve is a tough-minded probe: she shoots first and asks questions later. I’m struck by the familiar archetype and irony of it--the sleek, efficient, working woman in charge of finding/restoring life is a sterile machine without any warmth herself. How familiar to me! I see myself and many other modern women--cut off from our natural tenderness. We serve our directives and nothing else—our machine-like precision focused on an ideal of house, family, and job. Like Eve, I have a powerful dedication to my vocation that can sometimes overwhelm other parts of my life. How fortunate that Wall-e pursues her. As I watched Eve soften and discover love, I felt myself soften.

Wall-e and Eve are both wonderful and flawed—just like all real people. Eve will probably always be a workaholic but Wall-e loves her despite (or maybe because of) this trait. One of the most moving moments of the movie is when Wall-e insists that Eve continue her work, despite his great need for her help. He is acting from principle, seeking the greatest good for the world, but he is also loving Eve in a remarkable way. He is supporting her to follow her own powerful instincts—to be her true self. That’s love.

In Wall-e, both characters refuse conformity and fight for their own unique paths in their work and in love. I’m reminded to do the same.

What movie has inspired you?

© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Our Better Selves

2009-01-20T19:52:00.000-08:00

I watched the inauguration today with over one hundred college students gathered around a small television on campus. Although we were euphoric, I was still surprised by the spontaneous applause. We weren’t at a live event and yet we clapped to the tv throughout the ceremony. There was even a prolonged applause at the end of Obama’s acceptance speech. We obviously weren’t clapping for the speaker, we were clapping for ourselves. We needed to express our gratitude and jubilation.

Experiencing and watching the intense emotions of today, I’m reminded that the “King” archetype is a symbol of the Self. Is that why millions of us are awestruck by this President? In addition to his archetypal effect, President Obama is brilliant at helping us feel good about ourSelves, and calling us to be our best Selves. Is this why much of the country is completely infatuated with him?

Lewis-Barr 2009
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Sitting on the deck of a cruise ship

2009-01-09T09:06:00.000-08:00

Woke this morning with a dream of being on a cruise. It was the 2nd or 3rd day and I was savoring the moment in the most profound way. When I woke, I wondered how I could do that same, deep relishing of the present—the feeling I have when on vacation-- in my daily life. Part of the challenge is that I am always striving, which pulls me out of that sacred savoring.

Is it the effect of the dream that all morning I’ve felt like I’m on a cruise? Very strange and wonderful. I’m not closing my eyes, so I do see the snowy streets out the window, but over that scene I’m looking at rolling waves and endless blue. It is quite fantastic to take that kind of vacation today and to relearn peace and contentment. © Lewis-Barr 2009
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States of consciousness

2009-01-07T19:58:00.000-08:00

I’ve been undergoing some hypnotherapy. In practicing some of the techniques, I’m learning more about states of consciousness.

Imagine a continuum with your unconscious mind on one side and your conscious mind on the other. Imagine that your ego—i.e. your consciousness of yourself is in the center of the continuum. The end of each continuum might look like this:

Less/no ego-----------------------------------------------------------ego dominated

Here’s how my different states of consciousness might line up along the continuum:

--Hypnosis/dream state drugs meditation workinginflow dailythoughts worries--

I’ve tried to place meditation in the middle because while I’ve experienced it mostly with an “I” (ego) consciousness, I’ve also had moments that transcended my own ego. Now, working with hypnosis, I’m learning to let go of my thinking and go “under” my thinking. I know many meditation teachers talk about this but I never needed or wanted to really go to a place of “no mind.” For me, meditation was a prayerful (even ecstatic) experience of God in my heart. I used a mantra to keep me focused but I had thoughts and many emotional and even body experiences. Tonight’s practice of self-hypnosis was different. I had a profound (and surprising) experience of “no mind.” I watched my thoughts come and go but I wasn’t the thoughts. But even though I was experiencing no-mind I was also using a mantra of a positive suggestion. My goal was to plant a positive thought in the virgin soil of my unconscious mind. But who plants the thought—if not me?

In my deeply relaxed state, this paradox was immaterial.

Another enigma: even as I experienced a place deeper than my mind, I couldn’t will (or even expect) my active and searching mind to shut down completely. I was, after all, curious about this experience and trying to make note of it for later. My mind was also making periodic reminders about other issues of the day. But this time I didn’t run with the thoughts. I trusted that I could let them go without losing them. I returned to my positive mantra and a place beyond me.

This was different from my wonderful experience of prayer/meditation-- a refuge of rejuvenation, insight, revelation, inspiration, and peace. Tonight was what I’d heard Buddhists talk about.

For many months now I’ve been meditating upon slowly waking up. It has been a wonderful gift to have that time to shift very slowly from unconsciousness to consciousness. Sometimes I will remember a dream and work on it. Sometimes I will have a spontaneous realization about my life. Often times I will just sit in a kind of half-sleep stupor and eventually do some writing as my consciousness comes to the fore.

Yesterday I decided to try self-hypnosis in the morning just as I awoke. What better time to do the programming, yes? But a strange thing happened. When I tried to do the positive mantra (I skipped the preliminary relaxation process thinking that, half asleep, I hardly needed it) I felt unable. The direction was wrong. What I’ve enjoyed so much in the mornings is the sacred experience of gradually linking unconsciousness to consciousness. Of hearing God’s voice through the darkness of what is “not ego.” Is it one experience to start with ego and descend into no-mind and another to come from no-mind into mind? Seems to me that these two directions are complementary but different. And they don’t seem interchangeable.

These experiments show me the mystical marriage of mind and no-mind. I have felt the sacred harmony of their union. Simply living in one frame or the other doesn’t work. Of course we all know that-- but my experiences of hypnosis, meditation and Jung, are changing me experientially, not theoretically.
© Lewis-Barr 2009
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Life's secret ingredient.

2008-12-23T11:35:00.000-08:00

I have a stomachache. Despite decent ingredients, my stew today was a flop. How can I save the ample leftovers and convert them into something more edible? Should I add some layers of cheese? Cheese saves almost anything.

What is the secret missing ingredient in my own life? What will convert all my past endeavors and failures into a cohesive and meaningful whole?

Jungian work, meditation, surrender, exploring the Tao-- these are sources of my soul's nourishment. These practices help me begin to find flow, meaning, and cohesion.

© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Why?

2008-12-16T10:02:00.000-08:00

This morning I had planned to get my yearly blood test at a lab 15 minutes from home. But I was resistant. My days away from the office are sacred and my routine is precious to me. I meditate, have breakfast, meditate some more and write. It is a peaceful, joyful time. The blood work would completely interrupt my morning. I had to go immediately because these tests required fasting. I couldn’t have my morning coffee until I fulfilled this duty.

It was also extremely cold. I dressed and started the car but my mind continued its debate. I didn’t want to leave the warm cocoon of my morning. Especially not to fight traffic and get stuck by a needle in my vein! Why did I have to do these stupid tests anyway? Maybe I could wait until spring when the roads were clearer and the temperature above freezing? My doctor wouldn’t know and I’m a very healthy person…..

In my mind, I could see my mother, shaking her head. I was being a big baby. Go do the test. It’s once a year and not such a big deal. You can meditate in the car on the way there and back. Get it done and over with.

In the end, I got in the car and took the test. My second voice was right, it wasn’t a big deal and the results were desirable. Still, my internal debate revealed my dedication to my inner child and her questioning.

My family has always been nervous about my commitment to questioning, “why?” I don’t accept most adult conventions at face value. Does that make me harder to control? Probably. Is that why I’ve been pressured (like most of us) to abolish my childlike openness and the question “why?”

Being an adult shouldn’t only emphasize being “responsible.” It should stress being response-able, that is, being able to respond to life’s changing circumstances. Ironically, when we become adults and stop asking “why” we hinder our response-abilty. Too often we become automatic in our actions and simply follow a herd mentality.

How many of us aren’t living the lives we desire? We say we are forced to race from one activity to the next, short on sleep and a stranger to our loved ones (and ourselves). What would happen if we asked “why?” Why do we need to do what we do? Then, after the adult gives a standard answer, “bills have to be paid,” or “it’s expected,” or “people will think I’m crazy if I don’t do that,” find the child in you and keep asking “why?” Why do you have to pay the bills (in that way)? Why is it expected (and who expects it)? Why do you believe others and what they say? It is only when we begin to question our assumptions about life that we can make choices from our heart.

Despite my family’s fears, I don’t always give into my desires. This morning, the parental voice made the most sense. But other times, when I follow my intuition and the needs of my sensual self, circumstances usually arrange themselves ideally. When I am in dialogue with both parts of myself, I can find the flow of life, instead of always fighting the currents.

© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Words as Sacred

2008-11-22T07:22:00.000-08:00

How do you frame the world in your mind? How do you organize your perceptions? I play with words-the sacramental vessels that create beauty and meaning for me. Others play with visual images, movement, or music. Some organize space or experience the mystical through numbers and formulas. For me, words are the units that create a Universe. (I'm reminded of the ancient Kabbalists who meditated on individual letters and saw these as sacred. Each letter represented an entry into an understanding of God.)

Words float in my mind, seeking order. The words themselves are numinous yet they also seek to be gathered together, to create tiny new worlds of meaning. Placing words in the "right" order is an incredible high-- and my duty.

Imagine each of us pursuing our own mystical medium. Whether vocation or avocation, witnessed alone or shared with others, such a practice would bring joy and healing to ourselves and the world.

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Incubating

2008-11-19T12:24:00.000-08:00

I sit in the sun on a warm winter day, soaking up vitamin D and images of blue sky. After a hard work-week, I wait for my conscious and unconscious minds to reconnect-- like lovers who've been apart-these two just want to gaze upon each other, silently. I feel like a third party to this scene, wondering what is happening as I sit doing the "nothing" I've so desperately craved.

I sit while Mind wanders. Although I have many (mostly pleasant) chores that beckon, I ignore them. My most important task is to listen for my soul's voice. I've been too busy to hear its subtle message and now, like an athlete who's had to miss training for a week, I'm hungry to resume meditation.

How lucky to have unstructured time! But it isn't only luck; I've been determined to secure this. I'll downsize if necessary-- to preserve a healthy balance of work and rest. It's vital for my well-being and the discovery of my own genius. Stephen Covey agrees-- taking regular downtime is his Habit 7 - "Sharpening the Saw."

So I sit and let Mind wander. Today it seems that I will never get enough of this "do nothing" time. But I trust the process. My extremely demanding schedule--is that why I seem so starved for quiet? From experience, I know I'll eventually move from "ebb" to "flow." Then I'll have one of my "aha" moments and a seemingly new idea will burst forth.

Meanwhile, I trust and wait. Both Jungian psychology and current brain science suggest that much of our thinking and many of our perceptions happen below consciousness. So, even though I can't know what goes on in these hidden areas of my psyche, I can help myself by believing in what can't be seen or measured. I can help myself by resting and listening to the still, quiet voice inside.

© Lewis-Barr 2009
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Lost

2008-11-16T08:51:00.000-08:00

Two myths illumine my path this morning: the stories of the Hebrews wandering lost in the desert (how true that feels of my life!), and the image of a Grail knight lost in a tangled wood.

Today I wake from a dream (or, like one of those knights, an enchantment). These two mythic images give me hope that my longings and confusion will come to an end. I am, I suddenly see, on my own hero’s journey. Each bewildering detour is part of my own sacred labyrinth.

I've been practicing surrender. Is that why I see more clearly today? As I submit to my mysterious fate, I feel a peace, even in the midst of an excruciating loneliness.
©
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The Power of Intention

2008-11-06T08:22:00.000-08:00

Sophie wears me down with her focused intention. She wants some people food! She follows me from room to room. At the table, she follows me with her eyes. She is patient. She is vigilant. I forget that I’ve promised myself: I will not add additional treats to her already-doctored food. Her objective is working. Absentmindedly, I take my used plate and mix her dried food into the meat drippings. Sophie has trained me well. She reminds me of the power of tenacity. Sophie is determined and will cajole me until I take her on our daily walk, give her some people food, and tug on her toy. If I can’t (or won’t) accommodate her desires, she may give up momentarily, but she will resume her quest again and again and again. Sophie gets more of what she wants because of her dogged (pun!) persistence.

How much could I achieve if I was half as tenacious as Sophie? © Lewis-Barr 2008
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Conscious Endurance

2008-11-05T07:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I gave a new training event in EI. Objectively it went very well. But not perfectly. As I collected my materials, I felt a great sense of relief but, if I was honest, I also felt deeply ashamed. I know I’m too hard on myself. I tried to distract myself from these feelings but my conversations with colleagues were filled with self-blame, excuses, and explanations. When I finally went for a walk, my rational mind offered another perspective and proclaimed me “innocent.” My mood improved but I still couldn’t shake a slight feeling of shame, crouched in the back of my mind. Now, the following morning, I try arguing with this old feeling, but it hunkers down. Is there anything more I can do, but endure this strange internal curse? Change takes time. Jung said that we aren’t cured of what ails us; we simply and eventually outgrow our neuroses.

Today I sit with this internal tormentor. I know she’s wrong about me. I can’t be perfect. But I still have to feel her quiet condemnations. I say “feel” because this programming is so deep within me that I only have a very vague sense of shame. Emotional literacy helps me here. If I didn’t recognize the source of this very indistinct mood, it would color all my behaviors and perceptions and I wouldn’t know what was happening. Now I understand: this is an irrational emotion that I must endure.

I am getting healthier—incrementally. I now question these feelings instead of simply living in them. But change takes time. How do you explain the “why” of suffering (“paying karmic debts,” “offering your suffering to Christ,” “building a strong character” etc.)? Whatever the reason for our seemingly intractable inner woes, conscious endurance seems to be a key for healing. I remind myself today that our culture’s promises of quick fixes aren’t true. Change takes time. Endure your inner world and the changes will come. © Lewis-Barr 2008
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Speed Reading and Eckhart Tolle.

2008-04-13T07:42:00.000-07:00

I've just been introduced to Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now" and "A New Earth." Am I the last one to hear about these books?

They remind me of Byron Katie's work and also Ram Dass' "Be Here Now." I found both of those authors easier to digest but I'm intrigued by Tolle's books and the Buddhist ideas they revisit. I'm also fascinated by the Oprah-i-zation of "A New Earth" and the cult-like exuberance now surrounding it.

Yesterday I had a mini "aha" moment. I realized a connection between speed-reading and Tolle's ideas. I'm teaching a Time Management course next week and will mention the timesaving uses of speed-reading. I'm not an expert on SR but it has improved my reading rate. I learned that it is vitally important to give up the habit of hearing the words in your head as you read. Your eyes can scan far faster than your ability to articulate words in your mind. Since we learned to read by reading aloud to others, most of us now "sub-vocalize" when we read. If we scan the page without this vocalization, we fear that, since we didn't hear ourselves say the words, we didn't comprehend what we read.

This reminds me of Tolle's ideas. Letting go of "sub-vocalization" is like stopping our constant thinking and ego interruptions of our simple experiences of "being" in the world. We can trust a greater knowing, in our daily experience of the "now," and also when we read. Why not experiment and see if it works for you? Try letting your eyes glide quickly along the page. It may take a bit of practice (I'm constantly reminding myself to not say the words in my head) but soon you may comprehend as much (or more) than in your old reading style. Ironically, because subvocalizing slows down reading it actually encourages our concentration to wander. Trusting that we understand what we see allows us so concentrate more fully as our eyes glide along the page.

Speed-reading can be a mini experiment of letting go of the ego-mind. Try it and let me know what you think. Could save you a bit of time. © Lewis-Barr 2008
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Living the Unlived Life

2008-04-07T17:30:00.000-07:00

Today I’m beginning an experiment. I’m moving (in my mind) to a sweet little house on a lake. I’ve always imagined that happier times will begin when my husband and I finally move to a small town on Lake Michigan. Many of my goals revolve around this dream as in, “I’ll work an extra job so we can move to the lake sooner.”

Aside from the view, what’s so special about living near this lake? I’d still be working part time. Even if I needed to work full-time, I’d be eager for this move. Why?

When I imagine walking the beach and staring into the water, I’m at peace. There is no rush. Deep thoughts surface and feed my writing. My rhythms slow down to match a gentle tide. When we live on the lake, I’ll finally let go of my striving (including the strivings of getting to the lake!).

I’m impatient to get to this idyllic part of my life. But this daydream requires selling a home, quitting jobs and moving. Rick isn’t ready. So today, I’m moving in my mind. I’m relocating to the lakeshore and all it represents. I can see the water. More importantly, I can practice the serenity I imagine.

This morning I’ll walk the beach and give myself time to be. It isn’t easy to hold the fantasy in my mind and keep it realistic. But the sound of the waves and the feel of the sand isn’t the most important gift of my move. I crave an attitude toward living. Let’s see if I can cultivate that new awareness. I’ll begin today. © Lewis-Barr 2008
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Educating Ellen

2008-03-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

(I'm re-posting my original tale here. It's based on the old folk-tale, "Clever Elsie")

Ellen’s mother and father taught her how to be a very clever woman and educated her for a lifetime of success in business. She dressed perfectly and learned her lessons well. Then, after college graduation she went to interview at VIC—a very important company. During the interview the Boss, who wanted the cleverest secretary he could find, sent Ellen downstairs for coffee.

Ellen was a hard worker and happy to comply. She took the stairs because the elevator was too slow and then she got into a very long line at Starbucks. She waited and waited and began to daydream. If she got this job she could earn 60K in the first year (on the low end, she had researched the salaries)—certainly enough money to buy a condo within 2 years. Then, at the current rate of appreciation in her favorite suburb, she should be able to sell it at a handsome profit and buy a house. Ellen smiled. She’d get a huge yard and adopt a Golden Retriever from the local humane society. She’d name it Bubkus—and Ellen would hire a dog sitter to walk him during her long work day. Ellen would make sure that the dog sitter had all the contact info so that if anything ever happened to her while she was at work, if she had an accident, or (God forbid) got hit by a train or something, the sitter could take Bubkas to her sister Dana’s, where he’d be well cared for and could play with the little ones. If the sitter didn’t have that contact info, she wouldn’t know what to do and would just take Bubkus to the shelter and he’d be stuck in a cage all over again. Which would be horrible! Yes, a dog sitter is a must and contact info in place.

How long the line was! What if her potential new Boss blames her for this lost time? Then she won’t get the house and perhaps he’d tell all of the other CEOs of the important companies, and then she’d never get a good job and she’d have to live with her parents for the rest of her life. No guy would want to be with a woman who couldn’t find a job and lived with her parents so she’d be an old maid too. And her family wouldn’t allow her to adopt Bubkus so he’d still be in the cage at the shelter! How horrible.

Finally, she placed her coffee orders and hurried to the elevator. It was full and she had many floors to visit before getting to her Boss at the penthouse. She tried to focus back on the interview and thought about good questions and answers. Then, she had a clever idea.

Upon arriving at his office, the Boss did seem annoyed.

“You’re back.”

“Sorry. There was a very long line at the Starbucks.”

“Yes, that’s why I sent you. I hate that line.”

“You don’t want to make coffee here in the office?”

“Certainly not. Why should I if there’s a Starbucks downstairs!”

“I was thinking….”

“Yes, well, let’s finish this interview, I’m running late now and—“

Ellen took a deep breath. “I was thinking that if you sent your secretary (me) everyday to Starbucks, depending on the length of the line and when you’d send me, that could take, according to my calculations, anywhere from 5.8 minutes if there is no line to 14.7 minutes for a long line. If you average these times out to be 10.25 minutes a day that would make—if taking a week off (roughly) for holidays and a week off for vacation, then, counting 50 working weeks you would have lost 2,562 minutes in a year. Since I plan on staying at this firm for a long time you could extrapolate that to 12,812 minutes in 5 years and 25,620 minutes in 10 years and 51,240 minutes lost after 20 years. Since there are 420 minutes in a 7 hour day then in 20 years I would have wasted 122 full days of work!”

The Boss was smiling even though his eyes were glazing over. Ellen continued. “Now you want coffee and someone needs to get it. What I could do is bring work with me. I am able to read in the elevator, I could go through company emails on the ipod while I wait in line or read over your notes for the week.”

Of course, after this, the Boss hired Ellen on the spot. They worked well together for a long time. Then one day the Boss said to Ellen, “I need to go to a meeting, can you write me up an introduction and some anecdotes for the conference next week?”

“Of course.”

Ellen loved this kind of creative work but she wasn’t feeling very well. She had a headache. Maybe I should eat? Yes, food might help. She ordered some takeout and had it delivered while she brainstormed some ideas for her Boss. She ate the food but was still feeling sick. What do I need? Some vitamins? She had some in her purse and took them and continued with her notes but she still felt ill What should I do? Maybe a little nap would help me? She thought about it and it seemed like a good idea.
She grabbed a cushion from the lobby, laid it on the desk and put her head down. Soon she was in a deep sleep.

The Boss was anxious to see what Ellen had come up with so after his long meeting he rushed to his mailbox but nothing was there. He looked for Ellen in the copy room but she wasn’t there. Finally, he walked down to her office and found her asleep, snoring, and even drooling on her desk.

“I see,” said the Boss. He went to is office and came back with a video camera. He turned it on Ellen, plugged it into the corporate-wide video system and left.

As the next workday started, Ellen awoke to the sound of loud snoring. She was stiff and disheveled and it took her a long moment to realize where she was, or even who she was. Gradually her vision cleared and on the tv monitor above her desk she saw the image of a woman sleeping, snoring, and drooling. It appeared to be a tape on a loop that repeated itself every 15 minutes. Who was that? Who? What? Is that me? Ellen saw the video camera, now stopped, sitting in front of her desk. The sound of snoring was horrible. Ellen tried to turn off the monitor but the tv was too high and only her Boss had access to the controls.

Ellen awkwardly got up and tried to straighten up. She moved slowly down the hall and saw that all the monitors above all the desks in all the offices were showing the same horrible tape. Sounds of snoring filled the hallways. Ellen ran to her Boss’ office. What are you doing?

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said.

“But you--?”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about and I’m busy. Get out.”

Ellen ran from the office and was never seen again.

At least, that is the original version of the story. The other secretaries at work heard that poor Ellen had gone crazy and was institutionalized. But perhaps that’s just the story the Boss wanted them to hear.

I heard a different ending from Ellen when I met her and her lawyer in the Bahamas.
© Lewis-Barr 2008

A Fractured Fairy Tale from You Tube

2008-03-23T19:57:00.000-07:00

I'll be cutting back on my postings and working on some new stories. Hope to post them soon. In the meantime, here's a memory from childhood--a Fractured Fairy tale of "Rapunzel" on You Tube. This cartoon reworks the original story but it's fun.

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Seen Your Shadow Lately?

2008-03-22T13:26:00.000-07:00

Found a great article explaining the Jungian concept of Shadow. Here it is.

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Thoreau for Today

2008-03-21T13:37:00.000-07:00

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams!
Live the life you've imagined.
As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler;
solitude will not be solitude,
poverty will not be poverty,
nor weakness weakness.
Henry David Thoreau

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How Much Do You Disclose?

2008-03-20T06:06:00.000-07:00

Saturday Night Live recently featured several sketches with an overly sensitive hero, MacGruber, who tries to discuss his hurt feelings while defusing bombs. I've linked to three of them here. SNL sketches don't typically make me laugh, but these really worked for me. Is that because they hit close to home? Do I disclose too much? I value discussing my feelings and enjoy small groups that practice deep disclosure.

Of course, sometimes, it is ridiculous to share our many moods. But generally, don't we go too far in hiding our true selves? How can we safely share our thoughts and emotions? How can we deal with inevitable conflicts and create deeper connections?

© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Capturing the Subtle in Michael Clayton

2008-03-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the movie “Michael Clayton?” I think it's a terrific expression of the hero's journey. It also featured synchronicities (meaningful coincidences) that didn't feel trite or contrived. It's not easy for a writer to offer twists of fate that seem real enough to affect the character and audience. We've all had these uncanny events, but since they're embedded within the context of our life story, they can be hard to explain--and even harder to illustrate in a two hour film.

What mysterious chance-events have you had lately?

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Thoughts on "The Handless Maiden."

2008-03-18T17:14:00.000-07:00

Mary wants to be a writer but she’s too afraid. Besides, she has a great job. Her father convinced her to study accounting.

Pam's father didn't face his own demons but pushed his excessive self-criticism outward-to toddler Pam. Whether reading the comics together, or driving to a family vacation, he bullied the spirited child. He told Pam her feelings didn't make sense. She grew to doubt her inner voice. As an adult, Pam finds it impossible to be assertive at work. Although she feels victimized by a co-worker, she never speaks up.

Cara's great love was acting but she went back to school for social work. She tried to repress her envy as she watched her friends’ triumphs. She was just as talented but had “bad luck.” She believed she “wasn’t meant to be an actress.” What Cara didn’t notice was that she’d always quit just when a plum role came her way. Then, after a few years away from the theatre, she'd venture back. When new success came, she'd quit again.

A woman's inability to reach for what she wants is a central theme of the powerful tale, “The Handless Maiden."

I think the story also talks about:
**How parents betray their children and psychologically maim them--(cutting off the daughter’s hands).

**The usefulness of grief and tears to heal us and protect us from negative spiraling--(crying on the stumps).

**The need for patience and finding ways to nurture oneself while healing--(eating pears in the garden).

**How, when we are tired, communication can become distorted and hurtful—(the devil changing the messages).

**The psyche’s ability to heal if one is patient--(the growth of the new hands).

I’m finding many other people also writing about this tale. Here are some posts.
http://www.oneyearofwritingandhealing.com/one_year_writing_and_heal/2007/04/the_handless_ma.html

http://nina-lois.com/the-ill-bargain/

http://www.wildwolfwomen.com/sl/maiden.htm

http://goddessinateapot.wordpress.com/2008/03/17/healing-the-cosmic-woman%E2%80%99s-wound/

What are your thoughts?
© Lewis-Barr 2008
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The Handless Maiden or The Girl with the Silver Hands

2008-03-17T07:01:00.000-07:00

Wanted to get back to a story today. Here's a classic that holds potent medicine.

It goes by several different titles including this Grimm version called "The Girl Without Hands."

See what you find in it. I'll post my thoughts tomorrow.

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Who's Driving You?

2008-03-16T07:05:00.000-07:00

Woke up this morning with an idea for a project. Since I’m an intuitive, these inspirations come fully formed--in a flash. In the past, I’ve had visions for new theatre scripts or ways to stage a play. Bringing these impressions to fruition is an incredible thrill.

Regrettably, my ego can get carried away after one of these brainstorms. My ambitious-self starts scheming and dreaming of the money and fame finally coming my way.

Then, eventually, another inner personality speaks up. This is my fearful, sensitive side that fights my egotism. This part cries that my ideas aren’t good, or I’m not ready--and no one cares anyway. Whereas one side puffed me up, the other dynamic begs me to quit. I seesaw between their alarms and demands. I berate myself and feel crazy.

As an intuitive artist, I’ve always listened to my hunches and valued guidance from within. Unfortunately, I never realized I was listening to more than one inner voice.

My Jungian reading has taught me that we all have multiple inner characters who can “hijack” consciousness. When one of these dynamos overtakes us, it can feel like our own everyday ego. Since our ordinary consciousness is overwhelmed, we never realize what’s hit us.

Finally, I understood my erratic fluctuations! I also began to see others suffering from these these ego-hijacked moments.

Now that I understand these inner voices, I can fight my pattern of boomeranging between them. I’ll look for the wisdom in each voice and try to avoid their radical views.

Does all this seem too obvious? It’s always easy to see the dynamics in another person. Sadly, we’re often completely oblivious to our own blind spots and the “complexes” that commandeer our personalities.

Whenever we do anything that feels “out of character,” surprises, or bewilders us, we have proof that this repressed part has taken over.

Can you remember such a time?
© Lewis-Barr 2008
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Spring Koan

2008-03-15T07:08:00.000-07:00

Two birds fly past.

They are needed somewhere.

--Robert Bly

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Listening for the Hunch

2008-03-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

My work with dreams seems to be enhancing my intuition. It's hard to “prove” these hunches-they're fleeting and subtle. Still, I'll share an example from this morning to illustrate.

I needed to wake up early to go to a networking event. But I was uncharacteristically resistant. An inner voice insisted, “you don't need to get up this early.” I argued back, “if I show up late, I'll make a terrible impression.” This inner debate continued as my wake-up time approached. I forced myself up but still moved slowly through my morning routines. I left the house later than intended and caught some slower traffic.

I arrived at 7:35--five minutes past the start time for a continental breakfast. I knew most participants wouldn't arrive before 8am, but I'd wanted to show up extra early, impress my host, and have time to chat with her. Crud. Oh well. What could I do? I hoped that my relatively early appearance would suffice.

The presenter and one other networker were chatting when I arrived, but my host wasn't around. Great! Dodged that bullet. Our happy trio joked until the host appeared and announced that, due to a scheduling confusion, the event wouldn't begin until 9 am.

I smiled inwardly. While I hadn't arrived extra early, as I'd planned, I was early enough to chat and make a good impression. Even better, I now had an excuse not to stay for the actual program, which I'd seen the week before.

Sometimes we float with the flow. Nice!

Thoughts on "The Louse and The Flea."

2008-03-13T12:47:00.000-07:00

"The Louse and The Flea" is a jaunty poem-story that has cheery rhythms set against a sad story of destruction. Why such a combination? For me, this weird tale functions like a pop song with somber lyrics. The infectious beat or melody keeps me entranced long enough to hear the challenging message. Tracy Chapman and Sting both use this technique.

And what is the message of this strange little ditty? I'm struck by the story's litany of hysterical reactions. Is this the chronology of a riot? From the smallest accident (the louse burning), a chaos builds. A tiny spark produces a devastating flood.

This possible interpretation can describe outer events or, per my bias, a picture of inner dynamics.

I wonder about the “insignificant” hot spots in my psyche. Do you see any tiny psychic burns that destructively accelerate in you?

© Lewis-Barr 2008
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A short, odd, dream-like tale.

2008-03-12T16:28:00.000-07:00

Here's an unusual Grimm tale. Not sure I'll be able to make any sense of it. See what you can do!

"The Louse and the Flea"

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More on "The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs."

2008-03-11T06:27:00.000-07:00

There was a man who, because of his goodness, became a target. The powerful tried to destroy him, but he was lucky, and Fate kept him on a golden path.

He was fated to change the culture. Because of his skills, he was able to identify the root causes of huge problems. He could pluck goodness out of an evil situation.

This short sketch comes from my reading of “The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs," a Grimm tale I posted yesterday.

Marie Louise Von Franz, in her books on fairy tales, frequently analyzes these stories that have an evil or aging king and a hero who must perform tasks. Von Franz was brilliant at analyzing every symbol—an undertaking far beyond my skills. Still, I can share a recurring theme she emphasized.

The King symbolizes an out-dated viewpoint in a culture. The hero represents a new kind of thinking that usurps this old consciousness. The manner (easy or hard) and ending (success or failure) of this revolution can illustrate what is happening in the deepest layers of a culture’s psychology.

In this story, the hero is helped by the Devil’s grandmother! She is both the source of the Devil and beyond Him. Is she Mother Nature? The hero is willing to visit a frightening place---the Devil’s home. But here he finds something beyond evil. He also gains an understanding of wickedness and the root causes of his community's problems.
© Lewis-Barr 2008
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The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs

2008-03-10T06:57:00.000-07:00

Today's story is much longer than previous tales we've read. See what you think of it.

"The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs."

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Continuing Thoughts on "The Singing Bone."

2008-03-09T12:57:00.000-07:00

In “The Singing Bone,” an innocent son obtains protection and overcomes the ferocious boar. I interpret the boar as volatile and destructive emotions within one's pysche. Maturity (and the hero’s journey) involves learning to overcome emotional assaults from within. In this story, the hero achieves this growth but is finally destroyed by another damaging impulse from within.

What challenges do you (have you) skillfully overcome (the boar)?

What dynamics within your personality still manage to sabotage your goals or progress (the evil brother)?

Lately, I’ve heard some chilling (and true!) stories from friends and acquaintances. In one, a wife discovers that her physician husband has been poisoning her. In another, a mother blames her daughter’s therapist for reporting incest in the family. These events are terrible, but even worse, is the seemingly normal life that follows these crimes. After my colleague left her murderous husband, he continued to prosper and eventually remarry. The incestuous family pretends that the arrest never happened. They seem, from an outsider’s view, to be very close-knit, happy and “normal.” How is this possible? If you’re the victim (or friend), such scenes can make you doubt your own sanity.

This is where a morality tale, such as “The Singing Bone,” or Poe's Tell -Tale Heart can offer comfort. The destructive force wins, but only temporarily. This tale (like many of the Grimm fables) affirms that--even if it takes a long time--goodness and truth eventually triumph.

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Brothers' Grimm--The Singing Bone

2008-03-08T07:01:00.000-08:00

Today I’m reading “The Singing Bone.”

What do you notice about this story?

What does it mean to you?

I’ll share my thoughts tomorrow.

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Squaring the Circle

2008-03-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

I'm still tweaking this site to make it easier to read. In the meantime, here’s a great blog to visit—this artist creates a new mandala everyday. Jung was a great believer in the usefulness of mandalas (they are found worldwide) to visually represent psychic wholeness. When we create mandalas, we are symbolically working to mend the schisms in our own unconscious.

Seems to work with today's quote:

Dare to be naive.
- Buckminster Fuller

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A Jungian Look at "The Secret"

2008-03-06T15:15:00.000-08:00

Have you read "The Secret?"

I tried to get it from my public library (just for research). No dice. They had eight copies--all out. Same with my sister's library. On the bestseller list for 33 weeks, the book's popularity reveals....what? A gaping wound in our national psyche? Are we feeling so desperate and incomplete that we hunger for magical powers?

The Secret claims we can "attract" anything we want, through our thoughts. If that were true, I'd have won the Pulitzer Prize by now. Still, psychologists have proven that chipper attitudes can lead to happy results. Think "self-fulfilling prophecy." Even some brain scientists confirm: when we make hopeful statements to ourselves, we train our brains to look for those hoped-for events.

Just where ordinary (not supernatural) influence begins and ends is debatable. But, even if we can, through our thoughts (AND actions), create change, are we alone at Life's helm? "The Secret" tells me how to get what I want when I want it. But how do I reconcile my self-absorbed quests with a spiritual path?

For many years, I pursued a career in the theatre. In addition to hard work (as director, producer, or playwright), I also tried conjuring success through affirmations. I described in great detail all the awards and acclaim coming to me. Then, at the peak of these drills, one of my productions was panned in a local paper. Devastated, I blew out my candles, stopped affirmations, and waited to recover. I wasn't merely disheartened with my "create your own reality" program; I found myself reborn to a new and deep humility. If I believed in God, maybe it was time to surrender to Him (Her)? Maybe it was time to stop demanding my own will?

Meanwhile, I was also reading lots of Jungian psychology. These books said that my conscious will was only one piece of the puzzle. We create our circumstances, not through magic or mysticism, but through the unconscious behaviors and signals we constantly send out. Jungian therapists delve into the dreams, coincidences, and events of their clients, to understand these dynamics.

Yet, Jungians also believe we are not the sole drivers of our fate. There is a Reality, beyond our control and understanding--the "collective unconscious." Jungians don't need to speak of "God," but they do talk of yielding to the ‘Self': the God in us. So, we must accept responsibility for our actions (and even some outside events), while also adopting a healthy humility. We admit our small place in the universe.

What "The Secret" leaves out is this healthy humility. Following the book's premises, we're left isolated in our ego's tiny self-absorbed world.

For Jung, our waking consciousness (ego) is like a cork floating on the ocean. We cannot know this vast reality but we can acknowledge it. Instead of seeking to control our circumstances, we can follow the more difficult path---surrendering to a Greater Reality, while striving to live responsibly.

I'm back!

2008-03-06T15:09:00.000-08:00

Visited Wordpress and liked it very much but missed certain features of Blogger. Here’s some of what I wrote while I’ve been gone!

If you like experimental drama, check out the critically acclaimed series, "The Singing Detective." We are renting it through Netflix. Time magazine calls it a "daring dramatization of the subconscious." Like all mythic or fairy tale stories, it has plenty of bleak moments. But these are balanced by verbal wit, crazy purple prose, and fantastic musical production numbers. Highly recommended!

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Recipe for a healthy psyche

2008-02-29T08:20:00.000-08:00

These ideas come from my own “Jungian experiment,” and the writings of Jung, Marie Louise Von Franz, James Hillman, and Robert A. Johnson, among others. Try your own experiment and let me know what happens.

1. Get enough sleep and wake up slowly.
If possible, arrange your schedule so you can go to bed early and wake up without an alarm. I’ve noticed that when I’m able to sleep until my body wakes up naturally, I remember more of my dreams.

Studies have shown REM (dreaming) sleep is vital to psychological health. When experiment subjects were allowed to get non-REM sleep but were disturbed during the REM sleep cycle, they suffered from aggression, anxiety, and poor concentration. Scientists are finding that sleep is not only vital for physical rest but helps us maintain our emotional well-being.

2. Record your dreams.
Marie Louise Von Franz, Robert A. Johnson, James Hillman (and other Jungians I’ve studied) all maintain that recording dreams is the key method for enhancing or maintaining our psychological health. MLVF maintains that even if the dreamer doesn’t understand the images, the act of recording dreams has a powerful effect. I’ve found this to be true.

Several years ago, I began to capture my dreams with a digital recorder tucked under my pillow. After whispering them into the recorder, I would write them out. A few dreams were easier to interpret, but most were impenetrable to me. Still, after a few months of this practice, I began to have unexpected insights into my personality. I began to see myself in a new (not always flattering) light.

While I still can’t see into all my blind spots, having greater awareness of my inner dynamics, helps me make better choices.

3. Give yourself time to daydream.
Jungians believe that the unconscious part of our personality reveals itself during creative activities or when we daydream. Using “down-time” to let my mind wander allows my worries, ambitions, or hidden wishes to emerge and reveal themselves. Blink and similar books have documented that much of our inner life occurs outside our conscious awareness. Quiet meditation or other introspective moments can allow us to catch a glimpse of these inner workings.

4. Question your moods.
Similar to dreams and fantasies, moods can give us great clues to our inner world. Paying attention to the fluctuations of our feelings (especially after a dream or upon waking) provides more input. Even if I don’t know why I’m anxious, or depressed, noting my feelings is an important first step. Asking the question “why” will lead to an answer. (I’ve found this to be true.)* The answer may come through a dream, a fantasy image, or just a sudden understanding.

Moods are our psyche’s tool to give us information about our inner and outer world. I may not know why I’m angry until I eventually replay the swift events at work and realize I was subtly flogged by a passive aggressive co-worker. Part of me registered the jabs and felt angry before my conscious self realized what happened. In the same way that we watch physical symptoms for signs of illness, paying attention to moods helps us stay healthy. The psyche tells me what is nurturing and what is not. If I give myself what my psyche craves (within reason) I’ll be much happier.

An obvious example: I love gardening, but hate accounting. A job in accounting would be disastrous for me. I know this because of my inner reactions when faced with accounting. This seems obvious, yet most of us ignore at least some of our inner promptings. What moods do you ignore?

*(Asking a question of the unconscious has also worked for artists and inventors. There are many stories of dreams providing the solution to a creative problem. Jungians believe that our unconscious can provide lots of info—about our inner and outer world).

5. Engage the imagery/personalities that emerge in your dreams.
Draw, sculpt, journal, dance. Jung and his disciples have emphasized that building a bridge between your unconscious and conscious mind requires a willingness to engage in the imagery of your dreams and daydreams. No matter how confusing, frightening, or bizarre, we should creatively express these inner realities in an outer form. Artistic talent isn’t necessary. The goal isn’t to create art but to consciously engage with these images (in a playful way).

Yesterday I had a dream about snakes. They were plush-toy-bloated, sleepy snakes in iridescent colors. Despite their harmless appearance, I was frightened because I had to crawl over them.

I couldn’t decipher a message. Still, the imagery was powerful and stayed with me through the morning. Instead of taking the time to draw the snakes (drawing dream images is recommended. Jung himself kept a notebook of dream drawings.) I googled a description of them and found several examples. I printed these pictures and put them throughout my house so I could walk over them.

Seems silly, yes? But experiment. You’ll be surprised at how, over time, working with your dreams can increase your self-knowledge.

Another tool for engaging with the unconscious is “Active Imagination,” a technique of having a dialogue between two archetypal parts of oneself. It isn’t easy and should be approached with caution. (For people prone to psychotic breaks, this method could be dangerous. For some, the boundaries between unconscious and conscious imagery is too fragile and active imagination should only be tried with a professional.)

But, if I’m psychologically stable, I can try more formal dialogues or at least begin to acknowledge the characters that consistently emerge in my dreams and fantasies.

If I have a dark, dangerous figure who is always in my dreams I might name him. I might write out our inner conversation. I might draw a picture of him and ask him a question. I If I do this, a new dream or daydream will come to give me more information and our dialogue can continue.

I’ve found these ideas helpful. Maybe you will too? Experiment on yourself and watch. These practices take time but have been powerful for many seekers.

American Zen for Thursday

2008-02-28T06:27:00.000-08:00

Direct your eye right inward, and you'll find
A thousand regions of your mind
Yet undiscovered. Travel them and be
Expert in home-cosmography.

Henry David Thoreau
Walden

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Reflections on "The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean.

2008-02-27T06:23:00.000-08:00

I’ve been re-reading, MLVF’s “Archetypal Patterns in Fairy Tales.” Like most of her books, this is a transcribed lecture filled with insights gleaned from decades of analytical work—both on herself and for her patients.

One chapter explored the Grimm tale, “The Straw, the Coal and the Bean.” Some websites call this a “household tale.” Von Franz describes it as a Schwank –a joke-story. MLVF notes that this joke (like all humor) has many “dark” elements.

After admitting that she finds these stories the hardest to interpret, Von Franz dissects each image in the tale: the old woman, the act of cooking, the fire, the straw, coal, bean, bridge, tailor, and thread.

Does she ruin a joke with these “amplifications” and interpretation? MLVF admits that the joke itself (as the dream itself) is always better than any interpretation. Read the original (above) and see what you think. Do you want more info, or is the tale satisfying enough alone?

As you might have guessed, I’m always curious for more suggestions regarding symbols and images.

My favorite amplifications concern the bridge. According to Von Franz, the bridge links the unconscious to consciousness. She says that the straw has associations with pagan rituals and the underworld. It is an image linked to the unconscious. Like an unconscious impulse, the straw lacks self-knowledge—thinking it can build a bridge toward consciousness, when it cannot. The coal also lacks self-knowledge—it is hotheaded. Von Franz writes, “(the coal) becomes frightened at hearing her own opposite! Water and fire are the great opposites….if you get to the middle of the bridge that unites the opposites; you cannot cross it if you don’t know your own opposite. That is why you cannot be changed in analysis if you don’t know your own shadow, if you don’t know that all your ideals have a very seamy underside. Without that awareness, you can’t cross into new life. There’s no transition without a confrontation of the opposites.”

The image of the bursting bean is perfect, isn’t it? Why? It must be an archetypal image. It is provocative. In the movie, “Alien” it was a horrible sight, but here it is funny. A little bean popping open the way it would if cooked too long. Here, the bean laughs too hard. Any extreme can lead to a breaking apart.

The bean laughs at the misfortune of the others and so has great misfortune himself—then we mirror the story and laugh at the bean. It is charming--the tale ensures that you’ll recall it when eating a bean. Like all traditional tales (MLVF says this story is very ancient), The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean has many layers of possible meanings, including several cautions about how to live.

Reflections on the Academy Awards

2008-02-25T06:58:00.000-08:00

Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell spent their lives helping us comprehend the mythic world.

Movies (and the stars who make them) express that world.

Last night I, with about 43.5 million other Americans (figure from Andrew Hearst’s blog), watched the Academy Awards. I was inspired, especially during the montages honoring past winners. Sure, these stars have an army of stylists and I’m always fascinated by their incredible gowns and jewelry. But it is the great heart of certain actors that moves me.

I’ve spent much of my life working with actors. If you’ve ever personally known performers (at any level of accomplishment), you know they belong to a unique stock. Their calling (for the greatest actors, there is always an artistic/religious-type calling to their work) requires the openness and curiosity of a child, and the ability to delve into and express all emotional states. Actors must be bigger than (daily) life.

Since most of us tremble when speaking in front of a few others (pollsters find that public speaking is ranked more frightening than death) an actor’s ability to perform in front of millions is remarkable. That actresses during an Oscar telecast can gracefully cross the large stage in the highest heels and the longest gowns never ceases to amaze me. (I tremble for them everytime they cross the stage!)

I’m awed by the incredible talent of some actors, and by the enormous heart of others. Yes, it’s true that I don’t know these people. You think I’m simply imagining (a Jungian would say “projecting”) their qualities? Perhaps. And it’s true that we all have a dark side (the Jungian Robert Johnson says the greater our creativity, the greater our dark counterpoint).

Still, when I watch certain acceptance speeches and see such grace, eloquence, and passion, I do sense a greatness of heart. Astonishing talent + a huge heart = a sublime actor who stirs hearts and souls. We become star-struck by this actor (or athlete—the Super Bowl and the Oscars are both wildly popular for the same reason). The elite actor/athlete expresses God-like talents. We see ourselves or what we hope to be. We see the ideal--what is possible for a human being to achieve.

We may gossip about their lives and criticize their fashion, but actors, through their exuberance and passion for life, bring us to the mythic realm. Watch this replay of Cuba Gooding Jr.’s acceptance speech from 1997 (also replayed last night) for a sample. Try not to smile.

Zen for Sunday

2008-02-24T08:42:00.000-08:00

All significant battles are waged within the self.

End of post even though Blogger says

Thoughts on "The Wolf and the Seven Kids"

2008-02-23T06:17:00.000-08:00

Today I’ve been contemplating “The Wolf and the Seven Kids,” a grim Grimm tale with a happy ending. Based on my google research, this title seems to be a favorite for storytellers. I’ve found storytelling cue cards, several children’s books on the tale, and three different videos on YouTube. My favorite is a shadow-puppet version linked here.

I’m not finding a way to retell this tale--but I am contemplating it.

I’m stuck by the violence. I’m supposed to side with the little kid-goats but the image of mother-goat cutting into the wolf’s belly haunts me. Why doesn't the wolf wake up to this surgery? He is practically comatose from his greedy meal. What can this mean?

Does our excessive greediness put us to sleep? Does it prevent us from responding to the healthy spiritual calls inside and outside of us?

Like Jonah in the whale, the little kids resurrect after being swallowed. I am comforted that many of these fairy tales insist that Goodness is stronger than evil.(Capitalized word intended.) Even when it seems that innocence is destroyed; beauty, truth, and love do persevere under the surface. The mother goat believed this. She looked for signs of life and was fearless in confronting wickedness. Because of this, she was able to release the innocent kids trapped within the insatiable wolf.

2008-02-22T06:44:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday.

Instead of a story or koan today, I’m posting one juicy link, Encyclopedia Mythica-- a fabulous mother lode of myths!

A new story for "Frau Trude"

2008-02-21T06:08:00.000-08:00

Today's tale, “Frau Trude” is a change of pace. We've mostly been looking at happy endings-but not today!

I think the original fairy tale is more than a “mind your parents” cautionary fable. It speaks to the dangers of naïve and unbridled curiosity--a risk for all ages.

Jamie watched the shadows on the ceiling. Their movements depicted a battle between light and darkness. She was part of the story too. A valiant maiden, fighting for truth and freedom. Her parents (represented by the black smudge in the corner) were the cruel tyrants to be overthrown.

Jamie saw the entire saga playing simultaneously on the ceiling, in her mind, and in the cryptic lyrics pulsing through her ipod. She wanted to write it all down, but the mystical tale was moving too fast and she was very tired. She'd taken a higher dose of the shroom than before. Too much? She felt faint.

Eight hours later Jamie was ready for more. She'd be more careful this time to get the perfect dose so she could record the brilliant messages coming to her through the TV, the fish tank, the stars and most especially, the trees.

But when she went to find her stash (perhaps she'd just do the pot and save the mushrooms for another day) it was gone. Confiscated by her captors.

There was no use confronting them. They'd simply yell or lecture or threaten her. But what could they threaten? No prison was worse than this house. She'd warned them to leave her things alone. She'd warned them.

It was a Friday night and her tormentors were leaving. Perfect. She'd have a head start.

Jamie grabbed cash from her hiding places, and a duffle bag. She'd travel light. She couldn't hitch with a suitcase. Besides, she didn't need much. Just some more money.
A trip to the ATM proved lucrative. If she were frugal, she'd have enough for a month or more. She'd get a job with the fake ID Kira had provided.

In three days, she was in Berkeley. So poppin! If only she’d been born 30 years earlier. To be here during the summer of love? Epic!!!!

Her first evening in town, she found a party. Was she the youngest there? Hard to say. Most looked like college gowns but there were some townees--girls who looked 14. Jamie studied them. Could they tell she was in their grade? She tried to stand tall and stick out her chest. She told the group she was 17.

She was hungry for a hit of something-pot, speed, something. But this group, however friendly, ignored her less than subtle hints. Did they think she was a NARC?

Crap! Here she was in friggin Berkeley, CA and no drugs??? A Monday night and no way to get high? She'd have to ditch this party. It was too bad, the guys were cute and the vibe was awesome. Everyone was beautiful and sexy and fun. She was meeting film people and musicians.

An older woman (was she 35?) sat in the corner, surrounded by a harem of eager, young guys. Frat boys? She was telling them a story and they were screaming with laughter. Were they high?

Jamie inched closer and smiled. The woman, Trudy, beckoned her closer. Trudy's eyes sparkled and her smile was like a bank of camera flashes. She sent the male harem away and cuddled on the couch with Jamie, asking her questions.

Jamie felt like a princess, chosen by the Queen to have a visit. She told Trudy her new improved bio-much more glamorous than the real thing. They shared pizza and coke and finally Jamie steered their talk to drugs.

“Are you looking to get high tonight?” The Queen’s smile widened. Jamie wondered if perhaps Trudy had bleached her teeth once too often. The shocking white glow now appeared almost blue.

“Yes,” Jamie whispered, “do you have something I could buy?”

Trudy pulled Jamie closer. “I have something very special for you. A mixture very powerful…”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Are you sure?” Trudy sang this question and then laughed.

“I'm not afraid.”

“Good. I didn't think so.”

Jamie swallowed the large pill and then lay down on the couch, her head on Trudy's lap. The light in the room began to dance and conversations looped back on themselves. She'd hear the start of a joke, then the end, then the middle, then the start again. The room seemed broken up into fragments of time and space. Jamie laughed.

“Right… be…. be… back…. right…” Trudy’s words echoed as she moved off the couch. She moved off the couch again and again. Finally, Jamie stretched out and closed her eyes to enjoy the music. Then she felt a tickle near her face. She opened her eyes and saw an enormous cat sitting near her head. She pulled her arms over her face.

Jamie peeked out through her fingers. The cat was still there. It was planning to scratch her. Jamie wanted to scream but she was too relaxed. Her body wouldn't move.

She peeked again. Now there were two cats hovering over her, large and cartoon-like. Jamie swatted the air and one cat scratched her hand. She pulled back again and covered her face.

She listened to the punk playing in the background. She tried to breathe deeply and focus on the beat. “Trudy?” She murmured.

“Yes, dear. Yes, dear. Yes, dear.” Jamie heard Trudy's voice echoing. She peaked through her fingers to look. The two cats and now 20 other eyes were staring down at her.

“Trudy?”

“Yes, dear, nothing to worry about….”

The eyes gathered nearer. Jamie felt herself lifted and moved to another room. The eyes followed close by. Then the room became white light as Jamie's mind when dark. ©Lewis-Barr 2008

The Dark Side

2008-02-20T12:54:00.000-08:00

Both fairy tales and Jungian psychology can emphasize the dark side of life. I’ve been working on an adaptation of "Frau Trude" yesterday and today (will post tomorrow)—a story steeped in harsh realities.

Also yesterday, the Chicago Tribune ran “Happiness is overrated, author claims; savor the sorrow.” The article looked at the need to integrate sorrow into our lives. Here’s the the book discussed in the article.

If all goes to plan, I should have the new story tomorrow. In the meantime, if you’re in the mood for fairy tales or my adaptations of them, check out some of my previous posts, they’ll be categorized as ‘contemporary Brothers Grimm.” Here are three reader favorites:
“The Seven Ravens,” a longer three-part story, “The Sisters of Sundance,” and
“Elf Magic.”

Story and thoughts on "Mother Holle"

2008-02-19T05:58:00.000-08:00

Barb majored in theatre in college. After graduation, she waitressed and auditioned, auditioned and waitressed. She got small roles but never broke through to the top tiers of local casting.

The years passed quickly. Barb continued to waitress. She got married, had children, and shelved her dreams, “until the kids were older.” Depression haunted her days.

At 39, feeling stuck, Barb took up playwriting. Perhaps this would be the vehicle for breakthrough. She wrote diligently and networked. She won some contests but never achieved commercial success.

Now, at 49, Barb tells me she’s “stuck.” She dreams of flying and freedom but daily life offers no such liberty. She’s been a good mom, a good wife, a good neighbor. She performs a litany of daily tasks and ignores her frustrations and envy. She tells me “it’s too late, my dreams are finished.”

Fairy tales often show a hero lost, or stuck in an impossible place, with an impossible task. Then, a friend emerges or a door opens. What door can open for Barb (or myself), stuck in similar ruts of middle age? Where will the breakthrough emerge? Will it come from plunging deeper into the mundane duties of daily life?

Today’s tale, “Mother Holle,” is similar to “The Three Little Men in the Woods.” Both stories show heroines performing mundane tasks. We can see these tales as simply instructions to young girls—“be good, work hard, and good things will come to you,” But if MLVF is correct, these tales concern the psyche. The hard work of sweeping, cooking, or cleaning, is a metaphor of tending to our moods, feelings, and thoughts.

Today, I’ve thought of Barb as I journaled about my own regrets and yearnings. Like Barb, I long to burst through the requirements of daily life.

Today’s tale encourages me to keep working on my inner self and trust the process.

Zen for Monday

2008-02-18T08:28:00.000-08:00

If you cannot find the truth where you are,

where do you expect to find it?

Dogen

Video of Marie Louise Von Franz

2008-02-17T18:39:00.000-08:00

I haven't been too successful finding new websites about MLVF, so I was happy to find this clip. It's an unusual chance to hear the great Jungian scholar and analyst (she died in 1998). In this interview she's talking about two complementary mythic systems: alchemy and Christianity.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZMwmTItYJM

A story and comments on "The Three Little Men in the Woods"

2008-02-16T07:21:00.000-08:00

Did you notice a theme last week? I was writing about holding silent and then jumped the gun on some blog posts. A synchronicity?

(If you don’t believe in synchronicities, that’s ok, consider this an apophenia moment).

I’ve been reading “The Three Little Men in the Woods” and trying to find a modern parallel. Found one in my experience at work yesterday. Weird. Another synchronicity?

If you want to read the fairy tale first, here it is.

Here’s my story.

I’ve spent most of my life in counter-cultural work (massage therapist, theatre director) or freelance, office-free positions (massage therapist, part-time college professor). My new job involves office work, and all the politics and personalities of a bureaucracy. Now, if I had to be in my windowless office full time, I’d be unhappy. But I’m blessed to be able to work half-time, and I find this new environment fascinating. I’m especially intrigued by the psychological/emotional churnings beneath serene surfaces.

When I walk through the corridors and cubicles of my new world, I visualize a minefield or the dark woods featured in many fairy tales. As a newbie, I cannot know of all the previous in-fighting or schemes between co-workers. My strategy is to listen well and watch for clues.

Perhaps it’s because of my previous travails, or my ego isn’t as involved in this work; whatever the reason, I have felt myself “centered” at work. When colleagues ignore a request or send me a cryptic email, I’ve been skillful at getting them to talk to me and express their fears. Because I’m generally happy and confident in this place, I can extend kindness. Without fail, when I offer a friendly response, I’ve seen my co-workers’ anger or defensiveness melt away.

Yesterday, however, I was the angry worker. “Betsy” was supposed to help me prepare some documents for publication. I had pressing deadlines and it seemed (to me) that she was passing the buck and doing little to help me. In the past, when faced with such bureaucratic tangles, I would trust that my colleagues were working with me. That trust in their good intentions brought out their best and together we maneuvered around obstacles.

But in this case, I deeply resented Betsy and her methods. I tried calling her but she wouldn’t answer her phone. My anxiety and anger increased and seeped into several emails we exchanged.

Before sending another frantic note, I called again. Betsy answered.

“I’m freaking out,” I said.

“You want to come down and look at the proofs I printed for you?” Betsy’s voice didn’t betray an emotion.

“No, I’m freaking out, can we just send them to the printer?”

“You don’t want to look at the proofs?” Betsy asked.

(This had been my passive-aggressive request—asking Betsy to quickly print another set of drafts for me.)

“No. They’re ok. I don’t want to take any more time.”

Betsy told me to email her the request.

“Ok, I’ll do that right now.”

I hung up. What had happened? Our contact had been brief but my impatience was palpable. I’d become possessed by some hysteric. Would I become the talk of the marketing department? Dana, my office-mate pursed her lips.

“You need to be careful to keep on their good side,” she murmured.

Crap. Have I screwed up this important contact? I was mortified but tried to stay positive. In the evening, I retold the saga to my hubby. This morning I read “The Three Little Men in the Woods.”

Like the hero in the story, I have had a cycle of good deeds. My kindnesses have produced more kindness in others and my mouth has been “dropping gold coins.” Feeling centered, I’ve been able to offer good judgment and well-timed words.

But there is another part of my psyche that got triggered by Betsy. Overtaken by the evil stepmother (my negative affect, or “complex”) my “Queen-self” is replaced by this other part of my personality. (Have you had this experience and wondered, “who was that person inhabiting my body?”)

Luckily, as in the story, the Queen isn’t completely gone, she’s regressed to an animal that swims in waters (the emotions). Claiming my own emotional reality (“I’m freaking out”) is the best I can do with a negative affect. Using “I” statements is often the only tool I have to get me across these rough waters.

Of course, Betsy didn’t see the Queen-in-me, just a frantic duck in the water, but that’s the best I could muster. And owning “my stuff” meant less harm to our relationship.

I thought of the encounter throughout the day. It wasn’t until later, in retelling the story, that I realized my own shadow connection to Betsy (we share a “lazy” quality that I hate). This is probably why she triggered me. Laboring at this new understanding is like waving a sword of discrimination over the duck. By working at self-knowledge, I can regain my regal center and communicate with more grace.

And what about the title? Who are the three little men? While Jung might not agree, I see them as symbols of the Higher Self—a Trinity-God within who sets in motion the rewards and punishments we internally seek.

The final image of the story is fierce and one that I’ve read in other tales. To be trapped in a small barrel filled with nails reminds me of being trapped in our own tiny perspectives and tortured by my own projections and complexes.

Good Brain Food from C.G. Jung

2008-02-15T07:01:00.000-08:00

I can't always comprehend Jung's writings but this quote is a good one for me to chew on and it concerns fairy tales.

"The concept of the archtype . . . is derived from the repeated observation that, for instance, the myths and fairytales of the world literature contain definite motifs which crop up everywhere. We meet the same motifs in the fantasies, dreams, deliria, and delusions of individuals living today. These types of images and associations are what I call archtypal ideas. The more vivid they are, the more they will be colored by particularly strong feeling-tones . . . They impress, influence, and fascinate us."

"This represents The Archtype exercising the principle of Syncronicity, an acausal connecting principle. All things are connected to one another. In physics these days utilizing the Membrane Theory they count eleven dimensions of space and time. All of these are connected on the sub-atomic level. Everything is connected to everything else. Touching the membrane of the universe here or there causes an equal effect somewhere..."

from "The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche" collected works 8, p. 213.C.G. Jung:

Apology to Readers

2008-02-14T06:49:00.000-08:00

Caught a grammar gaffe. Ouch! I get so excited to post that I sometimes hit the “publish” button and then see the mistake. (I do read my entries but my excitement sometimes overtakes my proofing skills. And you probably already know that I have gaps in my grammar knowledge.) But this was a bigger, more obvious boo-boo. Sorry!

Now I feel better. Been haunted for days.

Of course, the postings get corrected as soon as I catch the goof (today’s miss: a link I added after I published). But I realize that the published links float around in feeds and other places.

Sorry! Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa.

I can’t promise it won’t happen again but I guarantee I work hard on these posts!

Happy Valentines Day to you.

Holding the Question--Musings for Today

2008-02-14T06:25:00.000-08:00

The great challenge of writing is choosing what to express and what to leave out. When there’s so much action, within and outside of me, this is a daunting task. I’m always pulled in conflicting directions.

Been working on an idea previously mentioned, a story of maintaining silence when the psyche needs it. I’ve been struggling to describe this subtle non-happening. Nothing clicks. Then I realize I’m living a version of this tale.

I’ve been striving to carve out little moments of quiet—so I can hear myself think. I need clarity. How do I reconcile my contradictions? I’m living on two tracks: work-time in the corporate-training world, and spare-time in the mythic/Jungian/writing realm. I want to write about both but there isn’t enough time. And what do I want, two blogs???

So I’ve been sitting and listening and waiting.

I hold the question.

Answers always come when I wait for them. But if I short-circuit the process, I’m like the Fisherman in “The Gold Children," losing my inner wealth because I talked too soon.

I’ll be quiet now.

Chipmunks are singing—Reflections on a Warmer Day

2008-02-13T08:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, all the messages in my Yahoo inbox disappeared. My other folders remained intact but the six--hundred inbox messages: gone.

Yahoo had no explanation. My friends were baffled. No one could explain why this had happened. But strange events always happen to me.

Daily life is a weird dream that I watch and walk through.

I was raised Catholic but now I’m a Jungian. I believe in sychronicities and symbolism and the mythic realm. How should I interpret my disappearing files? Something lost or obliterated within myself?

Or maybe I’m too attached to interpreting? I cross a parking lot and there is a dead bird, lying near my car. I never see dead birds, but there it is, a cardinal, stiff. Later, as I meditate at the edge of a small pond, a huge, blue heron settles down on the other side. He seems to be watching me.

I know. I think too much. It is my dubious calling. To record the dramas exploding under everyday life.

(Chipmunks are chirping now. And eating squash seeds I’ve left for them.)

I’ve done some writing and the Voice is satisfied. For now. I’ve wrestled with my angels or demons. (Are they the same?)

(The chipmunk’s jowls are bulging with seeds.)

Jungian 60137

2008-02-12T05:36:00.000-08:00

Thought I'd share a longer article I've written for a local college magazine. It explores my recent "Jungian experiment," as well as dream analysis, and my interview with analyst Stephen Martz.

Thoughts on Grimm’s “The Gold Children.”

2008-02-11T06:59:00.000-08:00

If you read this fairy tale you’ll recognize a variation of “The Fish and the Fisherman.” Many of these stories have similar symbols and characters but then take a different path. What might the variations mean?

MLVF (hyperlinked here) has written that fairytales can be read as illustrations of a single psyche or an entire cultural (collective) mindset. But analyzing a culture is too hard for me. I’ll stay with a smaller project, thinking of the meanings for an individual.

The husband and wife are poor. But the psyche is fishing in the deep waters of the unconscious, looking for inner wealth. There is wealth in the unconscious life of this person, but he reveals his inner process too soon.

(What inner knowledge have I shared too soon? When have I talked too much? I know many people who don’t give themselves enough incubating time. Time at a window, sitting silent. How can one find inner riches without enough quiet time? )

After three false starts, the fish offers himself up. Some part of the unconscious is now ready to come to the surface and create--to birth beautiful ideas. Now the couple doesn’t have a superficially lavish life, as before, but they have more profound wealth--gifted children, beauty linked to the children, and a golden means of transport. (Transporation, a vehicle, takes us through our world. What moves us around? We might interpret this as our ideas, occupations, or our bodies.)

Now the story focuses on the children. They are gifted but, because of their wealth, have their own travails. I’m guessing, based on MLVF’s writings, that she would interpret the stag dream and the witch as “mother issues” in the boy’s psyche. He has done well at knowing when to show his inner wealth and when to protect himself (not throw pearls before swine) but there is a sinister element in his psyche that stalks him (even as he stalks the stag). The witch’s dog may be the boy’s own violent and unstable instincts around women.

Thankfully, there is another psychological element (or outside force?) that awakens and offers help. The spell is broken and the psyche thrives.

The idea of hiding one’s wealth (protecting the inner riches of the psyche) is repeated 4 times in this tale. How would that theme translate in a story for today? I’ll attempt that soon.

Turned to Stone--thinking of themes in Queen Bee

2008-02-10T07:25:00.000-08:00

I can feel overwhelmed with trying to tackle an adaptation of a new Grimm tale daily, (a quick view of this blog proves that this is my goal, not the reality)! So today, I thought I’d take a small piece of Queen Bee and write a story centered on it--the motif of characters turned to stone. I’ve found it in a good number of the Grimm stories such as The Two Brothers, Faithful John, and The Gold Children. This metaphor, describing the very real threat of losing our psychological suppleness (as we age) haunts me. How many of us, in “middle-age,” become cemented in our fears and outlook? As we experience the tumult and heartbreaks of life, do we expand or contract? Are we able to grow (often through surrendering our deepest held beliefs and desires) or do we get stuck? (We often think showing “responsibility” requires shutting down our desires and being stoic, but if we take the word apart respons--ibility is the ability to respond.)

I could write of a man who ignores the deeper callings of his soul. Then this soul, after many years, begins to atrophy and harden until no feeling-self is left. But that story isn’t working for me—probably because it is too bleak for my taste. Even the most violent fairy tales aren’t that oppressive! And the great Leo Tolstoy has already written this tale (albeit with a better ending). If you haven’t read (or are ready to revisit) the moving, The Death of Ivan Ilych, here it is.

Time to Surf

2008-02-09T08:27:00.000-08:00

Instead of a story, I’ve been doing some surfing this morning…. Here are some sites worth checking out.

Found a wonderful article by Joseph Campbell (reprinted on various websites including the Gnostic-priest blog here).

In that same vein, the Joseph Campbell Mythology group has pages chock-full of info.

I'll also be spending time at Endicott Studios a site I discovered through SurLaLunefairytales.com

Another lively and dynamic site is Mythic Imagination Institute--check it out.

Happy Reading.

The Queen Bee

2008-02-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

I’m revisiting today’s story, “The Queen Bee,” one of the many “Simpleton” or “Dummling” tales in the Grimm collection. I’ve previously looked at how these tales illustrate a healthy psyche—a person in tune with their instincts (the animals in the stories). Today I’m thinking of a more basic theme of these exceedingly optimistic fairy-tales. The stories (at least those I’ve read so far) say, not merely, “trust your own instincts and internal drives” but also “you can trust the World Spirit-God-Nature-the Universe” (whatever label you use). If you live simply, naively, and with an open heart, life works out.

That’s a radical thought. And a reassuring one.

I often feel like a Dummling in my own life. My choices tend to be counter-cultural. I'm slow to adopt (or even understand) the latest in technology or fashion. In clothing (when I’m not putting on a corporate trainer persona) I can tend toward frumpy. I often shop resale and dress for comfort. I’ve never had fashionable nails so that I can work in my garden or give my hubby a massage. I walk everywhere. And most importantly, I follow my instincts regarding my work. Majoring in Drama wasn’t the shrewdest business choice. And what is this blog anyway? How could it possibly help me in my life? I’m a Dummling in this, naïve and trusting.

Read a Dummling tale today. Would that the world was full of Dummlings!

Thinking about "The Three Feathers"

2008-02-07T05:49:00.000-08:00

Been searching online all morning for an excerpt from Conor McPherson’s play, “Shining City.” Saw it recently at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago. I was looking for a posting of the lengthy monologue from the show. It's a brilliant description of a man’s experience of falling in love (or at least lust) and it seems a perfect response to today’s story, “The Three Feathers.” In her writings, MLVF (see post below) describes one theme of this fairy tale as a man's "descent" to find his hidden feeling, “feminine” self. What's another (psychological) metaphor for this event? Falling in love.

But, try as I might to tackle this theme with a fresh tale, I can’t find the man’s viewpoint (at least this morning)of “falling in love.” Hence, my search for the dazzling (at least 30 minute) monologue. It expertly explores the confusion and euphoria of this “fall.”

Sorry, I can’t find it. If you’re curious, you’ll have to read or see the play. Or maybe you have another story of your own?

Also--just discovered the Internet Sacred Text archive. Have you seen it? Wow.

The Seven Ravens

2008-02-06T08:39:00.000-08:00

Today’s meditation is on The Seven Ravens (check out this cool site from National Geographic) from The Brothers Grimm. I had fun with the bird imagery…..

The O’Brien family produced seven sons in rapid succession. Each became a priest and rose in the hierarchy to become important clerics. The seven brothers, dressed in long black robes, analyzed and debated ecclesiastical law from their lofty posts in Vatican City.

Perched in this sublime world, the brothers rarely contacted their aging parents or their younger sister. Mary had disappointed them. Instead of earning a law degree, as they’d hoped, she’d dropped out of school and become a massage therapist. A massage therapist! How could she throw away her mind and become a new-age….yes, they would say it….prostitute!

They made excuses to avoid contact with her and many years passed.

Mary loved massage. She loved the way she felt when, focusing on a rock-like muscle, she felt it relax under her hand. Massage was movement—a dance of meditation—an exploration of time, space, and breath.

But the work was also unsteady and her money tight. Mary dreamed of visiting her brothers in Rome but such a trip seemed impossible.

Then, one afternoon, she received a call. She’d won a drum set from the “Starlight” raffle she’d entered. A heavenly gift! She quickly sold the set and bought airfare to Rome. But on her first day exploring Vatican City, Mary lost all of her little remaining cash. A pickpocket.

Mary sat at a café, disoriented. Should she go to the police? Call her family at home?

She noticed some young women in short skirts huddled near the street. Another woman was sitting on a bench, in distress. Mary walked over. The young hooker, Jolina, was in pain. Mary began to work on her shoulders and soon had worked on the entire group, earning enough money for food and lodging.

The next day Mary, with the help of her new friends, set up a small sign near a chair in the town square. “Backrubs: 1 euro for 1 minute.” She worked there all day, meeting tourists and locals in that glorious setting--until the police chased her away. For the next few days, as she searched for her brothers, Mary continued setting up her sign wherever she could--on more remote streets, or in hotel lobbies. She’d even visit hotel rooms. But this last choice was dangerous. Mary had to fight off several men who grabbed her. But through humor and quick thinking she was able to finish the massage without incident. But she was shaken. She’d have to find her brothers tomorrow or she’d go home. She couldn’t risk another disgusting encounter.

The next day Mary finally found the Papal Law Offices. She asked for her eldest brother—telling the clerk that she was there to provide glenohumeral joint (shoulder blade) therapy. She tried to sound official. This was the only anatomy she could remember. Remarkably, after a few minutes, she was escorted into a large conference room.

The first brother came in. He didn’t recognize Mary and was suspicious of her offer. But as soon as she began to work on his shoulders, he melted into a blissful mystic. He called his next brother who called the next, until Mary had refashioned each. They sat in a circle, eyes glazed. Their previous worries and duties had flown and they were now peaceful lumps of earth—happy in their current moment of no-thought.

Each in their own way felt a tiny rebirth to themselves. They resolved—they would not jump back into their “head-trips” and workaholic ways.

And then finally, they recognized their sister and her gift. They laughed and hugged and spoke for many hours, beginning a new journey of discovery.

Between Heaven and Earth--A short story

2008-02-05T05:43:00.000-08:00

She was a television stereotype--the fierce medicine woman--a spindly powerhouse who pokes you with urns of pig feet and lichen. Clutching an old spaghetti jar filled with musty brown stems, she walks me through her sprawling home. Every room contains long tables covered with clear jars. Silent daughters organize the pungent merchandise recently harvested from a forest floor. I follow closely. We are discussing the fungus I’ve ingested. Have I taken too much? Bloody Mary (was she in South Pacific?) seems matter-of-fact and her daughters unconcerned. I shouldn’t worry. I am headed for a truly spectacular high.

I wake up reeling. It is 4:30am. Stumbling to the bathroom, I try to remain asleep. To get high on mushrooms in a dream? An altered state within an altered state! I must get back to sleep and find Bloody Mary. But it is too late. The dream is gone. I lie in bed and massage ideas for a short story.

Three hours later I am surrounded by high-end shops in a fashionable Las Vegas casino. Twelve college students, perfect specimens between 20-25 years, huddle close to hear me. The mall is loud. This section has been designed to resemble a Renaissance Italian village. Gondola drivers sing while paddling their obese tourists. But most of the rumble of noise comes from the crowds of happy consumers sipping coffee, eating ice cream, and browsing through expensive leather boutiques.

“The key to flying,” I begin, “is to focus the mind.” At “mind” I bring my thoughts to a still point in the center of my skull. I slowly ascend off the ground. Hovering ten feet above the group, I ignore the shoppers beginning to point. “Flying should be effortless—all that is required is the mental ability to hold oneself aloft. To help with focus, I sometimes start with a movement like this.” I bend each elbow and lightly push down each arm close to my sides, creating a streamlined figure. I rise higher. “To move in all directions: up, down, left, right, or a combination of these, simply dictate this with a CLEAR thought.”

A blond athlete stretches forth his hand and points. “What about this? This is how they did it in that Crouching Tiger movie.” He doesn’t budge. A shy brunette begins to rise.

“Movements are only important if they help you focus your mind,” I say. “Flight comes from the mind.”

“What about this?” The weightlifter is flapping his arms. Others laugh as two more slowly rise and join me hovering above.

“What do you think?” I say with a smile. A few more join the group overhead. “The rest of you keep experimenting. We are going for a practice flight,” I say. I lean forward and the others mimic me. We are now horizontal. I think “forward-up” and begin to glide along the manufactured streets of an indoor Italy. Since flying is a skill that one learns through personal trial and error, I do not lecture much. I do not even look back as I accelerate faster and faster. They will find a way to keep up.

I sometimes like to run personal errands above the ground but today we are gliding for the sheer joy of speed and weightlessness. To fly is not to be a disembodied spirit but to feel one’s body as lean, light, and quick. We dart along the 3rd floor balconies that line the winding streets and I watch the shoppers from above. Bald heads, dark roots. From 300 feet up, everyone looks squat.

I make a sudden turn and quickly duck. The ceilings are covered with a danger--circling fans. We have entered the smoke-filled casino. I want to check my charges but need to keep my eyes focused ahead. Pit bosses flay and there is a sound of sirens. We move quickly above the shuffling crowd. I am desperate for the exit. I want the open air.

The doorways are too low to navigate, so we gently lower ourselves to the ground and walk through. Several of the students have been left behind at crap tables but the remaining few glow with gratitude. We think “up” and briskly rise into the brightness of a clear Nevada sky. My fingers stretch toward the translucent blue--always out of reach. So instead, my eyes drink in the cool and my hands swim in the unbounded space. I push out in every dimension . Pure, clear, infinitude. I am limitless and free.

--------------------
The soft, female drawl on the other end of the line is always patient, calmly explaining her procedure as my blood pressure rises. I rub my eyes. I’ve been on the phone for an hour, listening to inane commercials repeated endlessly, or even worse, left with no sound at all, wondering if the kind Southern clerk has banished me to phone limbo. After 15 minutes of enforced silence, during which I can neither focus on my writing, nor unkink my aching neck, I am tempted to hang up. But experience has taught me that this would be futile: I would be forced to return to the beginning of the same torture, or abandon the hope of medical care. On a messy sheet of paper I scribble half-baked ideas from my flying dream and wait.

I had finally succumbed to the idea of seeing a dermatologist—having exhausted my experiments with herbal concoctions—but first I was to be tortured with a bureaucratic rack. Kafka could not have come up with a more perverse system. I am told that I need a referral through my Primary Care Physician. But my PCP isn’t in their system. They are trying to fix this problem. Meanwhile, Brian can help me. I am transferred to Brian but receive a voicemail that boots me into an endless ringing line. I call the 800 number again. Lisa answers and wants to understand why my PCP isn’t in their system. “They” are taking care of the problem I say. I simply want to get in touch with Brian for my referral. “Sure, no problem,” says the soft twang. I am dispatched to a different office with voicemail that transfers me to the dial tone. I call again. Stacy answers and wants to know why my PCP…. “Do I have to explain everything? Can I just get a referral from Brian?”

“But Brian can’t give you a referral without the PCP’s approval.”

“But Lisa said…..”

“Lisa isn’t in this office.”

“Do you have a supervisor who can help me?”

“Sure,” sings the drawl.

I wait light years in the silent echo of an unattended phone. Kelly answers and we run the drill. I am persistent and these women are agreeable. They will allow me to waste their time as they waste mine. Kelly calls for Brian. Again the exhausting exercise of pretending to be patient while your morning slips into afternoon. More inane doodles on my indecipherable paper. This morning I was ready to write the great American novel; now I am constructing an illegible suicide note. Kelly returns. Brian won’t talk to me, he can’t help me, he wants me to leave him alone. I try to echo the reasoned tone of my captor. Surely, after several hours of waiting, someone can help me with a referral? Kelly explains a new scheme: we will call my PCP together. But first let’s decide on a dermatologist. I sigh.

It is rather sweet the way Kelly mispronounces the names of towns within 15 miles of my home. We pick one out of the mix and off she flies to battle another bureaucrat while I hold the line. I sit and wait. I am stuck in the torture I hate more than any other--held fast, unable to move, wasting time. Think, Ann, think! I can muster my resolve and concentrate, even with an appliance attached to my ear. I must make this moment count. I find a blank spot of paper and begin outlining a story idea. Crude thoughts accumulate. I gain a small amount of momentum as Kelly returns.

“I have a referral number for you. You can make your appointment.”

“That’s it? I’m free?”

Kelly sweetly drawls goodbye. I hang up, slightly dizzy. I want to finally run to the computer to write about my dreams this morning, but I should first call the dermatologist and make an appointment before this rash goes away on its own. A tired receptionist answers. “Dr. Hudson isn’t a dermatologist. Is this OneHealthPlan?”

“Yes, they referred me.”

“Their records are wrong. Dr. Hudson is an allergist. And she isn’t here anymore. I’m sorry.” Dial tone.
I take a deep breath. No problem. I have the referral number. I will just find another local dermatologist who is in the health plan and make an appointment with them. I’m sure that is acceptable. Especially when your dermatologist isn’t a dermatologist.

I ignore my writing files and jump online. There are plenty of doctors on the plan, I choose three women and write their numbers. Just one more call I coax myself.

Thankfully, the first woman is still practicing medicine but she has a 2-month wait. The second woman has moved. I stoically call the third. Dr. Hoag has a cancellation but it is unclear as to whether she is still in OneHealthPlan. I am told to call my insurance to verify she is a member.

I have stopped breathing. My body feels numb but I propel myself forward and dial. I can be brief. This will be over soon. Helen now answers and I explain that my previous referral was for a dermatologist who isn’t a dermatologist and now I found a dermatologist but we aren’t sure if she is in the plan. Helen listens. “Why isn’t your PCP listed in the system?”

I choke back stomach acid and ignore the question. Can she check if Dr. Hoag…..?

“You can’t use the old referral number for a referral to a different doctor.” Like her predecessors, Helen is professional but she doesn’t have a twang. Her voice doesn’t smile.

“But the old referral,” I weakly counter. We trudge through the same old ground. Helen never loses patience as she explains again and again that my administrative nightmare will not die. I need another referral. The doctor appears to be in the system at another address but she needs to check the current address. She will call me back.

I scream at the dog. My husband calls and I spew forth the acid I’ve been swallowing all morning. I pull my hair and screen my calls. I need a doctor.

In the evening, I’m again surrounded by my students. We fly over broccoli trees and examine the manicured laws as we near Lake Mead. I fly fast. Faster. Stretching myself in the boundless sky. Free.

Von Franz on Fairy Tales

2008-02-04T19:02:00.000-08:00

I’ve been re-reading “The Interpretation of Fairy Tales” by Marie Louise Von Franz. Not an easy read-- but hearty food for the soul. Here’s an excerpt:

“…all fairy tales endeavor to describe one and the same psychic fact, but a fact so complex and far-reaching, and so difficult for us to realize…that hundreds of tales and thousands of repetitions…variations are needed until this unknown fact is delivered into consciousness…. This unknown fact is what Jung calls the Self, which is the psychic totality of an individual….Different fairy tales give average pictures of different phases of (this psychic reality).”

Zen for Sunday

2008-02-03T16:56:00.000-08:00

Just returned from a blissful week out of town. This koan seems appropriate.

To a mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.

Chuang-tzu

Brother Lustig

2008-01-26T05:00:00.000-08:00

(Thinking about this Grimm tale)

Today’s, “Brother Lustig,” seems more like the kind of bawdy, theatrical plot seen in Medieval Europe than a Grimm fairy tale. It contains many comic “scenes” and possibilities of a Commedia dell'arte kind of slapstick.

The basic theme is familiar—a good-hearted rascal, triumphs and gets his (hero is often male) dream. Ferris Bueller is a version of this hero and Pseudolus in “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” is another.

We love these stories because sneakiness and even dishonesty are rewarded. The heroes are good but not in a pious, uptight way. And the stories seem to express a deep psychological truth found in Matthew 13:12 “For whosoever hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance: but whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.” (King James Bible)

What does this mean?

For years, I wondered about this quote. Then I understood how it describes an inner process: inner psychological health/skills (wealth) build inside us. That is how I interpret the “good luck” and crazy justice found in this story. Brother Lustig seems to float through many difficulties while others flounder.

It is a lengthy story—enjoy it and other older posts. I’ll be gone most of this week!