vblog

Live from Studio V

song du jour: That' the Way I Like It, KC & the Sunshine Band (because for some reason it's stuck in my head right now)

mood: I'm back, Mr. DeMille

Just taking a moment while the crew is setting up to blog about the wildness of this particular rainy day in Georgia. I'm surrounded by video equipment again, but this time I'm the executive producer. Yes, sit down. The news is shocking. My studio is clean again! I'm shooting the first in a series of technique videos. I'll make you wait to find out which technique, but suffice it to say it's one for which I'm well known and one, which students have been requesting I make into a video for quite sometime. It will be a DVD with a companion book, and (fingers crossed) available by late fall 2006 via this site and jeweler and metalsmithing supply companies.

(Yippee!)

It's fun to be star for a day(s) again. Me being, well, me, I have shunned the buttoned up look required by HGTV for the shoot last April in favor of how I normally appear in life with promises from my director not to let me go too over the edge and into the wrong market. The vision for this video is in keeping with my exotic looking workspace and serene backyard but with plenty of my usual warm irreverence. It's being shot up close and personal (mega pro macro lenses) to ensure that, unlike so much of what's available, the viewer will be able to see each move clearly and have great success trying it at home.

(Did I say 'Yippee'?)

Ok, crew calling. Must go put on lip gloss and grab the acetylene torch!

I Teach, Therefore I Am Toast

song du jour: that sleep deprived buzzing in my ear

mood: loopy

The small child will be up in less than 5 hours, and I just now finished adding my fall class to the site. I are a teaching fool. 7 weekly classes and workshops here and elsewhere! The month of October I'll be teaching almost every weekend. Looks like I'd better start early making that Thomas Jefferson Halloween costume for Skyler (more on that one later). This past weekend I filled in for Nalan's 2 Sunday classes. The day I show up with pliers for bellydance and a coin sash for repousse, I shall retire permanently to my studio.

There are still 2 very cool classes left this summer!

Weaving with Metal

and
Loop in Loop Chains

DANCin' DANCin' DANCE-IN! She's a dancin' machine...

song du jour: Last Kiss, Ishtar

mood: sore but happy (No, Jean not from that.)

This afternoon I did something wildly fulfilling that I haven't done in a VERY long time. I taught a dance class. The fabulous Nalan is out of town, so the also ultra fabulous Ofelia at Dance 101 requested that I sub for Nalan's beg/int class. Actually, truth be told, it was the first time ever that I taught a bellydance class, but I didn't let on, and no one caught on. I've rehearsed dancers for Nalan and spent a fair amount of time teaching friends, who felt behind in class, and teaching dance, whatever the genre, is like riding a bicycle, although even more truthfully, I can barely remember if I ever did shift from hauling records to the studio to the ease of tossing a few CD's in my bag. That's how long it's been.

My very first job ever (beyond babysitting) was teaching adult beginning and intermediate jazz classes at the ripe old age of 17. Or was I 16? By 18 I was teaching company jazz classes and choreographing. Teaching and performing were my primary livelihood until I was 22 and blew out my hamstring, followed by a brief comeback to performing when I was 24 and over the hill by professional dance standards back then. A lifetime ago and yet just yesterday.

I do love teaching metalsmithing, but teaching dance has a few added benefits about which I'd forgotten: I don't have to work out afterwards (hence being sore), and no one can obnoxiously try to interrupt and talk on top of me while I'm demonstrating. There's also the fun fact that I was done in an hour. Ok, so forget that I was working on the combination I taught until 3:45 am after searching iTunes Music Store for new inspiration (the song listed above...yum). The prep was fun, and I was pleasantly surprised at how well the dancers did the combination. I only recognized a few of them, since I normally can't take class on Thursdays. Afterwards, several of them came up and thanked me for the class. One dancer not only liked it, she asked me if I taught any other classes around town that she could attend and to tell her if I ever did. Wow. That was as I was pulling out that newfangled little round plastic thing from the magic drawer that opened when I pushed a button on the scrumptious sound system. What decade am I in? Oh, right...

There will probably be more opportunities to which I'm looking forward. Nalan has been pushing me out of the nest, so to speak, for a long time, telling me I need to teach and to propose some of my ideas. I've been tossing around images (and a few steps) of what a Middle Eastern jazz style might look like. - When it's a craze in L.A., remember you heard it hear first! - Having such a strong technical background that is back and strong, I would love to merge it with my more recent passion of shimmies and undulations, particularly with a wealth of dancers well versed in one and learning another. Bellydancing is so amazing, but sometimes I do want, literally, to stretch my legs while shaking my curves.

Big thanks to the Cookie Monster for taking my munchkin to dinner while I taught and bringing him back in time for me to see my 2 #1 fans watching the last part of the class.

Test Anxiety

song du jour:Love Me Do, The Beatles

mood: oh whatever...
When I told CM about the color test, he asked if I'd ever taken the Medieval Archetype Test. Hey, I'm on a roll (role?!?) of pop self discovery. Then again, I got an email from a friend, saying that Iron Man is encased in a chastity belt. Oh, hello! You're only supposed to notice the 'Inventor' and 'Genius' bits! I can't be Spiderman because I'm not geeky enough. Wonderwoman is just too damned serious all the time, and Catwoman is too evil although if I had to pick, I'd be her since she gets the best outfit. The Color Quiz still rules supreme. Have fun with this one you all.

Lover
I'm not telling your actual score. Hmph!

The Lover (or Poet) is a rare type. (S)He has a rather contradictory nature. He is completely unselfish and generally regards others above himself, yet somehow in his effort to please, often ends up doing things that appear completely self-centered. The Lover loves people and strives for acceptance, but at the same time withdraws from the world. Lovers are authors, artists, philosophers, and musicians. They live unorthodox, unconventional, or even chaotic lives. Lovers experience the highest highs and lowest lows.

The Lover's complement is the hardened, unhesitant Warrior.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 25% on Confidence
You scored higher than 92% on Creativity

Link: The Medieval Archetype Test written by isayso on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Sheesh!

song du jour: Blues in the Night, Ella Fitzgerald

mood: indigo

As if it weren't enough to be Iron Man, I just took Jean's color test. Can I help it if I love purple and blue?!?

Victoria's Existing Situation
Active, outgoing, and restless. Feels frustrated by the slowness with which events develop along the desired lines. This leads to irritability, changeability, and lack of persistence when pursuing a given objective.

victoria's Stress Sources
Has an unsatisfied need to ally herself with others whose standards are as high as her own, and to stand out from the herd. Her control of her sensual instincts restricts her ability to give herself, but the resulting isolation leads to the urge to surrender and allow herself to merge with another. This disturbs her. as such instincts are regarded as weaknesses to be overcome; she feels that only by continued self-restraint can she hope to maintain her attitude of individual superiority. Wants to be loved or admired for herself alone; needs attention, recognition, and the esteem of others.

victoria's Restrained Characteristics
Circumstances are forcing her to compromise, to restrain her demands and hopes, and to forgo for the time being some of the things she wants.
Unhappy at the resistance she feels whenever she tries to assert herself. However, she believes that there is little she can do and that she must make the best of the situation.

Circumstances force her to compromise and to forgo some pleasures for the time being. Capable of achieving physical satisfaction through sexual activity.

victoria's Desired Objective
Longs for a tender and sympathetic bond and for a situation of idealized harmony. Has an imperative need for tenderness and affection. Susceptible to anything esthetic.

victoria's Actual Problem
Has a fear that she might be prevented from achieving the things she wants. This leads her to employ great personal charm in her dealings with others, hoping that this will make it easier for her to reach her objectives.

victoria's Actual Problem #2
Greatly impressed by the unique, by originality, and by individuals of outstanding characteristics. Tries to emulate the characteristics she admires and to display originality in her own personality.
Take the ColorQuiz yourself right now!

Holy transparency, Batman. Just shoot me.

Go Figure

song du jour: Iron Man, Black Sabbath

mood: resolved... I guess

Oh, dear Goddess, must I really be?!?
Your results:
You are Iron Man

Iron Man		90%
Green Lantern		90%
Supergirl		85%
Wonder Woman		85%
Hulk		80%
The Flash		75%
Spider-Man		60%
Robin		50%
Batman		50%
Catwoman		45%
Superman		45%

Inventor. Businessman. Genius.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

Thanks to MD aka Spiderman and Shawn aka Superman for the links. What are you?

Don't Use a Bulldozer to Move Water

song du jour: Deepest Blue, Deepest Blue

mood: it's just really early(!)

Ok, try this:
Fold your arms in front of you, and then lift your elbows perpendicular to the floor, up away from your body, still folded. See the space? Cool. Now close your arms around you like you're hugging yourself. No space, right? Now put them back the first way, folded and perpendicular. See that your arms are wrapped around nothing. You can see down straight to the floor. There is no-thing in that space. You are now 'holding space.' Now close them around your self again. Are you holding space? No, you're taking up the space. You are no longer holding space. You have filled it with yourself. Can you see the difference?

When I first found David Deida's work, I felt as though I'd glimpsed a revolutionary lighting bolt that had mysteriously been right in front of my eyes all the time, but unfortunately there is a trend in and amongst many guys aware of his work to talk about 'holding space,' and then bulldoze right on over it. It finally dawned on me the other day that many people confuse a strong sense of directionality with giving a bunch of directions. Sadly, you may be hearing it here first: inner directionality should not equal being a control freak.

It's taken me nearly 2 years to turn an uncomfortable feeling into clearer words worthy of blogging at large to say that I finally figured out most people confuse holding space with taking over control of it and equate being directional with merely giving directions. Tough concepts, I realize. How is one to be directional without being bossy? Well, I bet you could ask this lady on the set and get some good advice as to how to be the guiding river banks without damming up the flow of the river, but then, whether or not life imitates art, the people in our lives are more than actors for our scripts as she would probably tell you when this little lady wakes early from napping and demands to be held.

Before I found Deida's work, I had begun to be supremely dissatisfied with how much it took out of me to be THE mom, breadwinner, artist, sole parent, home owner, accountant, and Ms. Fix-it. Coming out of a boring turned stuff-of-made-for-tv-movies marriage, which hadn't exactly been all that different in terms of the above roles, I contemplated what it would be like to be single again, what I might want in a mate when my Snoopy-happy-dance of doing it all my way had subsided enough to want to be involved in any kind of partnership. My fantasies were of being whisked off to the opera, wined and dined in little out of the way cozy cafes, and put on a pedestal in various exotic locations around the globe. Many of those wishes came true, but what I also got was a few men, telling me what to do every few minutes. My longing to relax into big strong arms was repeatedly interrupted by their owners being all too willing to squish me and my needs into their own boxes of wishes. They didn't hold the space. They filled it with their own agendas and needs.

In my grandparents world, there was a tacit understanding. They didn't tread on each others' territory. My grandmother did not clean, move, or otherwise disturb the massive tangle of wires that supported my grandfather's multiple short wave and ham radios, and, eventually, computers, and he did not take the scissors from her sewing room or invade the kitchen for anything other than eating meals or getting something to drink. He worked himself into an early grave, paying for the space. My grandmother obsessed over its general maintenance with all gender role inspired political boundaries firmly in place (until she sold off all that Radio Shack equipment in less than a month after his funeral). I wouldn't call them happy with all their yelling and sniping, but they were clearly miserable at the prospect of not being with each other, and though my grandmother perked up and came into her own as a widow, having checks printed without the 'Mrs.' nonsense, moving money around to get the best interest, and generally feeling like an adult for the first time at the age of 67, the fun wore off after 5 years. She died of heart disease and pneumonia, but the truth was that she'd gotten bored without my grandfather.

I, the child who could equally hang with my grandfather, listening to his short wave radio or with my grandmother, learning how to make roses from pink icing, wanted so much more equality in a mate situation that I married a guy grateful that I knew how to hook up a VCR. We divided everything evenly from household tasks to household expenses. I was the logical one. He got to be the fun one. I ran around trying to fix everything. He got to reap the rewards and bust my ass when things weren't 'right.' A couple of months into my next romance, I figured out, with no small amount of depression, that even in the pre-Skyler 'fun years,' what had passed for happiness back then was tame and tepid, and so I wanted yet more from relationships. I wanted flirtation and passion and a little protected space to flow and shine. Someone else could deal with the damned VCR while I worked (with tools). Wait, no, DVD player. Times change.

As the metaphor goes, the banks hold the river and direct its flow, but so does the river change the banks, ever eroding it slowly over time. Ultimately, the masculine in any of us holds and supports in vain as the river moves as it will, but without the holding of those banks, there would be no flow, only a few inches deep of soggy ground and a lot of flopping gasping fish. It's a hellacious balance that I've yet to figure out anywhere but on my own. I only know that within myself if I restrict that flow, I loose creativity, and if I'm nothing but flow, I can't get anything finished. Too extreme either way and I'm unable to take care of myself. In communion with another, I find it next to impossible to trust that anyone will let the water come rushing down undammed and untamed, giving passage that is deep and wide enough.

I possess an unusually strong sense of self and with it, a sense of where I want to go and how. I've spent over 17 years doing what I do, and as one friend put it yesterday, I'm covered with the manifestations that illustrate I'm a master of flow states. I always know how to get there. The only thing I need is to 'hold space' for myself and make sure those close to me do the same. There is no question, however, that my preference is to be the river more than the banks, but like most women I'm not some tame little north Georgia Chattahoochee or some lovely little stream behind a picturesque log cabin. I'm the undammed Colorado. I'm the Nile without the Soviet built Aswan Dam. I'm the cataracts and the not always predictable floods that made the Nile valley lush. Occasionally, I'm the monsoons of India. Push me the wrong direction, and you'll get hit by a Pacific tsunami. No matter how men try, the weather will not be controlled.

It isn't enough to live in a time when many people, including a lot of rather with it guys, openly talk about the sacred feminine, the return of the goddess, identification with light, with love, feeling into Big Heart, creating emptiness in which feminine energy could flow, and a variety of other phrases that sound good anywhere from philosophical group discussions to more intimate talks and such in the bedroom. We must actually learn to hold space, LEAVE space for those rivers to flow in to it. When we close the space, when we fill it with our directionality, there is no room left, and all the potential divine feminine light, flow, and creativity is not guided but trampled under our narcissistic selves.

So practice that little exercise with your arms. Imagine all the wonders you will witness in what comes into that small space you are holding. Imagine that the power and beauty of what comes into it is a million times greater than what your agenda is telling you fill it with, and imagine within that potential of space is all the wonder of the world, which you may witness right in front of your face and hold gently and lovingly as you would hold a child.

Happy B-day to Me and Musings on Turning...

song du jour: Happy Birthday to You, Bill Murray in his old lounge lizard act from SNL

mood: could be worse

Some of my strongest memories from childhood summers were the almost daily trips to the nearby drugstore (My father smoked 4-5 packs of cigarettes a day.) that was more like a chi chi 5 & dime but without a cool lunch counter. What they did have was a large Hallmark section, perfect for a strange child, obsessed with stationary, chachkas with sayings, and the best part, Peanuts greeting cards. I'd stay in that section reading those cards until I was dragged out of there. I loved the jokes. That my own child, with almost no influence from me on the subject, is also Snoopy gaga is a freakish thing to witness. I suppose to him as well there is a sympatico with wise, slightly sarcastic children, who get to do and think as they wish with no annoying adults around, save the few no one can understand anyway. "Waaa wa. Waaa wa wa waaaah."

There was one set of tote bags and coffee mugs, which I could not understand no matter how many times I saw them. They said, "I'd rather be 40 than pregnant." Having been quite miserably the latter, as time has marched on, I've begun to understand and embrace that saying more and more. What was once a weird puzzlement to a 10 year old is now practically a mantra to an overworked single parent.

Not, mind you that is a piece of cake turning... turning... turning... Nevermind, I can't possibly admit to the actual number. I showed up to Dance 101 last Wednesday with a box of organic chocolate cupcakes and a bottle of Moet. They were very nice to humor me. A bunch of silly dancers claiming they couldn't possibly eat a cupcake or drink anything before taking class, but I noticed the cupcakes were mostly gone after class, and that bottle was empty long before. (Not by me.) Still, when you best friend puts this on her blog, it's almost worth it to turn another year older.

From Jean:
Happy Birthday Victoria! Here's to ## righteous years and 5 bodacious feet of hip burning, high heel zinging, mummy spying, metal curling, fire throwing, art dreaming, mascara weilding, intellect zooming, laughter rolling, word smithing, friendship flowing, boyfriend rattling, hair whipping, Volvo grooving, chocolate sighing, grand piano dancing, southern belle trilling, sawbone surviving, mama thriving, Skyler blooming, beauty shaking, tell-it-like-it-is-honest-to-goddess-broke-open Love. Not to mention those big boobs. Chicky, you is the original Bomb.

Thanks to all, who sent emails, comments, cards, flowers, and cash. Soon to be uploaded will be the photo of the incredible stained glass and lampwork beads light catcher Jean made and sent me. When Skyler and I opened it up, he exclaimed, "Mommy, she must be your BEST friend to make you something like that! It's beautiful!" True. The week's festivities included and were wrapped up by not one but two trips to Buckhead Diner and their out of body experience homemade chips with blue cheese dressing. The Cookie Monster got me my entire Amazon.com wish list, and left them on my desk in stages over a few days. I was well through the second book in the first stack when it occurred to me I'd been quite the good little Atalanta plopping down in a comfy chair, engrossed in the shiny new apples. (Oh, happy day! Umbertto Eco has finally written another novel as fabulous as his first two.) The only thing I got that I didn't like was a nasty cold. [Sniff.]

The Ballad of Ken (My Critics Just Don't Understand Me)

song du jour: To Get Down, Timo Maas

mood: hmm...

While I've very much appreciated Jean's, Matthew's, Tuff Ghost's, and eBuddha's takes and the recent posts at P2P on the latest in the integrally informed blogosphere, I haven't felt that it was worthy of taking time away from bigger priorities in my life, but now there are some thoughts going round in my head that are best expressed, so I can move on to something more interesting... like watching paint dry. (To those readers, who hang around here for the more usual topics of art and life, I apologize.)

I find it a little disappointing, though perhaps not surprising, that Ken and a few others consider a 'come on you bastards' approach to be superior until someone names Ken as the bastard. Apparently, an acceptance of verticality means accepting that Ken is at the top level, and the rest of us poor schmucks are lucky if we possess the brains and awareness to step over the all hallowed threshold of 'second tier,' just high enough to lick the master's boots. As I'm learning from Don Beck's CD set, the idea of colors as personality types is about as accurate as the tossing around of the unsubstantiated term 'third tier.' Why is it that all these guys talk on and on about taking in as many perspectives as possible and then rant endlessly about the vast superiority of their own particular pet theories, backed up or not?

I've yet to find any serious criticism of the AQAL model that holds water. I'm quite the AQAL junky. I-I's pop use of SD and SDi is rather attrocious, although I can't stomach Chris Cowan's whining either. There is value in a place that allows dialog and opposing points, such as Frank Visser's site. It is unfortunate that in an effort to be all inclusive the site includes a few loonies along with the gems (as does life). I confess that can't make heads or tails of de Quincy's writing, but I grasp Ken's on the first read. If Ken knows he's a better theorizer (and in the past, and I hope the future, a better writer) than most, why still sing the same tired song about his critics? (Bit of shadow there, buddy?) Most of us have heard it. It's all over many of his books. The refrain is the same, and it keeps coming back around again...

I will add a little advice out there, not just to Ken, but to all, who seek, or claim to seek, to create cutting edge art: If what you create upsets people, and that pleases you, don't spend more time justifying it and explaining it than the art itself requires for people to experience. Give it some context, preferably on the front end if possible, and then let it stand. Make a short statement if you have to, but then back off. Anything more indicates a chink in the armor of the artist, an obvious self doubt that the technique employed was not sufficient to carry the message to the few you think will be able to receive it.

For what it's worth, I knew it was a test when I tried to stay awake through the initial post. I also recognized that if I said I didn't like it or that I found it a little embarrassing for the guy, I would join the ranks of those labeled 'green' and summarily dismissed. There is no room for those, who engage in integral or holistic systems of thinking and would prefer to think of Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp. How about 'second tier with a lower development in the frat boy humor line?' 'Second tier without a penis?' Ah, but as the very insightful comment on Matthew's blog states, the only acceptable answers for how one might react are conversation enders. They are designed that way.

And speaking of those things, I wasn't overly offended or outraged by Ken's use of the words, suck, my, and dick in the same sentence. - Jean would probably say therein lies the notion of verticality in my case as she often jokes about the possibilities of my 5'0" stature when paired with very tall men. - I was too asleep by the time I read that far in his post to care much, but, again as an artist, and one with highly irreverent bordelloesque sense of humor and who can curse like a sailor outside the presence of small children (usually), in the public eye, I prefer the Seinfeldian approach to comedy that curse words are cheap and easy and, used too often, can be a poor substitute for real creativity.

Ultimately, the whole mess was about marketing. It would have been far too easy to launch a masters program by contacting those, who took the first IU online graduate course in integral studies, and offer us any kind of credit toward the new programs in exchange for the $1K we spent reading Brief History of Everything and participating in some concalls. It would have been a no brainer to remember that out of 50 of us out there, a few might still be interested. So much better to cause mild scandal to generate interest than to pitch first to your known market.

Ah, but then what do I know? Saul Williams liked Ken's post. Ken's rock star fantasies are fulfilled. If Ken doesn't like my saying this, he can pull my Integral Naked pages (I've noticed Marc Gafni's are still up.) and form a sentence, using the words, kiss, my and ass. (That's just the relative, buddy. Don't take it all too seriously, or you fail the test.)

The Role of Myth and Its Relevance from an Integral Perspective

song du jour: Memes in Harmony, Don Beck

mood: ever so slightly cryptic ;-)

The following writing and graphics are part of the handout I created for tonight's Atlanta Integral Salon meeting. I must admit that it went even better than I'd hoped. We jammed on the topic until they kicked us out of Moe's and kept going until they kicked us out of Starbucks. A big thanks to the CM for the support and the conversations that took my ideas from persistent feeling to written fruition.

"The material of myth is the material of life" -Joseph Campbell

In moving into higher levels of rationality and multiculturalism, most of us have shed the stories of creation, death, and rebirth, and/or the stories of our various religious upbringings in favor of scientific explanations and an over political correctness of tolerance of the stories of others without perhaps actually learning from them, but have we really transcended myth or the need for it? If archetypes are embedded in both our personal and collective unconscious, might myth not have a place all the way up the spiral?

Some might say we have not escaped myth. We have simply pushed it over into the realm of entertainment with a message or a moral embedded in our television shows, movies, videos, games, and music, yet by doing so, have we decentralized their power to heal and teach by valuing first the ability of these media to help us escape our drudgery and demons rather than actively help us confront our shadows with their metaphors? It's a mammoth set of questions for which this writing is but an introduction to open the discussion.

If myth has a role in second tier, then it must necessarily transcend merely the magic, glorification, and dogma of first tier. Such transcendence would include as many perspectives as possible and, therefore, the area of comparative mythology comes into play. With the work of Joseph Campbell being preeminent in this field (A discussion of comparative mythology without referencing Campbell seems practically impossible.), it is helpful to understand his terminology (self, ego, archetypes, etc.), which are drawn from the work of Carl Jung and differ slightly from both cultural and Wilberian definitions.

Campbell's Model of Jung's Idea of the Self

According to Jung, the self is the total individual personality and psyche as experienced contained in the human form.
Campbell states, "It is the business of ego not to try to dictate to the circle (self) how rectangular (ego) it should be. The ego's job is to bring its impulses into relationship with the environment, which ego has constructed. Culture is the result of cooperation between self and ego. Mythology is a language of the self to the ego that the ego must learn to understand."

It's important to keep in mind that myths and archetypes are that realm of the right brain and the dream state. Even though we tell them as stories and can see them as written words, they conjure up images. They predate the written word. They were handed down through oral traditions, and what we have now is what people along the way finally bothered to write down.

Mythology Around the Quadrants

(Graphic adapted from Ken Wilber's AQAL model to demonstrate the evolution of mythology
by Victoria Lansford)

Mythology Through the Spiral

Certain myths may resonate with some levels more than others. The ones that have the stickiness factor are the ones that speak the deepest to the most levels. These levels also follow the developmental patterns of childhood. At first, favorite myths are magical such as fairy tales, then as a child evolves, s/he becomes aware of power and is more drawn to such cartoons as those showing animals with superhuman abilities like Wile E. Coyote, and as a child moves into being concerned with right and wrong, good and evil, the myths that are attractive become about hope and empowerment through heroes such as Superman or King Arthur. If a child is exposed to a wide variety of them, the similar threads become so obvious that the commonality of the very stories that individual cultures may cling to as literal history, can, paradoxically, become the window into the world of rationality, for they contain not our history or our tickets to redemption, but the story of what it is to be human (or god, animal, fairy, or some combination thereof), and to feel.

Is there such a thing as a second tier movie, or is it simply that someone with a strong yellow or turquoise operating system will see the metaphors implicitly contained within all the levels of which s/he is aware? According to Wilber art created by an artist at an integral level of development is integral are, and the other category is are that is about the integral level. (Somewhere in cyberspace floats and mp3 of this discussion to an integral art gathering in 2003.) Someone at an integral level of development can see at a multitude of levels in any work of creativity even if the person, who created it, was not aware that that was his/her intention. Most of the time, when people are creating something, no matter how much intention they bring to their work, a great deal of the symbolism is at best semi-conscious. A good artist will pick up on most of it by the time s/he has completed the work. Even though s/he consciously chose each detail, s/he may not be aware of all of the significance of each symbol or metaphor contained in his/her work.

Star Wars up the Spiral

Purple - The force is with you. (Yes, it's turquoise by the time we see Yoda.)

Red - Darth Vader's willingness to crush anyone in his path

Blue- the rebels fight for justice, "Luke, come to the dark side..."

Orange - Han Solo is a classic example of Campbell's description of the hero's journey
He is very rational, arrogant, yes, but past the red level of mere ego trip. He is not greedy nor is he caught up in the fight of good versus evil. He is mildly mercenary with a live and let live policy. He is reluctant to get involved, a key criteria of the hero at the beginning of any myth, yet when faced with the emotional tug of camaraderie, he begins his transformation beyond his agentic self in acquisition of something higher.

Green - By then end of the final movie it has become very huggy touchy feely, Luke & Darth have made peace, and could those Ewoks be more group hug green?

One could say the whole plot moves up the spiral in its unfolding. Campbell and Lucas were big buddies, and the plots and characters were very consciously thought out to resonate as a modern mythology.

We unconsciously start this process by showing up for movies. We're drawn in by the feel good factor. If they are to be the foundation of our culture's mythology, how might we view, make, or promote them with consciousness?

One Role for 'Yellow' Myth Telling

One possible role for myth today is help heal the spiral, which is their intended purple purpose, and perhaps why they endure within cultures. How can it literally help us to heal by looking at the plots, their unfolding, identifying with characters, which can can bring to light unconscious patterns, and trapped emotions.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, a psychoanalyst and post trauma specialist with a doctorate in ethno-clinical psychology, uses stories as healing devices in her work, including 4 years serving the community after the shootings at Columbine High School and still for survivor families of 9-11. She tells stories that can help people access grief they were trying to rationalize or process and help unlock emotions at a deeper level.

The perpetuation of myth is the bringing of light into the cave, helping to shine light into those areas one can't see (shadow). With skillful means one would be able to use a technique like SD, mixed with a variety of myths and could to work through specific areas of pathology or trauma.

Subscribe to Polysemy

song du jour: Sou, Cheikh Lo

mood: jazzed

The first issue of Polysemy is due out soon. It's the first print magazine devoted to transdisciplinary art full of kick ass articles, including one by yours truly. $9/year, SIGN UP HERE!

Myth of the Day (maybe of the week)...

song du jour: Sante Yalla, Cheikh Lo

mood: feisty

I have at least 3 posts started that follow up Sex, 'Enlightenment,' and a Whole Lot of Pain, but there I was just now at my bench, pondering the last fab conversation with friends at Starbucks after the most recent Atlanta Integral Salon meeting, when I was struck by inspiration. Since I was 9, I've had a complete love and fascination with mythology. Like Camile Paglia's idea that world religion should be the basis of curriculum for primary education, I believe that only by learning the tales of other cultures, can we include and transcend the myths of our own.

At first, like tales of King Arthur or Harry Potter, they are magical, then as a child evolves, they become aware of power, and as they move into the stage of right and wrong, good and evil, they become about hope and empowerment. If a child is exposed to a wide variety of them, the similar threads become so obvious that the commonality of the very stories that individual cultures may cling to as literal history, can, paradoxically, become the window into the world of rationality, for they contain not our history or our tickets to redemption, but the story of what it is to be human (or god, animal, fairy, or some combination thereof), and to feel. Jung and Campbell were right; myths contain the archetypes common to us all, and besides, they are just damned cool.

So in gratitude of a Montessori plus type school that taught Norse Mythology to would be 4th graders, the Ramayana the next year, and the tales of Sir Percival the final year, I have decided to start a myth of the day or week, or whenever I get time to blog and feel like it post. Usually, I plan to post a link, maybe a comment, occasionally my take on the myth of the moment. Today's selection is my favorite Greek myth, Atalanta and the Golden Apples

Atalanta was smart, fast, and single. No, not that kind of fast. She was a speed demon on the track. No one could out run her, and few could outsmart her. Her father, being a typical patriarchal ancient Greek guy, decided it was past time for her to marry, but Atalanta wasn't having any lazy brained, bossy dude as a forced mate. Some myths say she was grieving the death of her lover as well. Since her father would give her little choice, she struck a bargain. She would marry the man, who could outrun her, knowing full well she was safe. Arrogant guy after arrogant guy stood confidently at the starting line, only to come puffing up behind at the finish line, followed shortly by his execution. Hey, it's Greek mythology. People never just loose the race, the fight, or the war. They lay their very lives on the line for any game or challenge.

Then came along came Hippomenes. Hippomenes, being smarter than your average bear, realized that he couldn't possibly outrun Atalanta on sheer testosterone and adrenaline alone, so with the help of Aphrodite, he came up with a plan. The goddess of love provided him with 3 golden apples, which were so mesmerizing, Atalanta had to stop and pick each one up to look at it. Her pauses bought Hippomenes just enough time to beat her, and she was so surprised that anyone had duped her, she developed quite an instant crush on the guy.

Unfortunately, Greek myths wouldn't be Greek myths without tragic endings. Either because Hippomenes failed to give adequate thanks to Aphrodite or because he and Atalanta couldn't keep their paws off each other in the temple of Zeus, the pair were turned into lions. While that might sound quite cool and symbolic to us, supposedly the Greeks believed that lions could only mate with leopards and not each other, leaving Hippomenes and Atalanta frustrated for eternity. If one takes things, however, at a higher stage of consciousness than the mere conventional good versus bad level, that is, looking beyond a goddess or god, who didn't take kindly to bad manners or possibly bad taste, one might say they made the sphinx leap from wise human to brave lion. (Bad, V for mixing your mythologies!)

Comcrap Coughs Up

At last I have semi-consistant internet access. It has taken a minimum of 6 calls/day for over a week to Comcast as well as much pleading, begging, and the occasional top of the lungs ranting to get real live (unacceptably slow) customer service. Around their tech dept. the customer seems to be known as 'the enemy' with few exceptions. The Cookie Monster, whom I've never known to be the slightest bit paranoid, insists that someone at Comcrap doesn't like me, has sabotaged my connection, and put in some kind of nastiness about me in my account records. I feel like Elain from Seinfeld, who got on physicians' 'bad' list so no one would treat her miserable rash. I have at least 4 posts underway. I am visualizing my connection being so stable as to actually let me get them uploaded sometime soon. See the little green light staying solid... imagine knowledgeable technician on ladder truck installing router for back up connection... go to your happy place, where email always gets through...

Back soon, I hope!

Aaaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhhh!!!
I am offline until Comcast decides to give actual customer service. (It is a form of complete torture!)

Releasing My Inner Medievalist

song du jour: Ave Maria, O Auctrix Vite, Hildegard Von Bingen, performed and recorded by Sequentia

mood: a little smirky

Went to the Renaissance Festival this past Sunday. The Georgia one is a bit mercenary, to say the least, but it was still a very fun afternoon. The hidden nook of an English tea garden certainly added to my delight, but the Cookie Monster was the real treat.