The unconscious thinks in images -- why is this so hard for me?

I was going to just post this Tillich quote until I realized how ironic that was!  I have to break my habit of always thinking through words, not images.  







[Humanity's] ultimate concern must be expressed symbolically because symbolic language alone is able to express the ultimate.  
--Paul Tillich

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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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The Power of Church

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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Life's secret ingredient.

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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Seen Your Shadow Lately?

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

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Who's Driving You?

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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Recipe for a healthy psyche

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. Read more!

Story and thoughts on "Mother Holle"

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. Read more!

Video of Marie Louise Von Franz

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 Read more!

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

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.
Read more!

Jungian 60137

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. Read more!

Turned to Stone--thinking of themes in Queen Bee

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. Read more!

The Queen Bee

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! Read more!

Thinking about "The Three Feathers"

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. Read more!

Sorting

Ur-Spo, a “shrink” who writes on the wonderful blog, Spo-Reflections, recently posted about dream analysis. I was happy to read his professional opinion: not all of our dreams are meant for study. Shewww! (Wiping brow). Most of my dreams bewilder me and defy any attempts at decoding.

But this morning’s dream echoed some familiar fairy tale symbolism and has given me (much needed) reassurance.

But first, a little backstory.

Life’s been great lately but…..I’ve found myself increasingly tired and crabby. Why???? I’m about to go on the trip of a lifetime (8 fabulous days, escaping the Midwestern icebox on a cruise) with my entire family. I’ve started a fascinating new job, I’m loving the blogging…. Why so grouchy/tired?

I’ve also been sleeping a lot! This week I went to bed (feeling tired) and slept for 12 hours! Yikes. This is not typical and leads to feelings of guilt (hubby doing more of the housework) and anger (what is wrong with me?).

This morning I dreamt of collecting bushels of paper clips (and thumb tacks—provocative!). Then I poured them into a computer. You could see them through the screen--like looking into an x-ray image. A young Latin kid working as a janitor was standing nearby. “That’s A LOT of clips," he said.

I woke up feeling terrific.

In many fairy tales, the hero/ine is given an impossible task—to sort sand from poppy seeds, or millet from another tiny grain. MLVF (my new acronym for Marie Louise Von Franz--hyperlinked in several posts below) says that this represents learning discrimination—to separate out one’s feelings and desires and to learn to develop intuition. Many times the hero is saved during the night by little minions of some kind--they do the work for him (more often her). When we dream, unknown parts of ourselves are often working out the mishmash of our lives.

My dream reassured me that I’m gathering lots of material right now (in my job, in this blog, in my other musings). It makes sense to be tired. It makes sense to be needing extra sleep. Seems that I’m working overtime in that realm right now. Read more!

The Old Man Made Young Again

Why are some broken by adversity and others made stronger?



That is one of the themes in today’s story-- “The Old Man Made Young Again.”



The central image--a person burning in hot coals-- is also found in the mystical alchemical tales of late Medieval Europe. Here’s an illustration from the period showing the King redeemed through a container of fire.



But today’s story reminds me that I mustn’t “play with fire.” If we aren’t ready to undergo our transformation, we may, like the children in this tale, be born prematurely or undeveloped. Read more!

Snake Stories

Today’s tale, “The White Snake,” repeats familiar themes discussed in earlier posts. Because of this, I’m less inclined to write a new tale for it. I’d like to simply think about the story and share some musings.

The hero seeks to know the secret of his higher self (the King). The mystery is to eat a white snake everyday. What is this snake? The reptilian part of ourselves--redeemed?

Is this idea as repulsive to you as it is to me? Maybe that is the point. Snakes might represent our shadow side—those parts of ourselves we seek to disown and repress. Is the story advising us to digest (grapple with) our dark instincts and drives? Then we can access the power and wisdom hidden withinin our “irrational” impulses.

The snake image is provocative. In Europe, it was a both a pagan symbol of rejuvenation and the Christian image of the devil.

Many of these Grimm stories seem to explore the same theme—learning to hear the animal part of oneself—one’s intuition. If the hero can hear the voices of instinct within, he has an advantage in all parts of his life.

Marie Louise Von Franz (discussed below in earlier posts) has lectured that fairy tales featuring male heroes are different than those focused on the female psyche. Her ideas—given 40 years ago—can seem controversial today. But if I relate these tales to the “female’ and “male” parts of myself, I have less difficulty with her theories. You may notice that the female heroes of the fairy tales (see "Sundance" story below) often have to endure and then they are saved by circumstance. The ability to grow through suffering is explored in these tales. The male hero is much more active and often has to learn to listen to his own inner voice before he can win the maiden (i.e. he must develop his feeling/intuitive/instinctual self and find his inner feminine). Read more!

Another Snake Story

Consider the following synopsis of a story. Perhaps it reminds you of someone you know?

A young man, diligent and thoughtful, begins his work—first as an achieving student at a good university, and then as an upwardly mobile professional. He could be a lawyer, a doctor, a CEO. He works hard and struggles through the myriad of career hurdles and ethical traps of modern life. He develops integrity, self-esteem, talents and great success.

Then he meets a woman. Everyone around him sees that she’s no good for him. Perhaps she’s a gold-digger, or simply unstable. But our hero is committed to her. She puts him down or plays around. Finally, after a long struggle, she improves or he finds another, seemingly healthier, woman. But the problems continue. The new woman doesn’t really love him. She manipulates, withholds, or seeks to control.

While some of his friends have marriages of love and devotion—relationships that promote growth and joy—our hero continues to struggle. He always finds a woman who seeks his destruction.

In the end, happily, he receives help. He reads a book, talks to good friends, attends a support group, or therapy. He resists the temptations of his favorite kind of woman and stays alone. At least for a while.

In “The Three Snake Leaves” we again have the image of the snake bringing life, not death. (These fairy tales were surely pushing against the Christian doctrines of the time.) We have a devious wife who seeks the death of her spouse. We have a loving man who has a troublesome, dangerous feminine side. Did he have a wicked, psychologically devouring mother? The femme fatale demands his death.

But the hero survives. He has developed a loyal assistant (the ego) who serves his highest self (the King). His personality has found ways of healing his wounds and bringing life to death.

Unfortunately, in this tale, the feminine instinct or forces are so corrupt that they must be killed off, like the femme fatale villains of the noir genre.

Read more!

The Sisters of Sundance--Part 3 (of 3)

(This is the final segment of an adapted Brothers' Grimm story started below).

And just at that moment, three homeless women came into view. At least, Jan assumed they were homeless, based on their bizarre, layered attire. She thought of the three “weird sisters” in Macbeth—she’d written a report about them for her Composition class. Were they sisters? They were young—in their late 30s. The blonde was bone thin. She had several pairs of fancy dress gloves, one over another, white, black, red--on each hand and several elegant dresses of different styles and lengths layered over her thin frame. Her cowboy boots were decorated with lace. Was this an attempt to coordinate the ensemble? The brunette was stout. She wore large army boots which stuck out under the bulky, green trash bag pulled over her head. A glittery, green scarf was wrapped around her neck. The last sister had shaved her head and was dressed for much warmer climes. Her tiny arms hung out of a small, black T-shirt with an image to ward off the evil eye. Her camouflage cargo pants were covered in bulging pockets and she wore old spiked golf shoes.

For a brief moment, Jan forgot about her problems.

“What you looking at?” shouted the brunette.

“Sorry. Nothing.” Jan, despite herself, started to cry.

“Look what you did now, Nina, you made her cry,” said the T-shirted one.

“I did not. Shut up,” said Nina.

“What’s wrong, honey?” The T-shirted one ran up to the window.

“Annie, what are you doing, they don’t want us around here!” The blonde was now running in place.

Annie scratched her shaved head and turned to the other. “She’s crying. She needs help. What’s wrong, darlin?”

Jan couldn’t decide who was worse off, the sisters or herself. She was moved by their care, and what did she have to lose? She grabbed some cans of juice, and some snacks, and sat with the sisters in the park, telling her story.

They listened attentively, even if Carrie insisted on running in place, Annie continued to scratch, and Nina occasionally moaned. At the end, Carrie did a cartwheel and made a proposition.

“We can help you, honey,” she said. “But you have to treat us well. You can’t pretend you don’t know us when the big shots come around….”

“We used to be big in this town too.” Nina was now biting her nails as she spoke.

Carrie continued. “I’m great at organizing, Nina loves to clean, and Annie can type like the wind, right Annie?”

Annie made typing motions over Carrie’s head.

“We can start tonight, if you want. You just have to be our friend. Invite us to a premiere or two…”

Jan looked at the sisters. They were odd and had clearly lived a rough life on the streets. Still, what choices did she have? She let them into the office and went to bed.

The next day, Jan got to the room early, afraid that Stephanie would find the sisters and freak. But at 9 am (this was early for Jan) the sisters were gone and the room was immaculate! Papers were organized into tagged files and these were alphabetized and already boxed. Stacks of perfectly typed letters sat next to labeled envelopes and all the surfaces had been scrubbed clean!

Stephanie walked in with a few papers in her hand.

“Jan! Wow! That’s incredible! Amazing! Terrific! Here I was ready to send you off with these papers and look what you’ve done! You must have worked non-stop! You take the rest of the day off, dear. And here are tickets to the premiere tonight. You’ve earned them.”

“Thanks, Steph. Any chance I might have three more? I have a couple of friends who’ve been very supportive since I got here.”

Stephanie was delighted to give Jan more tickets.

Jan searched all day for the sisters and finally found them sleeping in the park. She gave them the tickets and said she’d meet them at the theatre.

For once she was thrilled to be invited to a gala. She primped the rest of the afternoon and got to the tiny cinema early, to watch for celebrities. But the sisters hadn’t arrived at the start of the event, when “Bob,” or Mr. Redford (as she was instructed to address him) began his remarks. They still hadn’t arrived when the movie ended.

“Jan! Jan!” Stephanie was walking toward her, with Mr. R! “Jan, I’d like to introduce Mr. Redford. Bob, this is our new intern, Jan. She is awesome.”

Mr. R smiled and, even with their colossal age difference, Jan felt herself swoon.

They chatted for a brief moment, and Jan was shocked when Mr. R stayed chatting, even when Stephanie was pulled away. Then suddenly, the three sisters arrived.

“Jan, dear, Jan,” they sang together, “thank you for the tickets!” They ran up to her.

“Mr. Redford, may I introduce my friends, Annie, Carrie, and Nina?”

Bob smiled. Carrie began running in place, Annie scratching, and Nina picking her nails. But then each began to tell their story. The theatre emptied but Bob would not be moved. He cried as they told how their lives had unfurled. But other stories were howlingly funny. They each described their psychiatrists and their different diagnoses: “obsessive-compulsive,” prone to panic attacks,” and “neurotic.”

Finally, Nina wanted to go “home.” They made promises to take their medication, hugged or patted Jan goodbye, and ran off.

The next day Bob called Jan to his office.

“You know those three sisters? They're willing to sell their stories and I’d like you to spend your time interviewing them. Write me up some notes, you can start the treatment. You could even try your hand at the screenplay if you want. Do you think you might know someone who could take over your jobs for you, in the meantime?”

Jan smiled. She did. Read more!

The Sisters of Sundance--Part 2

(The first part of this reworking of the Grimm tale starts on the post below.)

Jan was trapped. And paralyzed inside. She couldn’t think of an escape and so, a week later, she found herself in a cramped and cluttered administrative office of the Sundance Institute.

Stephanie, the breezy executive director, gave her a tour.

“Jan, we are so thrilled you were willing to take us on! As you can see, we’re in desperate need of your organizing skills! And your housekeeping!”

Stephanie’s laugh was light and carefree—was it a carefully choreographed display to distract Jan from the filth surrounding her? Even if she worked everyday for a month, Jan could never scrub this place clean.

Stephanie pointed to three stacks—each at least 10 inches high--of paperwork. “These contracts need to be re-entered into the system and these are letters to answer for Mr. Redford. There are forms for the fan mail, something for the agents, here are police forms—if you find notes from crazy stalkers… No! I’m not kidding!” She laughed again and moved to the computer. Jan watched Stephanie’s long, frosted fingernails daintily tap the keyboard. “Here are the files. I’m sure this will make sense once you get into it. This room, over here, we have file folders and boxes. You should have everything you’ll need. Cleaning supplies are in this closet.”

Jan struggled to keep her own plastered smile in place and her tears repressed until Stephanie finally pranced out of the room. Then, Jan locked the door, collapsed into a grimy chair and cried into the evening.

The next day Jan sat in the scummy space, overwhelmed and appalled. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t….she had neither the skill nor the will. To clean, and organize, and administrate? Jan found a sticky radio and turned it up. She locked the door and tried to think but her brain wouldn’t work. All she could do was cry.

On the third day, Jan again sat immobile. At lunchtime, Stephanie knocked on the door.

“Jan? You in there?”

Jan sat motionless.

“Hello? Hello?”

Jan heard the sound of a key and watched the door open. Stephanie was bringing another huge stack of paperwork.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Looking into Stephanie’s mirrored sunglasses, Jan caught a glimpse of her own red, swollen eyes and tear-drenched face.

”I…I…” Jan could only stutter.

“I know it’s overwhelming, and I’m sure you miss your sweet Mother. Many of our interns have a tough first week. But Jan, if you can’t do this, I’ll have to send you home. I hate to do that, especially because it’s late now. You know we’ll have to charge you for your airfare both ways, and the week’s housing stipend. And some other charges. I told your mother this.”

Jan nodded.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Stephanie continued, with her practiced sing-song tone and toothy smile. “If you haven’t cleaned this room up and finished all this paperwork, I’ll have to put you out on the streets. Sorry….”

This was it. The end of the road. Jan went to the window. Should she escape first or wait until dark? Or at least until after dinner? Should she grab the blankets from her cot and find a place to sleep outside? Homelessness. That was her future.

TO BE CONTINUED Read more!