Creative Principles

                        Creative Principles


The creative process can be divided into four distinct principles. These four creative principles represent the roles, attributes, or different ways of thinking involved in each step of the creative process. Each is given a title and takes on a bit of personality. These principles can be used for creative problem solving and are equally applicable to the creative process of a writer. The four principles I will examine are: The Explorer. The Artist. The Judge. The Warrior.

The Explorer: The Explorer is the principle which discovers the resources you'll use to create new ideas. The Explorer conducts research, does background reading, looks for ideas, and plans roughly where everyone is going to go for the rest of the project.

The Artist: The Artist is the principle for transforming resources into new ideas. The Artist is exactly what it sounds like, the one who carries out the artistic process. The one who does the actual writing, composing, choosing concepts, drawing metaphors, writing descriptions, impressions, reflections . . . in short, the creating itself.

The Judge: The Judge is the principle which evaluates an idea and decides what to do with it. A Writer's Judge decides what to keep and what to cut. The Judge helps with editing, slimming, tightening, polishing, and generally getting the piece finished.

The Warrior: The Warrior is the principle which implements your idea. For a writer, the Warrior is the one who does the marketing; the one in charge of researching the best markets, sending the piece out to potential markets, handling rejection letters and sending the piece out again. A writer's Warrior needs to be brave, unsentimental, aggressive and persistent.

So, we have these four distinct principles, each with a title and . . . did someone say "a bit" of personality? Um. A bit. Remember we are talking about writers here.

Gustave Flaubert said: "It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself, but to move in an entire universe of your own creating." Indeed, Gustave, and while you are within that world, you get to be many, many different people as well. Anne Sexton said: "It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people." Mad indeed, but aren't we all? And then there is the quote from one of my own favorite writers, Anonymous: "Writers aren't exactly people . . . They’re a whole lot of people trying to be one person." Or, conversely, one person trying to be a whole lot of people. I guess none of you are really anxious to discuss the fine line between artists and schizophrenics? I didn't think so.

Rebecca West said: "I write books to find out things." By the same token, we also write to find interesting people. Some of those interesting people turn out to be us. While each of these four principals are cardinal forces in creation, as you think of them and spend time with them; as it happens quite often with a writer - they begin to take on personalities.  These are mine.

The Explorer: Julia

I would like you to meet my Explorer. She is an intelligent, dedicated researcher whose name is Julia. Julia and I both like to do research and background reading. She is a fearless, inquisitive investigator with strawberry blonde hair that just won't stay in it's pins, but floats like apricot feathers around her pale, pretty face as she bends over her books. Julia is fascinated by everything; always wanting to search for more and more information. She is full of never ending curiosity, unceasingly interested in whatever I am working on. She never wants to stop searching. Sometimes, her enthusiasm runs away with her; and everything else in the world must be put on hold while she is hot on the trail of some fascinating new piece of information. Julia laughs a lot. She is amused as well as intrigued by the things that her research turns up. Julia and I work well together and are very good friends. In fact, I have been known to get stuck at the point of exploring and never manage to go any further in the process. Instead of doing the writing that I am supposed to be doing, Julia and I are sending out for Pizza at midnight and reading somebodies research on the Internet that hasn't got anything what so ever to do with what I was supposed to be writing about.

The Artist: Elysia

My Artist has many names, many incarnations. This shape shifting, variable quality is a part of her personality; it is part of her charm; it is part of her effectiveness. When did an artist ever settle for one idea when there is a universe to choose from? My Artist is myriad by definition; multitudinous; multifarious . . . more.

She likes the personification that names her: Muse. She relishes things mythic, mystic and magic. In other places, at other times, she has been Duende, Pakaramdam, Nomo, and Mana. In this incarnation she has many aspects. She has often been Terpsichore, dreamer of The Dance. She has worn the face of Erato for love and lyricism or Calliope for eloquence; but she breathes poetry in a way that is only her own. In a wry comprehension of a writer's life, she has been both Melpomene and Thalia, sometimes at the same time!

She is a carder of concepts; a spinner of suggestion; a weaver of words. As I write in the deep velvet darkness, it is Selene, goddess of the moon; whose fingers brush my mind with a clear lucent light. Sometimes I am still writing when she sighs and melts into Danika, the silent morning star. She has been a wondering child with large gold eyes; an inquisitive maiden with long gold hair and for many years she answered to the name; Demeter.

For some time I have been expecting wrinkles, refined and finely chiseled, I thought; a crown of silver braids, perhaps; a calm and cultured wisdom. Instead, here is this sharp-witted old woman with a secret smile and the withered face of an ancient apple. I have begun to glimpse her at odd moments, tickling phrases and laughing in corners.

Today, in a easy, familiar way, she is Elysia. Her eyes are seagreen and gold, like mine, and she is quietly smiling. She looks at me and her smile deepens; one eye brow lifting slightly and I know that some sort of literary revels are afoot. Brimming in those eyes there is the promise of a wealth of words, shining like polished gems. Today we will mine together for sparkling wine colored rubies; gleaming starblue sapphires and scintillating violet amethyst. Together we will follow the labyrinthine spirals of my brain, discovering at each turn new riches of language. We will excavate cool green emeralds and iridescent fire opals; azure lapis lazuli, softly glowing rose quartz and creamy, lambent moonstone. Once we have gathered this huge treasure trove of words, we will squeeze them until our hands run with rainbows, then together we will finger paint poems in luminous colors against the sky, splashing them with expression and image; metaphor and dream. There is nothing in the world that I would rather do.

Elysia comes to me, down from the pine scented slopes and rocky crags of the Sacred Mountain. If you look at just the right moment, you might see her coming barefoot down the mountain side, her long white robes sweeping the heather and ivy. Her hair falls down her back in the blending colors of the sunset; golden, peach, scarlet, amber, crimson, pink. Her face is ageless; child, maiden, mother, crone; shifting with each flicker of light. A profound, abiding joy is in her face; the delight of movement, a relish for words. The secret smile is on her lips, revealing humor deep and mellow. Her face is etched with past laughter and fresh batches are always simmering in her eyes. These are words that slide in the mind, unbidden, as she passes from sunlight to shadow; enchantment, mystery, magic.

She has the presence of a goddess; the trust and understanding of a friend; the warmth and devotion of a mother. She believes in me implicitly and thoroughly and believes that there is nothing I cannot do. My only problem with my Muse is learning the patience to wait for her.

This is the thing: you have to work while you wait. The first step is often the hardest. You have to get your self into the chair. You have to get out your virtual ink, pen and parchment and start the words flowing. You have to prime the pump.

I sometimes get very uneasy at this point in the process; nervous, rebellious, uncertain, afraid. What if I can't write anything without her standing at my shoulder? What if I use my last cup of water to prime this pump and nothing comes out? My bones begin to feel dry and I am suddenly so thirsty. What if I am left parched and dehydrated in this arid land forever? What if I can't write at all? What would be left of me? Of course, I really know that this is looking at everything backwards.

Elysia has secret, sacred duties on the Holy Mountain; she spends a lot of time dancing in the mountain meadows and playing with words in the soft, mysterious mist at the mountains crest. However, I know, deep in my word-dry bones, that her real purpose in life is me. I know that when I have truly begun the process, she will come.

When I have put my self in the chair and my hands on the keyboard and the words begin to appear . . . when I have hauled the rocks out of the desiccated river bed, a silent silver trickle of water will begin. When the silt starts to wash away and the water begins to gush and flow clear and clean around my feet, then she will come. In a surge of metaphorical moisture she will come streaming to my side. I will feel her light wash through my thoughts, bright and sweet and strong. Soon the river will be rushing and roaring in full spate. Sometimes, between the two of us, we create a deluge; a flood of expression and eloquence so soaking, so drenching that it quenches even the most terrible of wordthirsts.

So, I know in my bones, but do not always accept with my mind, that the whole process is a matter of cause and effect; once I truly begin, she will be on her way. When I need her, and I have begun in earnest, she will come.

Sometimes I am selfish, immature and overly possessive, like a small child. I want her to stay with me all the time. She just smiles her secret smile. She holds my face cupped in her soft, strong hands and kisses my forehead. Then, looking into my eyes, she speaks softly. "Here is the secret that I bring. A gift for you, my beloved, from the hallowed silver mists of the Sacred Mountain. Listen. Listen. The ability, the art, the talent, the creative flow are yours. All the radiant words glistening in my caskets of spungold, they all belong to you. You are the one who knows how to weave them, how to color them, how to make them dance. I am your Muse and I will be with you always, but the ultimate truth is this: The Artist is you."

And so I sit in my mountain glade, as the late afternoon sunshine fades to bronze. I am ready to begin again, to prime the pump with my heartsblood and wait for the gush of answering words. With virtual pen and parchment before me, I sit thinking of the secret my Muse has told me . . . and wanting desperately to believe her.

The Judge: Hugh

Oh my. And now, after that most sublime moment, we come to a truly distressing and embarrassing fact. Some of my principals are highly dysfunctional. It's true. You didn't think this was going to be one big happy story did you? Well, it is not, because you see, there is Hugh.

Hugh is my Judge. I don't know what I did to deserve Hugh, but here he is. He is a small man with beady eyes and a pointed ratlike nose. He is balding and has a terrible habit of scratching at what is left of his long, thin, mouse-colored hair. This leaves the sad, scrawny hair sticking up all over the bald patches at odd angles. He looks so peculiar and dismal that it ought to make you feel sorry for him, but it doesn't. Hugh is just too odious to elicit an emotion as positive as sympathy. Anyone can tell, usually at first glance, that Hugh is a thoroughly obnoxious person. The expression on his face is a mixture of suspicion and haughty disgust. Hugh is very impressed with his position as Judge and feels that it makes him superior to everyone else. Hugh is a small man who is also small-minded. He is mean-spirited, disagreeable, surly, petulant and a walking illustration of intolerance.

Traditionally, the Judge's role is to evaluate an idea and decide what to do with it. Often the Judge assists in decision making, resolution of concepts, refining of thoughts. However, as a Judge, Hugh is a loose cannon. Hugh is a Judge gone bad. You can tell this by the things he says. "Do you call this writing?" he snaps. "This is awful! Do you really think anyone wants to read this swill? You are so pathetic!"

Did I mention that he was rude, irritable and extremely offensive? "You really can't write at all," Hugh says to me. "You think you can, but that only makes it worse. This is what we call 'self-delusion.' You are afraid to let anyone read your writing aren't you? Well, you've got a good reason. It STINKS!" This is just a sampling of Hugh's rhetoric.

Editing and revising are part of what The Judge is supposed to do, but Hugh has a one track mind and employing him as an editor is just not a sound choice, to say the least. He is a critic, nothing else, and a mean one at that. Old Hugh is not worth beans as a reviewer, appraiser or arbitrator of words.

One of the worst things about him is his vile habit of showing up when he is not wanted. He will turn up at any point in the creative process, spewing negative energy and hurtful words right and left. Let an idea even start to surface and from out of nowhere, Hugh will be there. "That's a ridiculous idea," he says, suddenly popping up beside my desk. "It would never work." I sigh and roll my eyes. "No one asked you, Hugh. This isn't your job. What are you doing here anyway? I'm only generating ideas."

"Hunh," Hugh snorts, "generating. Who taught you that big word? Spawning is more like it. Spawning stupidity. It's a idiotic idea and you haven't the talent to even begin it. You haven't the talent to begin and you never actually finish anything, do you?" Ouch, that one hurt.

“Go away, Hugh. Judges are not suppose to even comment on brain storming." He snorts again. "How can you be brain storming? In order to brain storm, one has to have a brain." Now I’m getting angry. "Get out of here Hugh! This is not even your department!" "Ohhh," he gives me an odious smile, "whose department is it? The department of total failures? That’s your department isn’t it?"

I've forgotten what my idea was in the first place. It was probably a stupid idea. I probably don’t have the talent to do it anyway, whatever it was.

You see what I mean? What is it Hugh after anyway? Creativity. It’s true, creativity is what Hugh is after, but not the production or magnification of creativity. The death of creativity is Hugh's goal. Hugh cannot stand creativity, originality, ingenuity or productivity. He hates novel ideas, fresh concepts and anything that produces in any way. He also hates laughter, accomplishment and peace of mind.

During the part of the creative process when a Judge might really come in handy, when it is time to make revisions, cut or edit, Hugh is usually nowhere to be found. It is just as well. All that Hugh has to contribute are churlish comments and negative vibrations. I know. For a long time I listened to Hugh's venomous whisperings and I believed them. But no more. Hugh has now been revealed, exposed, and unveiled as the scoundrel that he is. I now know all about Hugh. I know that Hugh is NOT to be trusted and I try never to listen to him at all, if I can help it.

Hugh has been banished.

The Adjutant Editor: Amelia Emily

Filling the spot left open by Hugh's regrettably obnoxious behavior, is my Adjutant Editor. An Adjutant Editor is not one of the original four principals, I admit, I made her up. She has been very helpful to me, however. She helps me trim words, search for and choose the best word, revise, cut and tighten my writing. It is my Adjutant Editor who is mostly responsible if my writing ever comes in at or under the word limit. Unlike her predecessor, she never comes until I need her. She never says anything negative to me, but is encouraging and motivating. She works hand in hand with my Muse. Of course, it was my Muse who first introduced me to AE, just as it was my Muse who finally unmasked Hugh and taught me to tune him out and send him away.

AE stands for Adjutant Editor and also for Amelia Emily, which is her name. AE is tall, willowy, soft spoken and extremely efficient. She wears practical dove-gray robes, belted with functional dark grey ribbions. Her soft, matte black hair is pulled back in a neat chignon at the base of her neck. When I need her, she comes walking briskly, up from the valley. She sits down beside me, ready to help me sort, catorgorize, revise, tighten or anything else that I might require. Amelia is effective, intelligent, understanding, skillful, and above all positive. Her calm, confident, affirmative manner is a profound relief after years with Hugh. AE is a constant help and support to me, but she is not a Judge. Since I have decided not to communicate with Hugh anymore, I am technically a writer without a Judge. Does a writer really need a Judge? This is a question that still must be answered.

The Warrior: Fernando!

Last, but not least, let me introduce my Warrior, the bold Fernando! Ah! Fernando is so beautiful! He has long, glossy, waving black hair which he wears pulled back and tied with a velvet ribbon. He has jet-black, ebony eyes, framed by dark sooty lashes. Around his neck he wears a scarf of scarlet and has a look upon his handsome face which is completely . . . blank. Empty. Vacant. Nobody home. Alas! We are about to embark upon another tale of dysfunction.

First, let's make something completely clear, right from the beginning; any similarity between this tale and another story about a bull with a similar name and a delicate ego is absolutely . . . true. Alas!

You see, like his bovine counterpart, Fernando likes flowers. The thing that Fernando likes best is to sit all day in a lovely meadow smelling the flowers and (alas!) smoking the flowers. Fernando is very easygoing. Fernando is very complaisant. Fernando is very laid back. Fernando is very mellow. Fernando is a really, really terrible warrior.

Fernando is not brave. Fernando would be afraid of the bull with whom he has so much in common. Fernando would be afraid of the bee. Fernando is afraid of anything larger or more menacing than a daisy. Fernando is afraid of snapdragons.

"We need to send some of these poems out to try and get them published," I say to Fernando. His dark, gypsy eyes widen and fill with tears. "We ccccan’t do that," he stammers through the tears which are now flowing down his cheeks. He shakes his head mournfully. "You know what happens. They will . . . they will . . ." a huge sob racks his wide shoulders, "they will get re . . . re . . . rejected!" He is now shaking with sobs. "I just can't . . . STAND it when they get rejected!" So much for unsentimental.

No, Fernando is not bold. Fernando is not daring. Fernando is not dauntless. Fernando is not heroic, valorous, valiant, courageous, fearless, gallant, or stouthearted. Fernando is not aggressive.

"You are supposed to help me fight for my right to be published," I tell Fernando one day. He focuses on me with some difficulty. "It's what you are supposed to do. It's your job! It’s what you were created for!" My voice keeps getting tighter and higher.

"Oh, wow," Fernando moans, "PLEase, just don’t talk about JOBS man. You’re really bringing me down."

"I’ve GOT to start submitting stuff for publication!" I cry, my voice rising, slightly hysterically. I am never going to get anything published, because I never send anything out!"

Fernando’s face is a mask of tragedy and crystal tears begin to slide down his dark skin. He wipes his cheeks with his fingers, looking down at his hands, even more dismayed. “Oh, shit man! Lookat what you’ve gone and done! Now, I’m CRYing. Why do you treat me this way? Why are you always so down?” He holds the back of one long, beautiful hand against his forehead and sighs. “Everyone is always picking on me. Ganging up on me. Trying to make me DO things. I just . . . I just can’t get no satisfaction! You step outa line, the man come and take you away. Don’t you know the times, the times they are a changing? . . .” suddenly his face clears, though the tears are still shining in his beautiful Gypsy eyes. He smiles.

He smiles right at the tree behind me. "Yeah, OK. Whatever dude. Just don't tell me about it if they get rejected. That is such a bummer. I don’t wanna know!"

He reaches down into the high meadow grass and picks a small yellow flower. He holds it to his face and inhales happily. "Hey dude," he says to me, "didya know you can snort these?


©Edwĭna Peterson Cross


AFTERWARD:  There is an X-rated story concerning how I managed to fire my Judge, the obnoxious Hugh. Let me know if you are interested. It is interesting and maybe only PG13. Who knows?

100 Ways to Love Yourself

  ❤❤❤ 100 Ways to Love Yourself ❤❤❤

  (Brought to you by: Edwina Peterson Cross)

    1. Reread passages of books and poems that have moved you, that you love, that make you cry, that make you hurt, that make you laugh, that make you fill like a balloon with happiness. Read them out loud and taste the words as they come out of your mouth.

    2. Spend even a few minutes beside a river or stream. There is magic in the sound of running water. Let it’s wet magnetism spill into your heart.

    3. Lie on the ground face down. Smell the earth. Try this in every season. Lying face down in the snow, is a very interesting feeling. What does frozen earth smell like, when the grass is rimed with ice and it crunches when you lay down? Why do rotting leaves smell sweet?

    4. Sit on the porch shelling peas, snapping beans, pealing potatoes. thinking of . . . nothing

    5. Knit, or crochet, do anything that uses your hands. Did you ever make one of those “looms” out of an empty spool and “knit” long lengths of useless weaving with a nut pick? Did you ever braid “boondoggle” in long, flat, also useless plastic ropes? Consider how bringing the thread together in knitting, crocheting, weaving is like life. Threads coming together, making something new . . .

    6. Peel a fresh fruit or vegetable - very slowly - really feeling the textures. Eat it the same way. Thank the fruit for it’s sustenance. Think of it becoming part of your cells, making you stronger and healthier. With a good imagination, mindful eating can be a real trip!

7. Walk or drive for an hour, any direction, then return

    8. Dance when there is no one watching. That way, you can dance like there is no one watching. Dance naked. Dance slowly feeling all your muscles. Dance fast and let everything go. Dance to your favorite music. Dance to something new (have you heard Ocean’s music?)

    9. Greet the sunrise. Do you live where you get a slow pink and pearl painting in the sky before sunrise, or does it suddenly appear in a splash of golden glory?

    10. Sit on a bridge with legs dangling over. Play Pooh Sticks: drop a stick in the water on one side of the bridge and run to the other side to watch it appear.

    11. Stand in a circle of trees. Hold the branches and bend backwards until you can see the tops of the trees. Watch the dance of the leaves.

    12. Dry your hair in the sun. Have you ever actually washed your hair in rainwater? It is worth the trouble to catch the rain, at least once in your life.

13. Pot plants, being sure to get hands muddy.

    14. I took my Kindergarten children on walks constantly to feel, see and experience something particular. Do you ever take time to do that as an adult? Find everything soft that you can. Or rough. Search out everything green. Or red. Take a smell walk through the country side or through town. Do you know what you own town smells like? What is the most beautiful thing - to you? How to natural things and man made things feel different? Take a walk and experience something new.

    15. Feel the grass between your toes. Or Sand. Or mud. Or snow. What surface would you dance on if you had a choice?

    16. Smell the rain on the wind. Wait for it. Watch it come. Stand in it with your face turned up.

    17. Pet a purring cat or a loving dog. Did you know that playing a cello feels like holding a purring cat on your lap? Say the letter M for a long time and feel it. Does it feel like a purring cat to you?

18. Rock a baby to sleep. There isn’t a feeling like it anywhere in the world.

19. Dive in the ocean and crying out loud "Heil Atlantis!"

    20. Climb a mountain from one side and then go down the other side (it amazes you how different things look. You know why the bear went over the mountain . . .)

21. Write in your journal with crayons or markers.

    22. Blow bubbles. Do this with children if you can find some, if not do it alone. Here is a trick. Put a few drops of glycerin in the bubbles. It makes them last longer, land on things and sit there shining. Look closely at a bubble when it has landed. They are Iris’s brief, bright children and they carry the most miraculous, shimmering rainbows, for seconds . . . flying, luminous seconds.

    23. Go out very early and look for dew. It is like pearls on the grass and if you can catch it on a cobweb, it is magic.

24. Smell bacon cooking and coffee brewing over an open fire.

    25. Wake up and listen closely to a chorus of birds outside your window. They may have been there for months and you didn’t really ever here them before.

    26. Get out your favorite childhood toy and hug it. Make yourself an “Inner Child” altar, using your stuffed friend as the center.

    27. Pay attention to miracles - the deer or bird that stays to watch you instead of flying or running away. Remember there are miracles everywhere. A peach is just as miraculous as Mount Everest (and more accessible.)

28. Have high tea with cucumber sandwiches, petits fours and trifle. Wear hats.

    29. Think of a friend you haven’t seen in a long time. If they are close, go and visit them. Or write. Find their email. Find a way to make contact again.

    30. Eat Spotted Dick pudding smothered in Bird's Custard. (Our local English Pub gives it free to everyone there on Tuesdays! Come to Ashland and I’ll take you to the Black Sheep!)

    31. Nap: (with someone you love spooned behind you; or with a two year old tucked in front of you with freshly baby-shampooed hair under your nose; or in a big recliner in front of the fire when you’ve just finished a perfect novel; or under a big puffy comforter on a rainy day when you really ought to be outside running errands.)

    32. Pay attention to the seasons. Use all your senses to experience things like: the first smell of autumn. Walking outside and finding that in the night the air has changed and there is a subtle tiny chill and smell of crispness that means autumn is beginning. Now, if you search the green, green of the mountain you will find that, sure enough, there are tracings of gold brushed through the emerald and olive and jade that you didn’t notice yesterday. And then! sometimes in the middle of a perfectly warm fall day you will suddenly smell new snow on the wind. What does new snow smell like? I know, but I can’t tell you. The next day you will wake to everything covered with silverwhite marshmallows. Do you know what the earth smells like when it comes out of snow for the first time in months? When the first crocus blades poke bravely through the snow - that fantastic courage of green!, and suddenly through the smell of old snow, you will smell once again the rich, deep smell of earth. Spring is coming again.  And when does spring turn to summer? When one day the cool breeze is suddenly hot and you know it will be warm enough to stay out that night and watch the stars. Seasons. Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles.

    33. Spend a day in bed with your favorite book. Spend a day in bed with your favorite person.

    34. Experience expectancy. Waiting for the house lights to dim, the curtain to go up, the trumpet to sound, the flag to fly. (The anticipatory feeling before a play, a dance or music concert to begin. I’ve been on both sides of the curtain, both are enchanted. It is the sharing that is magic.)

    35. Ride a Roller coaster! :-) Pay special attention to that half second at the top before you go down.

    36. Write. Write anything, a poem, a sentence, a list of words. Notice the joy when you’ve found the right words. (You write a sentence that is almost. It kind of goes around a corner, but doesn’t quite make it. It is halting, it is frozen, it is wobbly, faltering, broken, fragmented. Then you look at it again, you think it, you taste it, you wiggle it, you smooth it, you do who knows what to it, you change a few words, you move a comma, a erase something, you add something, you move something and suddenly it flows, it fits, it harmonizes, it tallies, it lines up, it WORKS. Eureka! Banzai! Hallelujah! Magic.)

    37. Listen to the laughter of Children. (The laughter of my circle of daughters coming from the other room. For years it was a daily occurrence, now I must wait for special occasions. They are women now, not little girls, but they laugh just as hard and it is just as beautiful.)

    38. Hug someone or something you love, then close your eyes and don't talk just let the feelings seep right in. Decide to do it much more often.

    39. Light a scented candle. Smell the fragrance. Smell the fire. Send a prayer on it’s bright, eternal energy. Blow out the candle and watch the dance of the smoke.

    40. Enjoy the sound of laughter. Enjoy the feeling. Revel in the way people’s eyes light up and the way a good giggle feels.

    41. Listen to older people. Get them to describe their memories of days gone by. Don’t mind if they tell the same story again and again. This is the way stories are kept. Make a list of your own memories. Mail them to yourself.

    42. Search for pictures that remind you of ‘home.’ Think of the smells and tastes and textures that go with the visual stimuli.

    43. Bake something and take it to someone. Take cookies to work. Take a cake to your neighbor. Make those sticky-buns that you and your best friend tried not to eat when you were in high school. Take them to your best friends house and eat them all together.

    44. Join with friends to paint each other's faces with face paint and dance down the street barefoot. (You can do this without getting arrested in my town. I don’t know about yours!)

45. Visit to the Japanese Bath-house or spa with a friend.

    46. Make a list of your memories of magical childhood places. Picture them vividly in your mind. Do you remember your best hiding place when you played hide and seek?

    47. Publicly hugging a tree. Call up some friends and have a group hugging. A group hugging does wonders for the soul.

    48. Listen to your favorite musician. Go on-line and look at all the work of your favorite artist. Which painting would you choose if you got to own one?

    49. Have a child’s “theme” birthday party when it isn’t anyone’s birthday. Invite your adult friends to a Pretty Pony Party, or a Spiderman Luncheon.

    50. Listen to the audio book version of one of your favorite books. Take a drive and listen in the car. Listen in the bathtub. Listen in the garden. Listen in your favorite chair or tucked up in bed.

    51. Make a Gratitude Journal. This doesn’t have to be stuffy. I write all kinds of wild things in mine like: “I love SHADES OF GREY” - or “Blessing on Leonard Cohen’s inspired head, wherever he is at this moment.”

    52. Take a Yoga class. Remember the words that occur to you during the class. Balance? Breath? Stretch? Ouch? Write them down and compare them to what you think after taking six or eight Yoga classes. After a year. Are they different words?

    53. Begin a journal and then send it to a friend. Have them write for a while and send it back. It’s a terrific way to share.

54. Call your best friend from High School or College.

    55. Taste delicious words: Soothing, Lengthen, Liquid, Lyric, Mellow, Moon, Cello, Whisper, Soft, Bliss. (Those are some of mine!)

56 Feel the damp dew on the grass on your bare feet in the moonlight. Lay on your back and just gaze at the moon. Drinking moonlight is extremely good for the soul. If the moon is full make “Moon-tea.” This is just like Sun-tea, but is brewed by the light of the full moon. Exceptionally Magical.

    57. Seek out and listen to singers whose voices are old trusted friends that smooth and sooth, a sweet sail to the past, a balm with which to face the future. (I love you Gordon Lightfoot!)

    58. Go in search of waterfalls, fountains, rushing streams: there is magic in air and water joined in joy.

    59. Practice and maintain traditions: the cultural traditions that we do because they have always been done, the old traditions that go back several generations, the family traditions we have done our entire lives, the blending traditions where two newly weds knit two families together, the new traditions that we just made up last year. The brand-new traditions that we made up just now!

    60. Enjoy smells. The smell of a new doll, an old book, newly cut grass, fresh snow, cinnamon, hot bread, leather . . . what are your favorites?

    61. Dancing. Remember how you have danced in the past . . . as a very young child, before anyone tells you what dancing is or isn’t, what is right or wrong, what you can or can’t do; when you choreograph your own dance to the music that plays in your head and you don’t care at all who was watching. At four years old, standing on your Daddy’s shoes. In rooms full of flashing lights and pulsing music that beat in your blood, where other moving bodies became extensions of an experience. At a bar on a hardwood floor where the clean, classic notes of Chopin stretch you to the peace of precision. With children on a summer lawn while sprinklers rain and the music is laughter. In the moonlight, in the dark, anywhere at all, in arms of someone you love. With other women in celebration, mourning, exploration, fellowship. Barefoot in a mountain meadow where the air is so thin you practically fly. On a stage, sending the experience of your joy of movement into hearts through eyes and ears. Alone in a room lit by a one candle, finding that, after all, you can still hold all of the above in the center of your own single flame.

62. Dance again.

    63. Get a juicer and make yourself fresh juice and healthful smoothies. Make a list of healthful foods you really enjoy and go on a buying spree. Go out to an expensive Health Food Restaurant.

64. Get a notebook and make a list of all the things you would like to do before you die.

65. Plan pretend vacations for all the places you wish you could visit.

    66. Have a henna party. Hire a body painter or Mehndi Artist to do everyone’s hands or feet, or tummies or backs.

    67. Go for an old fashioned swim in an old fashioned swimming hole with a swing made of vines. Take an inner-tube and float around with a straw hat over your face. Lemonade is mandatory.

68. Walk to the closest grocery store. Buy a popsicle. Walk home.

    69. Have a Wine and Cheese Party with a difference. For the Wine and Cheese Party, each guest brings a different kind of Wine and Cheese and everyone samples all the different brands. Following the same procedure, the combinations are endless. My children went wild with ideas, some of which were just too wild, such as the infamous Moonshine and Coon party. Here are a few other ideas: Beer and Pizza Soda and Chips Tea and Cakes Whiskey and Cigars Champagne and Fruit/Chocolate/Chocolated-fruit Coffee and Doughnuts Milk and Cookies.

    70. This is the Cross Family U.S. Government End of Fiscal Year Party. It could also easily be adapted to be a Pay Day Party. Before midnight the refreshments consist of saltine crackers, a can of pork and beans and water. After midnight we serve a huge full course meal including filet minion, champagne and caviar. Yes, it is not subtle. Yes, it is too true.

    71. The simplest is often the best. Watch a sunset. Smell the roses. Lay on your back and watch cloud formations. Hold completely still and feel the wind on your face. Kiss your own palm and say, “I love you.”

    72. Write a research paper just like you had to do in High School, except write this one on something that fascinates you, about which you want to find out as much as possible.

    73. Have a beauty pageant with paper dolls. You can cut out the swimming suit competition and keep the talent section if you want! Your paper dolls can also have a rodeo, be involved in a corporate spy ring, government coup and insurrection, travel on a flying carpet to far off lands, perish in a volcano, be preserved behind glass, be carried off by huge birds of prey in a vast primeval jungle, keep their faces in jars by the door like Eleanor Rigby, clone themselves in the scanner and wear Band-Aids to the office. After you are through playing, put the paper dolls in a book where, hopefully, you will forget about them until the next time you read the book when you will have a fun surprise and want to play again.

    74. Write your favorite quotations on the wall. Always include this one of mine: “Go that way, real fast. If something gets in your way, turn. (Savage Steve Holland) It is profound.

    75. Try to remember the nasty rhymes and sayings that children said when you were little, especially ones that made you feel bad. Turn them into nice rhymes and sayings. “Pink, pink, you stink.” “Pink, pink, think, think, you are as bright as indelible ink!”

    76. Say to yourself in the mirror: “The Force will be with you, always.” Call up someone who will understand and say it to them on the telephone or go to their house and tell them to their face when they open the door.

78. Read A.A. Milne out loud, paying special attention to Pooh’s “hums.”

    79. Simply ‘count your blessings.’ This is a great way to fall asleep at night.

    80. Eat dinner by candle light. Have a candle-lit blanket-picnic outside under the stars, or inside under the ceiling. Have a candlelight picnic bubble-bath. Champagne and foods from the whipped cream category are appropriate bubble-bath picnic fare. Do you know that they make EDIBLE blowing bubbles that taste like candy? It’s true. Have a candle-lit pizza-picnic at midnight sitting crossed-legged on the kitchen table. Have a full candle light dinner with china, crystal, silver and linen - all set up on a card table in the back of a pick up truck parked underneath the stars. Have a candle light picnic in the snow: start by scooping out an round indentation of snow and lining it with at least two space blankets. Put regular blankets on top of these and it is plenty warm to sit on. Picnic’s on the snow, under the stars are quite magic. Igloos are much harder to make than you would ever imagine. Have a floating candle light picnic in a swimming pool or lake using floating candles. Mellon is the perfect food for a wet candle-lit picnic. Cut the top off of a cantaloupe, honeydew or small round watermelon. (You’ll want to cut it a little more than half.) Scoop out the melon with a melon-baller until the rind is empty. The empty half rind will float. Put the melon balls back in, being careful not to overload. If you don’t fill it too full it will still float. It is fun to mix the three kinds of melon in each rind so the colors are pretty. You can buy plastic glasses that float when you put them down in water without spilling the liquid inside which are fun for wet picnics. Always remember: a romantic candlelit dinner is always as close as the small scented candle, bic lighter and package of M&M’s that you put in your pocket before you went out for that walk.

    81. Find life quotations that are important to you: “This above all else: To thine own self be true.” (William Shakespeare) “Go Slowly, Breathe and Smile” (Thich Nhat Hanh) “Follow your bliss” (Joseph Campbell)

82. Invite a friend over to drink champagne, wear hats and bake.

    83. Go into the night with several friends and a camera. Take pictures of each other all over town. Get them developed and Make identical place mats, collages, or wall hangings for everyone.

    84. Start a progressive or circle letter with friends and/or family through snail-mail. With a progressive letter each person adds to a long letter which keeps growing and getting bigger. With a circle letter, each person writes a one page letter and when the envelope comes, they remove their last letter and add a new one.

    85. Eat a rainbow. Everyone knows that you are supposed to eat five fruits and vegetables a day, but a fun way to approach the whole thing is to think of “Eating a Rainbow.” Colorful fruits and vegetables provide the wide range of vitamins, minerals, fiber and phytochemicals that the body uses to stay healthy, energetic, maintain a healthy weight, protect against the effects of aging and reduce the risk of cancer and heart disease. Besides, rainbows are luscious. Read the book “The Rainbow Goblins” by Ul De Rico. Check out my painting!

    86. Do something seasonally backwards. Play tennis in the snow. Bake Christmas cookies in July. Have an Easter Egg hunt in November. There are places where you can ice skate outside in the summer now and even ski on synth-snow during warm weather. Many former Olympic sites have summer activities on site. OR, you could go visit a friend on the other side of the world where they are doing the other season anyway!

    87. Drop Pennies. Most people know about “See a penny, pick it up, and all the day you’ll have good luck.” If you leave a penny on the ground every once in a while, it will bring someone luck sooner or later, if only from your thought.

    88. Celebrate Trees and the Earth. Celebrate Arbor Day and Earth Day with the zeal that you do other holidays of the year. Have a huge dinner dedicated to the trees of our world and to our mother earth. Exchange gifts with earth and woodland themes or give gift certificates to charities that support ecology and protection of resources. National Arbor Day is the last Friday in April, but many states observe Arbor Day on different dates according to their best tree-planting times. International Earth Day will be March 20, 2005. Plant trees. When you plant a tree in your yard, plant another one for the world - in your neighborhood, on the side of a highway, on a green way, in a reforestation project for example.

    89. Run through the sprinklers. This can be a simple afternoon diversion in a hot back yard paddling in your small rainbird sprinkler with a popsicle or two or a wild midnight adventure with a group of daring friends to charging across vast athletic fields or golf courses where huge sprays send fast sweeping arches of water cascading into the moonlight. (I’m not sure if you can actually get arrested for midnight sprinkler running, we never have, but then we live in a strange town. If you are concerned, you could check with your local authorities!)

    90. Swing. Go to different elementary schools and playgrounds and swing on all the  swings. Decide which ones are the best. Watch Kenneth Branaugh’s version of “Much Ado About Nothing.” It has a beautiful example of an adult swing in it . . . as well as a really luscious picnic in the beginning and an enchanting shower of rose petals being strewn from the castle windows over the heads of the dancers at the end . . . it also has the added benefit of being a total delight all the way in between. Delicious.

    91. Did you know that the olfactory tissue with which you smell is identical to the tissue in your brain where memory is stored? Make a list of smells that bring memories and vice-versa. What memories are brought to you by the smell of: Nutmeg? Pine? Baby powder? Newly cut hay? Old Leather? Violets? Cookies Baking? The sea? Watermelon? Floor Wax? New Crayons? Sawdust? Dogs? Cats? Farmyards? Glycerine and Rosewater? Garlic cooking in olive oil? Fingernail polish? Cotton Candy? Fresh Paint? Lilacs? French Fried Potatoes? Lemons? Dill? Peaches? Make a list of yours.

    92. Make a Sidewalk Chalk Painting. Sidewalk chalk is therapeutic because it is colorful, huge and temporary. You know that what you paint will not last which is a great exercise in the here and how. You can also actually feel the chalk transfer from the piece in your hand to the rough surface of the sidewalk. It’s a very tangible kind of painting. I recommend viewing “Mary Poppins” as an accompaniment to a good day of Sidewalk Chalk Painting.

    93. Indulge yourself. Take a hot bath with mounds of bubbles. Have your nails done. Have you toes done. Do a friends nails. Have them do yours.

94. Buy your self a new CD.

95. Have a stimulating conversation with a stranger

96. Rent a movie just for yourself.

    97. Take a dance class, a kick-boxing class, a karate class. Take a long walk and practice deep breathing.

    98.  Get a massage, facial, or spa wrap. Go dancing. Practice progressive relaxation. Meditate.

    99. Go for a bike ride with a friend. Rent or buy roller blades and remember what it was to fly. (Anybody besides me old enough to remember skate keys?!)

    100. Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty. Donate to a charity you don’t usually support, put your shopping trolley back in its appointed place in the parking lot, place a coin in an expired parking meter, as you go about your day, pick up the litter you find on the pavement, give another driver your parking spot, send a letter to a teacher you once had letting her know about the difference she made in your life, order a mail-order gift, anonymously, for a friend or someone at work who needs to be cheered up, go to an AIDS hospice or hospital ward and see what you can do for one person, slip a $10 note into the pocketbook of a needy friend (or stranger), next time you go over a toll bridge pay the toll for the car behind you and don't forget to thank the toll taker, laugh out loud often and share your smile generously, if you are the boss, bring your secretary a cup of coffee in the morning, if you have a person with an infirmity living near you, offer to do the grocery shopping for him or her. Make a list of more of these and post it here!

(Now. I do know that have a lot of dancing in here. That’s just me. And I seem to have a thing about smelling as well. Whatever! Dance and Smell! Smell and Dance! It’s all good.)

©Edwina Peterson Cross

Dancing With Archetypes

Dancing With Archetypes

For an over-view of the concept of the Archetypes, see the Introduction to my Blog "Dances With Archetypes"  http://archetypesdance.blogspot.com/

In the poem below, I take a list of various different Archetypes and see which ones speak to me. I then narrow the list down, just to see if I can do it.

Dance of Archetypes

Here some Archetypes jumble on the page. Is this all the Archetypes there are? By no means. It is an interesting list however. I look at them. Some of them are familiar. I smile. Some of them are so familiar that I know their embarrassing childhood stories. Some of them know mine. Some of them are foreign. Some of them are threatening. Some of them are neutral. Which will I dance with?

Actor Addict Alchemist Anarchist Artist Avenger Bureaucrat Beggar Bully
Caregiver Child Clown
Companion Coward Craftsperson Crone Crook Damsel
Detective Dictator Dilettante Diplomat Disciple Diva Dreamer Eternal Boy/Girl Evangelist
Fool Gaia Gambler God Goddess Gossip
Healer Herald Hermit Historian Innovator Judge Knight Liberator Lover
Magician Martyr Masochist
Matriarch Midas Monk Muse Mystic Nature Boy/Girl
Networker Nun Olympian Patriarch Pilgrim Pioneer Poet Politician Predator
Priest Prince Princess Prophet Prostitute Provocateur
Puck Puppet Puritan
Rebel Redeemer Rescuer Revolutionary Robot Saboteur
Sadist Sage Samaritan Scholar Scout Scribe Seductress Seeker Seer
Servant Settler Shaman Sidekick Slave Spoiler Storyteller Student Teacher
Thief Tramp Trickster Tyrant Vampire Victim
Visionary Warrior Witch
Wizard Zombie

Some of them will speak to me, will seek me out. Some of them will know automatically that they belong to me. Others will take some thought. In a mutual dance of electing, my Archetypes and I will choose each other.

Caregiver ~  Artist
Crone  ~  Child
Detective ~  Eternal Boy/Girl
Dreamer ~  Gaia
Fool ~  Goddess
Healer  ~  Mystic
Historian ~  Seeker
Knight  ~  Student
Magician ~  Alchemist
Matriarch ~  Lover
Muse ~  Princess
Poet ~  Scribe
Puck ~  Seer
Rebel  ~  Teacher
Scholar ~  Trickster ~  Witch
Seductress ~  Storyteller ~  Wizard

Now. Just as an experiment, what if I had to give some of them up and keep others? It is an exercise that is only academic, of course, for I will surely keep them all, and add more if the time comes when they fit. Sometimes an archetype is outgrown and not active any more. Still I keep even those, for their history is wired into who I am now, through who I was then. But if I had to narrow it down, which ones fit best? Which could easily go and which ones could I just not stand to part with?

I begin to narrow, to cull, to examine each Archetype more closely to see which attributes pull me the most strongly, which ones I will wear most often.

Caregiver ~ Crone ~ Dreamer ~ Seeker ~ Magician ~ Matriarch ~ Muse ~ Poet ~ Scholar ~ Seductress ~ Wizard ~ Storyteller ~ Artist ~ Child ~ Mystic
Lover ~ Teacher ~ Goddess ~ Rebel


And Again . . .

Caregiver ~ Dreamer ~ Poet
Scholar ~ Storyteller ~ Artist
Child ~ Mystic ~ Goddess ~ Seeker

And yet again . . . closer to the bone . . . closer to the mirror. . . closer to the dream . .

Dreamer ~ Poet ~  Child ~  Artist ~  Seeker

How can I let go of one of these? OK, it’s academic. Well then . . .

Dreamer ~ Poet ~ Child ~ Artist

Dreamer ~ Poet ~ Artist

Poet ~ Artist

Can I do it? Can it be done? Can I take it down to one?

Poet

Indeed. And with that . . . the word is said.
And something worth knowing is known.

2/21/12 Jackson Browne - Alive in the World

February 21, 2002

I woke up this morning to hear beautiful Jackson Browne singing the anthem of my life. Here is to all the other agoraphobics who are trying to get back out the door. Love Jackson Browne. Love Pandora Radio.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_ETrgzIaqA