The Beastly and the Beautiful Part 3: The Enfant Terrible

Continued from The Beastly and the Beautiful Part 2

We can observe how an overgrown child operates when given too much reign over us, by recounting the actions and attitudes of the Beast. This is not an indictment of character, but rather a tool or a test to gauge the extent to which a normal part of us may have grown larger while staying hidden away. It is important to get a sense of this, before we consider confronting it. 

The masculine pronoun is used here solely to follow the pattern of the story. Beastliness and Beauty are neither masculine nor feminine, do not refer to moral comparisons, and is not a psychological profile of any person. The focus here is on hindrances to our creative development, ones that most of us experience at times, and how they can block our function in the world as La Belle. 

Aspects of the Enfant Terrible

Waits for a Solution to Knock Upon His Door. The villagers have forgotten the existence of a castle with a living prince. In medieval times, the entire village existed in service to the feudal lord. But this Beast has not made even a foray beyond his immediate realm in search of assistance. There has been no strategy, no adjustment, no attempt; only a resentful and passive waiting. The sorceress has shown up at his door with a curse, so he assumes that this is also the only way to a secure a blessing-- to have it handed to him, or even imposed upon him.

Remains Unenlightened. When he observes Belle's sacrificial exchange of place with her father, the Beast is shocked and confused by this. Sometimes when we see other people who are devoted to their art or craft, we might feel bewildered as well. How do they do it? We are marginally curious, perhaps, but the Beast does nothing to educate or enlighten himself; he testily reasserts his authority as the one in charge. He has been confronted with something he doesn't yet comprehend, and so he dismisses it without understanding.

Overestimates His Generosity. What he offers to others is magnanimous in his view, but is really just humane, or very basic manners that a toddler can learn. After urging from others, the Beast offers Belle a bedchamber to sleep in, rather than the dungeon. We, too, can be stingy with ourselves. We might plan to devote a certain part of our day to our work, but the Beast gets fractious and temperamental. He's going to take back his offerings, like a small child does with its toys; create distractions; throw a tantrum and punish anyone who stands up to him, usually by withholding. Meanwhile, he will regard himself as having been kind for even tolerating others and their basic needs and rights. He has no consideration for how others have tolerated or considered him. He is ungrateful and feels taken advantage of.

Lays Down Arbitrary and Rigid Laws. "If she doesn't eat with me, then she doesn't eat at all." There are all sorts of conditions we can place on when and how we can create, that have nothing to do with carefully determined priorities and time-management skills. This is an emotionally exhausting case of "only after". Only after the child is satisfied do we allow ourselves to step out of our roles with whatever is left over, trying not to wake the baby. While this is a temporary situation with an actual baby or young child during the time when they are needful and dependent, a state of anxious caretaking can continue into becoming a mechanical routine easily and unquestioningly submitted to. There is no negotiation table on how time and energy is spent, but only a perennial royal highchair to contend with.

Blames Everyone Else. The Beast's limitations are blamed on someone else, whether it is a woman in disguise, an institution, a leader, lazy employees, or a lack of benefits he felt entitled to. He has hidden himself away, and makes a shrine of the curse or hardship that was visited upon him. He protects the rose with a beautiful crystal jar, while he obsessively watches it lose its vitality as time goes on. 

Instead of discovering what he can do with his beastly form, he wallows in his rejection and imposes his own exile. He brings nothing into the world through him, but is mistrustful, jealous and destructive. He can't see or is uninterested in how others are coping with their limitations, and is protective of his viewpoint that he is uniquely cursed and doomed. When he looks at the struggles of others, he sees only their lack, as reflections of himself, and not their own individually discovered strengths. Nothing means more to him than the Rose that defines him. He feels it forever attached to him, although he is the one keeping it in an airless, beautiful, but isolated prison without nurture.

Validates Only His Cynical and Hopeless Perspective. Because this infant has limited experience of genuine interactions, he can't imagine that anyone could be stronger or kinder than he is. He can't imagine that anyone would find him lovable at all, because he doesn't. He sees the world only as an extension of himself, and so the motivations of others can only reflect his own. If this weren't so, then he would have to admit that he isn't inherently superior to those around him. 

Sometimes if we are faced with an obstacle, or if someone doesn't receive us or our work as enthusiastically as we want, this can confirm our bias that the world is as bad as we suspect ourselves to be. At the first sign of rejection, the Beast intones,"It's hopeless. She'll never see me as anything but a monster." He puts the magic mirror away, with affords him only a partial view of reality. He might find his misery comforting, or his cynicism entertaining, but only for brief periods. Mostly, he is suspicious and regards any other viewpoint as an attempt to deceive, control, or prevent him from getting what he wants.

Belle's Father and the Beast

"You are very ready with excuses and flattery; but that will not save you from the death you deserve."

Rejects and Abandons Himself and Others in Retaliation. Denying the possibility that he could be a monster, yet a monster that is trying very hard to learn and grow, he chides himself for even imagining that things could be better. Depression is not an affliction that he must endure and manage; rather, it is a normalized state with habits to be protected as well. When we do anything that the depressed Beast feels shown up by, then we are being disloyal to him and his depression. He cannot identify with the needs and actions of the Beautiful child that is functioning alongside him. His ego may attempt to imitate her for a bit, but without heart, and so he gives up before he begins. Abandoning his attempts to develop seem to him the just deserts for someone so utterly hopeless as himself.

Judges Swiftly and Harshly. When the mature man inside the Beast does learn to love Belle by letting her go, he also lets go of his nearly discovered love for himself. The Beast is threatened by someone else, anyone else, receiving what he has decided he cannot receive-- love and assistance-- while still in his beastly state. He withdraws and relinquishes all responsibility-- literally, the ability to respond-- as he deems himself invalidated by his own suffering. Being mortally offended by life, he decides he is irredeemable at his core.

Hides his Agenda and Demands Fealty. Fealty is sworn by subjects to rulers without question. They may be pressed into it, and it is different from genuine loyalty that is earned over time. He isn't straightforward with Belle, yet he wants her unqualified devotion, like an unintelligible baby that can't explain why it needs its mother. After his disappointment that Belle does care about her father's well-being more than her promise to remain confined to the Beast's selfish arrangement, he abandons everyone. He doesn't give a thought to those who depend upon him, to those that have been serving him for years and whom he depends upon, but lets invaders storm the castle to steal or ruin it all. He simply retreats to his inner sanctum, unwilling to face the first challenge to his right to exist. He walks past all of the servants who are striving however they best can, completely unaffected. How often are we disloyal to ourselves, and allow invaders and challengers to gain what is rightfully ours, without a word? How do we become unaware of, numb to, and indifferent to help?

Gives Up in a Fight. Ironically, the foe that nearly defeats the Beast, is another Enfant Terrible, the narcissistic Gaston. These two children believe that Belle, and all of her qualities, belongs to them and not to herself. They are like sibling rivals, neither truly knowing or wanting what they are fighting over, but simply caught up in a power struggle. The protagonist in this story happens to be female, but this doesn't mean that women have no beastly impediments of their own.

Before we continue with considering the ways that big and little monsters can demand and consume our energy, we first need to validate and protect the Beautiful Child in us, the Bel Enfant, who chooses what she will devote herself to, who doesn't trifle with others, and who expects compassion and good treatment from others because she has these within herself. She is the developing beast's best ally for retaining his power, while restraining aggression or relieving depression. Next, we'll look at what Belle needs to learn and overcome, so that she can experience "much more than this provincial life".

Continued in Part 4: The Belle Enfant

The Beastly and the Beautiful Part 2

Continued from The Beastly and The Beautiful Part 1

In considering what is beastly, it would first appear that we should try to shrink and eliminate anything that we perceive as dark or negative. Yet, trying to inhibit its growth seems as ineffective as binding up the feet of young girls, until they can only move with pain and emphasis on what has been deformed on purpose.  

The "terrible child" should not be cast out, but rather brought out and brought up. We can protect it and take care of it, but only so far as it needs. We can show up with this child, recognize it with a naming, and pledge to raise it with the help of others until it can face the world, no longer hiding in shame for its immaturity. It will always be a beast, but it will know itself and we will know it. It will be less mysterious, less frightening and less controlling.

For now, lets prepare for this encounter by re-familiarizing ourselves with a remarkable example of the Enfant Terrible, the Beast of the old French tale, La Belle et La Bête. I have perused a few versions of it, but it is easiest to refer to the popular animated Disney version. It is less intimidating, perhaps, to see ourselves reflected in a creature that isn't evil, but simply underdeveloped and isolated.

"…the Beast then appeared, and behaved so agreeably, she liked him more and more."

At the beginning of this character study, we are told that a young prince, who rules from a castle, has been cursed and therefore all of those around him are, as well. For reasons that must be unimportant or irrelevant, he has failed to grow out of his natural infantile narcissism and has no empathy or concern for anyone who has nothing to offer him. He sees no value in what someone offers, if it doesn't immediately satisfy an impulse or a want. 

To him, an old woman with a simple but precious rose is no one to be bothered by, yet a powerful sorceress deserves attention and a display of remorse. In acting as a mirror to his disdain, she is unmoved and takes no pity on him. He is given the sentence of having his inner condition made obvious to all. The rose that was proffered as a gift becomes the symbol of his curse, and is a daily reminder that the time for transformation is limited and running out.

The undiscerning child inside of us can behave in the same way. It can devalue what we may intellectually know to be worthy of our attention, but if it requires time or energy that does not bring us immediate gratification, we ignore it and go back to other things that have a more powerful hold on us. Fears, obligations, guilt, and high standards, whether real or imagined, can expand to monstrous proportions. Our blessings become curses and they leave us uninspired and unproductive. 

We can rule over the small castles we were given or have built up, but they can become gloomy structures that house our frustrations and disappointments. With all of this chaos running around inside of us, we can become rigid in our bound-up pain, and unwilling to make room for our many gifts. 

Continued in Part 3: The Enfant Terrible

The Beastly and the Beautiful Part 1

Many stories that we read or see onscreen serve valuable purposes of helping us to recognize the states that we have been or currently are in. If we are unfamiliar with the myths, legends, stories and narratives, we then are unable to accurately read the scenarios we find ourselves participating in. The classic stories are not just for entertainment value, but stand the test of time because of how well they identify our human nature. Many times, these stories are mined, re-fashioned, and polished for different audiences; however, they are able to keep up with ever-changing societies and technologies. They are not dusty artifacts from history, but are agelessly instructive.

A difficulty that comes with refashioning a tale is when the story is made to end at a point of delight and hope. There seems to be a resolution at hand, but usually there is no way for us to duplicate that resolution and happy ending. Some sort of magic descends, or a fateful blow is struck, and reverses every action that led up to that moment. The despair of "too late" becomes the optimism of "No, wait, because we're all saved and everything will be fine and happy from now on." The magical or miraculous ending suggests that all of the old patterns are broken with one grand gesture and that there is no necessary confrontation with ourselves and thoughtful collaboration with others. If so, then that means we will be imprisoned in a constant isolated state of pining for magic or miracles.

"…the beast was nowhere to be found; at last she ran to the place in the garden that she had dreamed about, and there sure enough, the poor beast was, lying senseless on his back."

Much of the purpose of this blog is to encourage us along our creative pilgrimages, to consider our progress and the difficulties that we encounter.  As we make our way, there are many burdens, and some of them lie inside us. As Annie Lennox sings, there are "so many monsters."  To become better aware of monstrous impulses and self-defeating behavior, I will use a popular fairy tale to shine some light on a monster that can drain of us our energy, despite a sudden activation of energy we might feel when it scares us. The tale is Beauty and the Beast, and the monster in this story is the archetype of the "Enfant Terrible." This is a difficult creature to confront, because it is not patient, timid, nor safe. Yet examining how it behaves is helpful. Learning to use its energies and protective impulses is valuable.

While many people go into therapy because they have a demanding child, above or below the age of eighteen, or they have been forced into therapy because they themselves are the destructive child that is acting out, I believe that we all have one of these beasties inside of us, because we all start out as an infant. Over time, we mature and learn socially acceptable ways to get what we need or want. Yet, sometimes we are in tremendous pain and without resources, so we revert back to acting out in frustration, to the dismay of ourselves and those who witness it. The shame we feel from being exposed at our worst can feed the beast and make it harder to see anything about ourselves apart from his judgment and rule. 

Although the "infant" may truly be terrible, it is a child, nevertheless, and so our instinct is to protect it and take care of it and give it what it wants. However, we also have another beautiful, creative child that can respond to the Beast, and partner with its strength to help us in our endeavors. This post, Part One, has been the introduction of the terrible child. Part Two will be an examination of him, so that we may recognize his presence. Part Three will explore ways of confronting it. Part Four will focus on the Beautiful child, how it strives to be happy, but is also limited, being a child as well. Part 5 reveals how they both are within us, and live through us, whether or not we mean them to, and how they can thrive with recognizable and mature identities.

Continued in The Beastly and the Beautiful Part 2

All illustrations by Walter Crane 1845-1916

Rejection and the King of Masks Part 2

Continued from Part 1

I believe that rejection is at the heart of these dilemmas. There's an inkling that something is about to turn its back on us, through the losses that come with being fired, being ignored, being insulted, being pushed away or trifled with. Sometimes we try to be the first one to beat rejection at the pass and behave as if we don't really want what we want and didn't really mean it when we tried to get it.  We minimize it, and may even scorn it and ourselves. We can participate in firing ourselves, ignoring ourselves, insulting ourselves, and trifling with our own potential and significance. We take our marbles and go home, before all of the other players have even arrived. Carrying that bag of marbles becomes burdensome, and its weight is a stinging reminder that we are feeling unlovable and cast out.

Edvard Munch Separation

Grief, by contrast, is a state that requires our consent. We can avoid grief for quite a while as we try to keep it away by staying in the mode of avoiding rejection, with the masks and mirrors. We can get even and play with our power by rejecting others, just to feel in control. We are rejecting the universe on its terms and trying to reinstate our own. It may feel small, but also kind of good, like a last flailing slap at the wind.

I've often thought that the Kubler-Ross stages of grief is an unhelpful model. Grief is all-encompassing and so are emotions as they cycle through us. There aren't stages, which implies we move from only one state to the next, until we reach acceptance and a final peace. Grief is a state that involves the whole self and it can feel chaotic and piercing. To try to order it into a "model" seems like the folly of a sophisticated system applied to something that can never be systematized.

When we put our best out into the world and it is not accepted or valued, sent back to us, or worse, lost with no response at all, that experience of indifference can threaten to overwhelm and snuff out the spark that dared to be seen in the first place.

The only way that I know to heal the individual wounds of rejection is to consent to grieve. Unlike rejection that we had no control over, grief is something that has a malleability to it. We do have a certain amount of creative control over it. We can decide at times-- not always-- but at times, what form it will take. It has range and borders and material and performance and stillness and ritual.

Rejection can happen as we find ourselves before a boss, a teacher, a spouse, a co-worker, a friend, a stranger, an institution, a social circle, a family, or a mirror. We are turned away, and we find somewhere safe to to mourn and cope. A while ago, one of the ways that I dealt with a rejection was to form part of my grief into a poem. It can apply to many situations, and gives a voice and an image to my experience of it. I didn't write it intending for it to be seen, but it wanted to emerge, anyway. I'm letting it.

Hush

Now,
Even now, if I

appeared before you

white winged, incandescent with hope

eyes shining in the hallways with love

vibrating a hum through my veins

singing wordless carols of triumph

would you call to me even then?

Or would you avert your heart's gaze

and turn it all down, close your lids,

laugh, and tell me to go home

or to unfurl somewhere else,

to beat my heart on a corner

for a passing breeze

or to curl inward

like a leaf

stung to a

hush

© copyright 2011 by Gilded Lily Press

Rejection and the King of Masks Part 1

“Man was born for society. However little He may be attached to the World, He never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by it."

--Matthew Gregory Lewis, The Monk

When you have been rejected, the worst place to be is in front of a mirror. It appears to be saying to you, "See, I was right."

But when you have been accepted, the mirror appears to be saying the same thing.

So, is the problem with us, or the mirror?

Well, it can be both, because when we're not in front of the mirror, we start turning other people into mirrors (I use the word "we" in place of "our human tendency"). When we feel low, we assume that others are looking at us full of criticism. When we feel confident, we're certain that they deserve us. Or we look to them for reassurance that what we feel anxious about, regarding ourselves, isn't the case.

Does that person look at me with frustration or disappointment? Quick, let me look to someone else to see admiration and esteem. There is an exhausting round of facades and reflections in this state of fear and resentment. We are also exhausted with trying to reassure others that we are who they want us to be, so that we won't experience further rejection. Quick, change the mask. In this mode, all that can be hoped for is that we become a quick-change artist, because other people with hopes and expectations are going to show up.

To see a literal enactment of what this life is like, I highly recommend a film called "The King of Masks". It comes from China, where the art of mask-making is sublime-- horrifying and beautiful all at once. I like that it also includes the theme of child adoption, because often, acceptance means adopting a role, in order to please and earn one's keep, or more worrisome, to secure one's sense of worth.

Here is a six minute scene of a performer in China. Hang with it, because the pace picks up toward the end, and we do finally get to see his face. I love the way the music hits a triumphant crescendo when he is revealed. He does appear to be a Master of Mask Changing, yet the tall fire-breathing figure that is raised above all of the performers at the end, unsettles me. It seems like it has something to say about all of this performance, in addition to being a final spectacle.

Here is Roger Ebert's review of the King of Masks.

The desire to be free of this endless whirling is in conflict with our fear of losing what we have been striving to keep-- the acceptance of ourselves and the feeling of acceptance by others. We don't want to lose the very people we're tired of pleasing and disappointing. We worry that without them, without their demands and approval, we would find ourselves to be empty and worthless. Emergence of the truth of who we are, when left alone, can be a terrifying prospect.

Without expectations, and left to my own devices, who am I? Do I truly have worth apart from what I can do for people? If what I can do is not enough for them, then do my actions have value? When is enough ever enough? Why does it feel that the world's appetite for my efforts will never cease, while also feeling that the world is ready to spit me out when I strive valiantly?

Continued in part 2

Don't Save

I'm inclined to want to save people. Perhaps I feel the privileged burden of the "Nice White Lady" of many books and movies, especially when it comes to the power of stories and the written word. This skit made me blush in recognition of this trope, and my own fantasies.

At times when I have heard about or observed a snippet of someone else's problem, I've been activated to solve it. Because someone else's problems are so much more interesting to me than mine, I would rather lose myself in theirs. It is quite a case of removing a speck of dust in their eye while ignoring the beam in my own.

And now that we have the internet, the landscape of speculative problems is even more vast than before. A well-intentioned but hasty message can reach a person immediately and impersonally. Writing a letter by hand and sending it through the post office used to mean that there were pauses along the way when one could reconsider the motive or possible outcome of the message, along with reflection upon the dignity of the person receiving it. Now there is instant communication. With ease comes a measure of carelessness, which has caused many people to reject social media altogether.

One day there was some particular online issue I imperiously thought I could illuminate with my opinion, but after my zeal faded, I lost confidence in whatever I was so sure about just moments before. I closed the message window. When I clicked on that terminal red button, up popped the choice of Save or Don't Save. I asked myself, "What am I doing? I can't save this person! I have no idea what they're up against. I don't have magical powers of insight and influence. I wasn't asked for advice. Who do I think I am?" I chose Don't Save.

But this new self-correction to mentally click Don't Save, after hearing of someone's plight, doesn't sit entirely well with me. Sometimes I have ended up feeling backward and cold. The adage to just "be present and listen" doesn't seem like enough. It usually is, but sometimes, I do have more to offer. I haven't entirely resolved this inner conflict. But one thing that has helped me is the very word, "help." It seems much more human and actually doable and less emotionally charged than "save". It certainly is a lot less arrogant on my part.

If I am truly paying attention to someone, whatever it is that they truly need will become apparent to them without my own presumptions. Along with considerate listening, I can keep my eyes and ears open or ask questions on their behalf. The pulsing blue rectangle in my head now offers the choice of Help or Don't Help. Many times, restraint is the most helpful and appropriate response.

Most people, myself included, want to solve their own problems, albeit with much needed assistance. They want the sense of accomplishment, dignity and assurance that they are strong enough to meet life on its terms.  They don't like the uncertainty of dependency. But there is also an impulse, within this same group of "most people", to consider others and to lighten the collective load. There still exists a chivalry of sorts, but it should be tempered within parameters of humility and courtesy. Noble, Quixotic fantasies are naive, selfish and ineffective. 

Now, when faced with someone in distress, within this new detente between my selfish impulse to save and my selfish instinct to disregard, I find myself in the vigilant middle: I can't save you, but I can damn sure help you.

She Found a Way

Last time I promised you a treat, so here it is. But, I have an ulterior motive. I am also going to continue my point from the last posting.

Here is an example of a photograph made in an interesting way. There might be a trick to it that I could learn about, but I prefer to stay in the dark and just enjoy it. I felt drawn to these photographs, as if they were candles set in windowsills.

 

Light's umbilical   © copyright by Penny Clare

If you thought that my point was going to be that this photographer, Penny Clare, knows a way to create cool photographic effects, then you are partly correct.

But, my particular point for today is to highlight that Clare found a way to create original photographs at all. The photographs are of her surroundings within a bed, where she is confined with a chronic illness. The subject matter is the bed itself and her existence in it from her viewpoint, and not ours. 

She isn't saying, "Look at me making pictures while I lie in bed. Isn't that heroic?" She is showing us what she sees inside of and beyond her sheets, pillows and blankets. There is no invitation to pity, admire, or play at voyeurism, but just "come and see how I see." 

She found a way for us to do that, and how she does that is her secret to keep. What she reveals is that no matter how small the sphere of her existence, nor how narrow its focus, she has accessed realities of life and movement that are not confined to anywhere. She made an agreement with herself to to do this, kept it, and then shared it with us.

To see more of Penny Clare's luminous photographs go to this site: Phoenix Rising, "Out of Darkness Comes Light"

Along the way, you can learn about the illness that keeps her bedridden, one that afflicts individuals and families across the globe, regardless of age, gender or socio-economic status. Because no single cause or cure is currently known, sufferers spend much mental energy searching for and finding ways to maintain or improve their quality of life, in spite of their low level of health.