The Circus: A Landscape Of The Unconscious

Anyone who's ever been to a Circus understands its power to captivate and thrill. But its enduring timelessness and mass appeal suggests that there just may be a lot more going on "underneath the big top."

Taken as a subconscious metaphor, the Circus holds many clues to the unconscious. Each Circus act, in fact, taps right into certain archetypal and timeless human dramas. Think about it. When something resonates with you, it's because at some level you recognize it. The fantastic nature of the Circus lulls us to a more vulnerable and child-like mindset - and yields access to our unconscious mind.

Clowns represent our raw emotions, unfettered by rules of convention or maturity. With rare exceptions, clowns are innocents, reacting to the world from the pure id of their being. Whether happy or sad - their feelings are unmistakably revealed by their faces in bold, colorful and exaggerated expressions. Their gestures and actions mirror this innocence, often with hilarious results!

The exception to the clown-as-innocent - the Evil Clown -- is so terrifying to children and adults alike that he has become a stock character in horror movies. What makes him so insidious is the duplicity of his mask. Because of his clown nature, he is perceived as a safe innocent - he is trusted. When he is revealed for what he is, the ensuing terror is doubled due to feelings of shock and betrayal.

If clowns represent pure emotion in the subconscious landscape, trapeze artists and tightrope walkers represent fears and phobias. There are, according to psychologists, two natural fears - fear of loud noises and fear of heights. In the surreal setting of the Circus, this natural fear of heights comes to represent all of our fears - natural and unnatural. For what is fear of heights if not the fear of death - the most terrifying feeling we can experience?

As we watch these aerialists fly through the air or balance tenuously on a narrow strip of rope, we feel our own fears surface and are torn between the desire to witness "death-defying" stunts or to cover our eyes and turn away. This tension is a ubiquitous human experience - it's the two distinct and divergent parts ourselves that are always at odds. We feel the part that wants to fly battling the other part of us that is afraid of the unknown, of failure, of death.

When we think of fear in the Circus environment, there's another image often comes to mind: that of the brave Lion Tamer. In addition, although his activities undoubtedly strike at our subconscious fears, his role is more important in the context of control and power. As human beings, we have a need for control over our environment. Nowhere is this more evident than in man's desire to master nature - or if you will, in the domestication of the wild. The Lion Tamer epitomizes control, wielding little more than a stick and a whip, he manages to bend some of the world's most ferocious beasts to his will. Who among us hasn't dreamed of that kind of power?

However, perhaps the most controversial element of the Circus is the realm of the freaks. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Circuses and carnival sideshows regularly featured humans with abnormalities and disabilities. During the sideshow heyday, people collected pictures and postcards of famous carnival "freaks" such as celebrity Siamese twins. In today's social and political climate, such overt exploitation is frowned upon, yet the fascination with "freaks" remains. Why?

Although most people realize that Circus freaks fascinate, very few understand their role as comforters. People of low self-esteem can find immediate relief by comparing themselves to the disfigured and disabled. In fact, history is full of examples of depraved indifference and cruelty toward those considered different or less fortunate. The simple and shocking conclusion is that looking down on others makes us feel better about ourselves. A bit on the chunky side? Go look at The Fat Lady - you'll feel better instantly. Annoyed with your brother? At least you're not attached to his head!

I wonder if Carl Jung or Sigmund Freud ever attended a Circus. I wonder what they would make of today's wildly surreal Cirque du Soleil. And I wonder about the future of the Circus. What will it look like a Century from now? And I believe the Circus will exist for generations to come. Because as an outward manifestation of the unconscious mind, it has the power to captivate and the relevance to endure.

Contributed by: ~ Moira Gallivan

Rambling Thoughts from Someone with a Frozen Smile on Her Face

Senseless words are cascading out of your mouth like air-filled bubbles. They are empty and meaningless to me; they evaporate as they leave your mouth, disintegrating into the air, never reaching my ears.

All I can hear is the incessant tick-tock of my watch, strapped to the arm that holds up my head. I am disgusted with this place, this hour-- I want to get out, to leave, and to escape. Yes, escape. This place they call higher learning. This place and its walls of confinement. This place they say you can think for yourself.

As I sit here and listen to you stumble over words to define religion and philosophy-- your idea of religion maybe-- I laugh a caustic laugh at your expense, at the loss of your soul. The cold textbook readings and dry lectures based on stale facts and mere man's so-called theories make me sick. I am ready to break free to leave far-away people who I seldom see and to leave the so-called surrogate family members assigned to me.

I want to take my clogged mind (with all of its problems and insanities bouncing around) and go. To be far from here is all I ask. To get away from fake, sympathetic looks or haughty glances trying to control me or figure me out. I wish people would stop trying to get me to conform to who they want me to be-- I wish I could stop caring what others want me to be-- I wish I could accept myself. You tell us to think, you want answers-- you say so from up there at your metal podium, as if standing behind that gives you power.

I am done, with my thinking for now. My brain is tired. I am done feeling, because it only hurts and leaves me confused.

I think I need a long nap.

Contributed by:~ Casey Manes

The day my children became Teenagers

It's not that I didn't see this coming; I did. But many endings in life come on gradually, with no fixed, calendared date.My youngest child is almost ten and I can't remember the last diaper I changed, the last time I filled a bottle with juice, or emptied a potty chair. The lines between babyhood, childhood and the teen years are blurred simply because you rarely know when something significant is happening for the last time. But one day last summer, the childhood of my 12 year old abruptly came to an end when he suddenly told me to "lay off the kisses will you? "Sheesh! You're acting like we're married or something"

Now let me make it clear, I am not a mouth kisser. I know that many families kiss all relatives on the lips, but the family I grew up in were cheek kissers; I was not laying a bunch of sloppy kisses on this kid's lips, just quick, occasional pecks on his beautiful forehead. To hide my disappointment, I immediately made a joke out of it, walking over to our golden retriever, kissing the side of his head and asking him if we were married now. But I had gotten the point, loud and clear: I was to lay off displays of affection for my most affectionate child. .

For up until that day, that's what he was. When he was a baby, he simply loved being held. While Aaron, my oldest, stopped nursing the moment he learned to walk, Jeremy would have been content to nurse according to La Leche standards. Even when he became an active toddler with a penchant for wandering, what he loved most - when he tired of his peregrinations -- was to be held. By mom. As recently as this past year, he would sometimes absent-mindedly hold my hand as we walked through store parking lots, abruptly pulling away when he realized that he was in public.

And here he was declaring, what sounded to me, like complete emotional independence. My nine-year-old daughter, Abigail, immediately put her own signature on this same declaration by chiming in with, "yeah Mom You should stop kissing us like we're babies or something " Suddenly I was greatly relieved that we had pets. After all, John and I had showered affection on our beloved cat Nathaniel long before Aaron was born. Let's see: two cats and a dog. And they all love me. And, of course, I can always wait for the grand-babies: hmmmm . . . Aaron is 14; if he was married by age 25, the babies might start coming around the year..."

Walking up the stairs, trying to work rather unsuccessfully through the math of this upsetting new development, I realized something horribly selfish about myself. I love children and babies, not only because they are adorable, but also because they are so easy to get along with, so easy to entertain and so easy to win love from. I mean, how hard is it to make a baby laugh? "Peek-a-boo " Or the never-fail put-the-top-of-your-head-into-their-middle routine that gets them every time. With toddlers, you only have to be there and actively listen to their latest babbling about a bug, a bird, a doll or a garbage truck. But the best part is that babies and toddlers can't get enough hugs and kisses. It seems I could never love my babies too much, and they always returned that affection so adorably. Would I never again be invited to kiss those smooth cheeks, those darling foreheads and feel their sweet kisses on my own cheeks? Perhaps now it would be harder to show love for the kids and to receive their love.

Twelve-year-old problems are not fixed with a clean diaper, a full bottle, a good nap and a hug. Although the baby days were difficult in their own way, my children's love for me was never in question, simply because I was their mother. Meeting the needs of babies and toddlers is, of course, exhausting, but it is also simple. Like they are. How would I ever begin to understand and respond properly to the complex emotions of my budding teen-agers?

I decided to stay out of their way for a while. I wanted to take my cues from them, and not vice versa. But before I had completely descended the stairs, Jeremy, oblivious to my inner turmoil, eagerly called me over to show me a funny Calvin & Hobbes strip from his library book. Aaron, my 14-year-old, who was the first to declare displays-of-affection-independence, insisted that I watch X-Men 2 with him that afternoon. In spite of the unforgivable fact that I am his mother, he really likes to discuss his favourite movies and stories with me, something he has done since his precocious toddler days. Abby? She got some dental work done a few days later and I got quite a few voluntary hugs. I think her declaration was a little premature.

Although I will tread very carefully from now on, I'll always be there for them emotionally, whether it means watching a movie, reading a comic strip or giving a welcomed hug. I will try and love them the way that they need, not the way I need. And maybe, once in a while, and only on special occasions, I'll be able to steal a precious little forehead kiss. Let's see now, how many years until those grand babies get here . . .?

Contributed by: ~ Kathryn Atwood

The Artificial Womb

I suppose from the first moment of existence the primary will of man is to avoid pain and find pleasure. This can be looked at as a constant dynamic, which is hardwired into our psyches, by nature itself. From this, I shall conclude that throughout the life span of the human species Natural Selection favored those who maximized pleasure and minimized pain, hence the term “Artificial Womb”. This can be taken in a literal and figurative sense. This is literal in the sense that actual pleasures can be derived from comfort and safety. This term also can be figurative in the sense that our minds ultimately are designed to propagate the genes which created it; this can give a sense of security in many realms of thought. The womb itself insulates us to a degree, creating a buffer zone to reduce the awesome shock of any random reality, and inevitable fate.

Aspects of the artificial womb cross both ends of the psychological spectrum, from the casually superficial to the outright essence of who a person is. Spirituality, religion, beliefs in deities all stem from the desired warmth and protection of the womb. These “safety nets” bring reassurance that everything will be “ok” in the end, that life and your existence is important in the grand scheme of things. These socio-psychological devices, which men have designed to substitute for the lack of actual meaning and relevance.? From the moment of conception we have striven as human beings to recreate a particular sensation, which does not exist; the chasing of artificiality is the ultimate practice in futility. Fictional accounts of characters (The Bible and all other religious text) all served and continue to serve the purpose of containment, let say of ignorance against enlightenment.

Security stems from ignorance. The less conscientious you are, the more secure you feel. Tragedy and pain are created from exposure to an alternate perception of your reality, in other words, the pain of exposure outside of the womb, which was false in the first place. Civilization’s structural foundation is founded on maintaining the collective artificiality of the womb for the masses. Sometimes this is not enough, other modes of maintenance are explored. Drugs, for example, keep those moments of pain away momentarily; this is a literal symbol of how artificial it all really is. As I’ve stated before religion and conventionality are the biggest methods to insure the masses feel secure in their false sense of relevance.

From the first breath at birth to the last at death we search for the warmth, the security, the content obliviousness, which can only be found in the womb. Outside of this, is a harsh, bitterly chilled visceral reality. We forsake logic, lucid thought processes, and honest reflection for disillusionment, conformity and abstractions that keeps us in a daze which seems more pleasurable than the former. Throughout our brief and ultimately irrelevant existences we trap ourselves in the artificial womb, never truly comprehending that it does not exist. I would gather from this, that maybe the unrelenting appeal comes from the artificiality itself. If ignorance is bliss, then enlightenment must be torture.

Contributed by: ~Kenneth Thomas

My House with Kids

Being a parent, even in the best of situations, is not easy and with five kids, ages eight to fifteen; my house can get quite chaotic. Rarely, if ever, does a person around here obtain a single moment of peace, let alone any privacy. Every day and at any given time someone in this house has a problem.

No matter how trivial the issue at hand may be, my utmost attention is generally required. For instance, the constant bickering over petty things never seems to end. Who will watch what on TV? Should this even matter, for goodness sake, we have three televisions. Who sits here? Who plays there? Honestly, who really cares? Somebody is always hitting this one while another is teasing that one. There is the frequent name-calling, which might consist of moron, dummy, or stupid. These are, however, only a few since many of the other names would make a sailor blush. Quite often I find myself amazed by their ability to create such elaborate words while at the same time they seem to be lacking such simple behaviours like self-discipline, manners, or common sense. Walk into my house and you are sure to hear, "Mom, she hit Me." or "I'm telling!" Everyday there is someone accused of taking something; yet, upon my inspection, the item in question is usually just overlooked and sitting right under their noses.

Chores are another aspect in my home that often get overlooked by these five hooligans as well. Naturally, most all day-to-day tasks fall on me if anything is actually going to get done. Laundry is always fun. With three girls forever changing clothes, I am never short of items to wash; and the two boys, well let's just say they really enjoy mud. Trying to persuade any of my joyous children to pitch in occasionally is pretty much a joke. How hard could it be to pick something up and put it back where it belongs? Of course, when there's some money involved, everybody is open to helping out. What the kids do not seem to realize is the fact that if I could afford to pay someone to help with the household chores, I would have hired a maid a long time ago. This brings up another issue; it costs to run all of them back and forth, especially with the price of gas today. From doctor and dentist appointments to ball games, after-school activities, and sleepovers, my mini van is continually on the road.

Patience is something not yet achieved by any of my children. Before they go outside after school, all homework must be completed; however, none of them wants to wait for his or her turn. Instead, each of them will read aloud at the same time. Since I am normally the only person available during these hours, there is no possible way for me to listen to or help all of them at once. When supper nears, I hear a lot of "What are we having?" and "Is it done yet?" As if it makes any difference, they will not sit still long enough to eat it. Depending on whether or not the blessed varmints actually lie down at night, I might be able to get into bed at a decent hour. More often than not, this rarely happens as planned. There is sure to be the sudden outbursts of thirst, which are, always followed by, endless bathroom breaks.

I desperately long for the moment when I can finally sit down and relax, hopefully, with my sanity intact. The stress I receive is overwhelming and continuous, but my responsibility as a parent keeps me going. Even though there have been times when I have felt like running away to a deserted island, I thrive on trying to make sense and order out of this chaos. No matter how minor the problem or stressful the job, these are my kids, and I would not have it any other way

Contributed by: ~ Nikki Phipps