Over a decade ago I chose the name for an educational theatre workshop I was starting, beginning with children, as The Laughing Rainbow.

Behind this title were some very clear ideas about consciousness, life, human experience and Spirit manifest in and as Kosmos.

The laughter was a clear indication of two things–or really perhaps one thing with two primordial aspects. This was the ultimate play of the Kosmos. Emptiness as Form. Lila. And the fact that no matter how tragic and dramatic it all may become there is this awe-inspiring potential for laughter. Release. Ever-present. In Taoism, as I understand it, Yin, the feminine aspect, is always just a tid-bit more powerful than Yang. The 'hard' must always, and will always, yield to the 'soft.' That could be tears or laughter. Joy or surrender. And I do believe this is so when we apply the Yin and Yang to comedy and tragedy. In an immediate manifest sense, we see this on Saturday Night Live all the time. Very often the funniest sketches are based upon the most dramatic movies that rocked the culture. On really good nights of genius they are based upon dramatic and tense events in mainstream cultural life. There is something about the tension and struggle of drama being released or surrendered into utter comedy that when this transformation occurs, the best and most joyful hilarity results. In a higher or deeper sense there is something sacred or divinely ecstatic about this. A Laughing Buddha. Emptiness in Love with Form, which it hated just a few minutes ago. All tragedies will end in a divine and gentle, ultimately releasing, Laughter or Comedy. Or simply in Softness, Love and an unspeakable Smile.

So, the laughter was sort of a principal and a promise, something deeply Kosmic and Spiritual. And it was also simply . . .well, we do call these things plays. We can realize and discover ourselves, or even just simply enjoy ourselves–perhaps a novel idea sometimes these days!–in an aesthetic modeling of our own Kosmic play. Bring the children up on this and there will certainly be something better about the world.

The Rainbow idea, however, had many meanings. In one sense it was the endlessly varied and variable hues and shades and combinations of emotion (or Affect, in a broader sense of the word) and its relation to human experience. We live this varied palette constantly. Paint its colors through action and reaction, interaction and Karma out of our own lives and the stuff of this living Kosmos. The Rainbow is the primordial Elements of Emptiness as Form–far more that just cosmic physical elements (strong nuclear, weak nuclear . . . oh, I'm so excited). Life, Consciousness, Feeling, Desire, Relationship and Emotion. Through the endless sport and play of Eros and Agape out of the stuff of Tragicomic Kosmic Majesty.  

But the other idea behind it was indeed both the Vertical and Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness.

While we have the Vertical Rainbow of Consciousness well represented and emphasized in AQAL, there is something about the Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness that . . . doesn't ring with the vibrancy that it could or should yet. Something about "lines" is pretty dry and maybe even uninspiring. "Streams" is better. Streams in the River of Live is definitely better. But emphasis on The Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness is, in my opinion, even better. AND, could go far in building friendlier relations with our old pal Vertical Green. This is an aesthetic potential.

It's not an accident that I speak of this Horizontal Spectrum as an artist. Start throwing the talent streams in there and look at them in a manner akin to Howard Gardner and indeed the great beauty and diversity and Reality of the Horizontal Spectrum starts to shine, like a bright beacon in the night; like a bright rainbow colored beacon in the day! Like Spirit smiling forth as Kosmos as opposed to (strong nuclear, weak nuclear) cosmos. Coloring the world–the modern and postmodern world, even in Flatland–in a way you had never dreamed.

It is more than clear that AQAL not only includes this Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness, but is more inclusive of it than anything else we yet have. But somehow, perhaps because of immediate need of emphasis on the Vertical Spectrum–which is, of course, a reality and understandable enough–something about the beauty, diversity and vibrancy of the Horizontal Spectrum gets lost. Like lines are just some cold hard auxiliary fact of reality that we've thrown in because we had to. When, in fact, this is far, far, far form the case. I suppose my main critique: it just doesn't spring to life like it could or should.

The problem, as I see it, is a common criticism of Ken Wilber's work going back decades, but I give it a bit of a different twist here: it is too easily read as Orange. Or maybe better, too easily felt as orange and the "clincher" seems to me to be the manner of emphasis on, and elucidation of, the Horizontal Spectrum. Somehow it is too easily "comes off" as orange or even just "feels" orange. Don't get me wrong. I'm not bashing the model as many of these inept critiques do. I'm looking for a way to bring it to life even more and by so doing begin to infect the consciousness in this Kosmos with it. (Does that make sense? . . . Mmm. Yeah, I think it does.)

In my own estimation, this is in part behind Howard Gardner's recent criticism of Wilber in Five Minds for the Future.

" . . confronted with one of Wilber's texts, I feel myself strangely antagonistic . . . When everything connects to everything else . . . one is hard pressed to make priorities, distinctions, illuminating comparisons."

While I do not agree with the full import of Gardner's critique (and will not venture a counter-critique here), and indeed matters of either depth (States) consciousness and insight or altitude (Vertical Spectrum) can be cited (and in many cases, must be cited), it is this "strangely antagonistic" feeling that I think is a valid critical point, because it does arise and has arisen again and again. Folks get worried that this is just way to orange or even amber. I think we can do better with that. (Then, at least, we'll know it really is all their fault. : - )

I think that can change a great deal in simply taking note of the formalistic perspective and asking: How well has the content been realized and communicated in the form? How well are we highlighting, vividly, and communicating not just that "everything connects to everything else" but that we do still make "priorities, distinctions and illuminating comparisons?" And not just that we make them, but that we make them better than anything else that has yet come forward.

The AQAL model of "lines" is, in scope, FAR superior to Gardner's seven to nine intelligences. The potential application to all Four Quadrants and Eight Zones is also a far more encompassing model than Gardner's overall beautiful inclusion and accounting for them in Multiple Intelligences Theory. Integral Methodological Pluralism is also more inclusive, differentiating, precise and encompassing than, say, Gardner's highly diverse Eight Criteria for identifying and distinguishing an intelligence, which is composed from key methodologies of multiple disciplines.

But I do think, in terms of formal literature, or aesthetics, Gardner wins the prize for the items he mentions, "priorities, distinctions, illuminating comparisons." One walks away from Gardner's work feeling an explosion of Diversity with a capital D. And in a way, as far as I am concerned, like nothing else you have ever read. Feeling and seeing and being brought to experiencing the awe-inspiring diversity in Nature, Life, Kosmos and Human Being–child, to adult to sage –and even very vividly and clearly in animals. In AQAL we would further apply this to Angels and Deities, Muses and Platonic Forms. Etc.

It's not that these are not there is AQAL, it's just, again, an aesthetic or formalistic critique. There is a feeling that this is missing, and it's really just a matter of emphasis and communicative description. So, my solution? Emphasize the Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness more and more and in more vivid and creative ways.

Past or present critiques is not the only reason I say this either. The Horizontal Spectrum–the Lines–are vivid and alive in everything we should see and know. I, in fact, think that, despite the obvious contributions of mountain dwelling and cloistered monks and sages, they, like 20^th Century developmental psychologists, tended to emphasize their own skills as the locus of Spirit and realization as opposed to anything else.

I will try to make that clearer. Gardner, for example, was very much driven by the fact that he was stuck with the reality that the entire field of developmental psychology saw their own strengths and profession as the locus, measure or y-axis of development or intelligence. Today we still have a huge over-emphasis on standard IQ as the measure of "intelligence" when the test takes only into account, primarily, math skills; one line of development, with lesser emphasis on a few more like space and language. But this is the Horizontal Spectrum of Consciousness at work. No matter what level of consciousness one arrives at–or Band in the Vertical Spectrum–the Horizontal Spectrum is still a major factor. Thus, even at Ultra-Violet, I still see the Kosmos as composed of Divine Math. If I am a musician, I may see the secret to the Kosmos as the components of Music. Richard Boleslavsky, an actor, dramatist, devotes an entire chapter of his book to what is basically a description of the entire Kosmos from a vision-logical altitude as composed and operating off of the quintessential elements of dramatic intelligence. Thus, again, his specialty in the Horizontal Spectrum is seen everywhere, or as the most important thing, no matter what level. If you're Daniel Goleman, perhaps emotion is the ultimate realization of God as Eros and Agape or either of the two.

What is important here, I feel, is that the lines, the Horizontal Spectrum is consciousness, in a horizontal diversity of such. An individual with what is known in music as 'perfect pitch' (or absolute pitch) is conscious of the fact that, say, a piano is tuned 3hz lower or higher than it should be by standard measure. This, while the rest of us, have absolutely no idea of such a thing, and hardly care. This individual is conscious of something that we are not. Levels will not necessarily reveal that element of reality to be conscious of either. We can be ultra-violet and still not be conscious of that super-precise and domain-specific distinction. (I think. . . . Maybe I have to reach ultra-violet to see. But we really don't have sages or siddhis saying this sort of thing. It took a Bach to give us the twelve tone scale. An Einstein to give us quantum physics. A Thespis to give us drama and comedy.)

And perhaps the main idea, the Horizontal Spectrum is Spirit Itself manifesting as Diversity in both Kosmos and consciousness. Emptiness and Form. This same idea, of course, can be applied to all of the lines, or at least that's how it would seem. Morality is a specific consciousness of something. Something different than emotion. Something different than the periodic table of elements.

One challenge may be that emergence into second-tier as Teal needs only to see a listing of some two dozen lines of development and say "Ah God! We must all realize them all!!!" But from a Turquoise, maybe even higher, perspective self-actualization may in fact be something quite different. Just as people have a right to arrive at whatever Band in the Vertical Spectrum they are going to arrive at and remain there as a Station in life, so too, most people are only going to develop one or a few Bands in the Horizontal Spectrum and have those lines or streams in the Great River as the focus, emphasis and specialty of their life. There is always going to be a Kosmic explosion of horizontal diversity. And Spirit does seem to really like it this way. Or at least that's what it needs and wants to do, or winds up doing at any rate.

A look at how human beings emerge –i.e. as children –seems to emphasize this as well. The idea of a "well-rounded" exposure and education is nothing new. And there certainly is nothing wrong with dancing and playing within as much of the laughing rainbow as possible. And indeed, this is a priority as we move forward and evolve as human beings. It is indeed 'the next step.'

But somewhere we will, I believe, settle into the more diverse fact that Johnny's Spirit is realized in sports, Jane's in poetry, Ginny's in psychology, Bartholomew's simply in being everybody's friend. And that's fine. Emphasis on the strengths and diversity of Spirit in the Horizontal Spectrum is what leads to advance in the Vertical. Maybe even more so than the other way around. But then, eventually, to more realization of the Horizontal. Then the Vertical. Then . . . Levels and Lines are inseparable, although highly distinguishable.

We are all, and shall remain, ever, awe-inspiringly Unique, as is every moment and AQAL situation, occasion, thought our bubbling moment of Spirit as Life.

Emptiness are we as Form within the Laughing Rainbow . . .

Howard Gardner, Five Minds for the Future, 2007, Boston: Harvard Business School Press, p. 62

Richard Boleslavsky, Acting: The First Six Lessons, 1949, New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 115-138

. . . Association with Psychoanalysis

Only AQAL can do this. It was Flatland and Boomeritis-and an historically bad relationship with Amber-that brought the idea about in the first place. And, we should add . . . only in America . . .

Have you guessed yet?

Try this one. Who in their right mind would believe that the true and genuine and only possible key to the "true" art of acting is to "break down" all of your "barriers" to first person "feeling"-those "barriers" that evil parents beat into you with their horrendous "rules," gross dislike of  "self-expression," onerous "boundaries" (curse them! curse them!!!) and society with its horrifying "oppression" of your "feelings" and "truth" and, oh, . . . (arms wrenched to Heaven) . . . you'd have been such a good actor, oh a grrrrrrrreat actor! from the start! if they had just left you alone to freely "express" yourself in your true and natural, uninhibited, oceanic, beauteous state of "genuine"  . . .f . .f . . f.f .f . feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelings? (Which once again, nine-times-out-of-ten, are only of the most tragic sort, and if not that, the other favorite in dramatic circles . . . destructive rage and anger.) Know the answer yet?

Let's go for one more round.

WHO in their right mind would not only usurp one highly specialized scientific profession of which it genuinely knows nothing (in this case, psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, etc.)-but no matter, we're so brilliant-replace another centuries old profession with confused, backwards and contradictory ideas about both, oh and then, yes, you guessed it, declare itself now the greatest ever in history, thus rendering into oblivion every last scrap of progress and evolution of the art form contributed by the labors all those dumb, "inauthentic," un-"true" folks who ever attempted the act and realize a thing or two about it before?

Need we continue? You have guessed it. The answer is

Boom - er - I - tis.

Ah, yes, that lovely tradition which has since declared that, anyway, the only character you can ever play, the only human being worthy of the stage, screen, bright lights, camera and an audience which must pay for the tickets is . . . You. Are you in love yet? You should be. Because every great dramatic work of art ever written, it turns out, after all, can only really be all about YOU. 

Okay sorry, enough sarcasm. (Clear throat. Arms no longer wrenched to Heaven.)

It is imperative that the art and profession of acting be rescued from its current, now 70 years longstanding, association with psychotherapy. Please-it is imperative that the dignity and integrity of psychotherapy-for the love of God and mankind-be rescued from acting! Are you really willing to put your money down in a wager that there has ever been an "acting teacher" who was also a licensed PHD in psychology? No seriously-as a resident of Las Vegas, please go ahead and put aaaaaaaall your money down on that one. ;-) How about this: if a child close to you is deeply disturbed, someone is having marital troubles or a loved one is verging on a schizophrenic break . . . are you really going to call . . . an actor!

Actually, I shouldn't even ask that one because I know that some folks in the home audience will actually be answering "yes."

Here. This is from an appropriately titled book The End of Acting in which Richard Hornby has been one of the few to put in print what some of these "barrier" breaking and "releasing" session are like.

"An extreme example of the emotional release approach to actor training was reported in New York in The Village Voice in 1979. An acting teacher named Paul Mann, whose classes included such techniques as group nudity, allegedly had sexual relations with his students as a method of "releasing" them."

(Ooooooooh yeah! Who wouldn't wanna get in on that!)

"Had he been bisexual he might have gotten away with it, but students noticed that the "special sessions" in his private office were limited to the female members of the class, and the more attractive ones at that. Interestingly, after the Voice exposed this outrageous "teacher," other acting instructors were quoted as saying Mann's approach was perfectly reasonable; they too had sex with their students. In this they were being logically consistent; if the goal of actor training is the release of real, honest emotions, then rape by deception is certainly one way of achieving it."  

If we cannot reasonably and sensibly rescue acting from its association with psychoanalysis-which in AQAL terms is to say, from the idea that the key to great acting resides buried deep within a subconsciousness located in zone#1 and only zone#1-or that the proper approach to acting lies somehow in zone#1 altogether-the art form, acting, is doomed. 

No art actually holds its key in zone#1; otherwise anyone undergoing psychoanalytic catharsis or perhaps satori, et al should then be able to come out of the session a great composer, a great sculptor, a great painter, a great actor. Why do we believe this about acting and no other art? The answer is pretty simple: we have never properly understood the actor's talents and abilities. Like every other art form, the key to great acting is located in zone#5-is located in a specific and unique, dedicated un-conscious cognitive mechanisms and pattern recognition systems not even available to introspection; a capacity necessary and available to all, but highly acute and sensitive in some. Actors don't "release" personal zone#1 feelings. Utilizing a dramatic intelligence, they construct great performative artworks out of affective expression patterns and broader affective rhythmic patterns and movements between individuals and across scenes and stories that they are highly sensitive to re-cognizing and thus artistically inhabiting. These patterns come out of life or even fiction and physically embodied reproduction of them uses exactly the same system you use to smile when you're happy, or to communicate such to another in any way. We speak of neutral, psycho-physical patterns that can be used in any desired or applicable manner and both this writer and the reader use them all the time. If highly sensitive, they do bring with them a powerful and unique energy; impulses and desires and inspirations to somehow release them ( e.g. the impulse to act), but the system has also been empirically implied in its effects upon imagination and memory. But these are not zone#1 structures or realities.  Just as a painter works with spatial patterns, a composer sound and musical patterns, the actor works with affective patterns. These patterns and this dedicated cognitive system are actually the very same thing which allows you, as an audience member, to apprehend and respond to an actor's performance-or anyone's expressions of affect in real life. (Which incidentally, are always present, and impossible to get away from. So it is not a matter of having them or not. It is a matter of utilizing the correct and most exciting ones for a dramatic or comedic performance or role.) It can be impaired in conditions such as autism, Alzheimer's, schizophrenia, stroke or severe right brain damage involving distinct areas, etc.

I am currently near completion of a two part essay, hopefully to be published in AQAL Journal, which explains this; integrates the evidence, that is, for a dramatic intelligence. I am not sure this work will have any effect upon the MGM, but there have been boisterous dissenters to the psychoanalytic tradition since day one and they continue. And, it is true that the thrill of it all-me as the center of the drama (even if someone wrote it 400 years ago)-is dying for more and more. But that I am aware of no one has ever used an AQAL approach to look for and gather evidence-cognitive, neurological and otherwise-to answer this question. (It is also true that there are broader cultural implications also,  since this two part neurocognitive evidence of which I speak has only begun to receive scientific inquiry since 1975. That's part of the Flatland deal. No one in the applicable areas ever seriously supposed that there was actually an organic interface for the expression and apprehension of emotions between two or more individuals, not only in human beings, but also in most primates. Yet now, even as we speak, AI specialists are working hard to try and model this extraordinary system which supports these crucial areas of our lives, and which has been the source of the actor's abilities all along. AI and neuroscientists can tell you it's the special ability of the actor too -since it is actors they hire to conduct their experiments when applicable. Although, it might sometimes be hard to find an actor these days who is able to present :-)  :-(  :-0   without psychotherapy first.) There was a famous statement made by one of America's greatest 20 ^th Century acting teachers, Stella Adler; that it would take a hundred years to undo the damage of the onslaught of this 20th Century belief and approach. AQAL has the chance of correctly directing the way. But we need to rescue acting from its association with zone#1 and psychoanalysis. Even the mention of such, since this is still what is now being taught to future generations in universities et al, it must be cautioned, is not at this time a very good thing.

Now, do I believe a great experience and performance of acting can . . . do incredible things for you psychologically and emotionally? 100%, without question, absolutely. I have seen people fully and completely transform the entire direction of their selves and lives from one (properly directed) artistic experience on stage. My own life would actually be a testament. I do think, even highly believe, that dramatic (and comedic!) work has the power to transform like nothing else upon this earth. I can also think of no better engine of development within schools for learning, mobilization and utilization of every intelligence and consciousness stream that exists just about. (That's actually the reason it's so potentially transformative and translative. Strangely, to inhabit fiction requires more life than to actually inhabit life itself.)

But more and more, in light of the evidence that AQAL and an Integral Methodological Pluralism alone has helped to uncover, I just do not believe that what can occur as a result of acting-that is, as an art form performed for an audience-is at all the same thing as can occur as a result of psychotherapy. (Drama Therapy, Play Therapy, etc. are all things not intended to move and entertain an audience. That is, we hope.) The psychoanalytic equation with acting has proven nothing but an absolute failure. We can enthusiastically admit some incredible transformative release of energy, balancing of emotions, etc., which, yes, could be said to be "equivalent" to five years of psychotherapy in some way. But . . . not really more than any other flow or performative experience . . . it's not psychotherapy . . . it's not the same thing . . .  it's acting.  Well, allow me to give a first person example.

My own personal greatest experience and achievement as an actor to date was many years ago when I had the chance to play the character of Alan Strang in Peter Shaffer's Equus. It does not happen to an actor often that he can, as it were, literally "sight read" a role and especially one so difficult. But for some reason with this one I could. There was something about this role that I felt from the beginning that all I needed to do was just memorize the lines and "say" them. (That's not so great, by the way, for the psychotherapeutic actor, because "we are beautiful, in every single way, words can't bring us down . . ." Oh, anyway .. .) That is, somehow everything about the potential performance of this character was just completely clear and explicit to me. Awoke in me creative emotions, inspired me to creative performative work. This is not some casual thing either. Alan Strang is a deeply disturbed, semi-psychotic young man in a mental institute. And the reason he is there is for the heinous, crazed act of blinding six horses with a hoof pick. Why did he do this? Oh, it's a field day for psychoanalysis! Apparently he is deeply sexually repressed by his weird, weird, weird, dry, repressed British parents ( I didn't write the play ;-) but here's what's funny: I don't even remember the details. I don't think I ever even understood them fully! But to continue, somehow or another this character's psyche is all locked up in God as sex or something or other, but to make things ever WEIRDER he is sexually aroused by horses! And he also sees them as God! Yes, that's right. So much so that in the dark of night he steals away from his parent's house, takes a particular big, burly and muscular, magnificent horse out of the stable where he works during the day and rides him naked through the misty darkness until he has an ecstatic religious orgasm! What makes him crack, however, is his an actual healthy attraction to a human female, who is also attracted to him. He knows nothing about this type of sex, really. They go to the stables to have sex, he freaks out due to his confusion and arousal and the fact that oppressive, jealous, horse-god is "watching" them and flips out and kills all the horses.

Okay.

Typical psychoanalytic "acting" theory would say something along the lines of the fact that to play this complex, tragic-psychomaniac role well, . . . what? Find out of my zone#1 psyche the feelings of all those times I rode on horses in the dead of night naked having religious orgasms? Or something equivalent? There's a speech in the play where Alan actually describes his arousal and attraction to horses. Hmmm. What am I gonna do? Go find a stable and sit there until I get religiously and sexually aroused? Ah . . .yeah . . . I'm afraid that would RUIN the role if not-as is often the case with the lovely psychoanalytic acting traditions-send me packing to the psychiatric ward myself. No. What about the psychotic frenzy at the climax and then the-as called for by the script-spasms of deep, cathartic, weeping, hyperventilating, psycho-emotional release and maniacal catatonia that ends the show? Such, or anything equivalent, has never happened to me. How am I to find this in my 1 ^st person, zone#1, Freudian psyche? Seriously. Or if I do, how in the hell after that am I supposed to perform the role?

This is not some funny thing I speak of either. I personally have seen actors reduced to preverbal states and then attempt to get on stage to "perform" a bit role that had only ten lines-none of which this actor could even say. After the show-and after frightening all of the rest of the actors back stage-indeed this person did have a nervous breakdown with most of the audience still there to witness it. (Other members of that particular cast would wait a few months before having theirs.) A great forgotten French actor of the 19 ^th century once wrote a quip about another actress who in an interview claimed and insisted that as she acted on the stage everything was really and truly happening to her, was completely real emotionally and physically. The interviewer then asked, "But what happens when you die?"

I had to do all of three things with this role beyond memorizing the lines (in addition, of course, to learning the staging, etc.). I had trouble learning the 1970s Double Mint gum song for some odd reason (I had it in my head differently); one of the co-directors informed me of a line that had been misread (i.e. where wrong inflection changed the meaning, or rather right inflection clarified the meaning I had interpreted incorrectly) and then in the horse "I'm hot for you" speech I decided to use a mental image that meant something to me. (These things are personal to actors-don't ask. . . . Okay, it was Playboy centerfold. Speak of imaginary horse, think of Playboy centerfold.) The image worked well, people said this quite nausea-inducing scene/speech gave them goose-bumps ( art) and beyond that . . . for some strange, odd reason I simply understood everything else. The mania, the passion, the anger which was deeply repressed terror and confusion, etc. etc. The PATTERNS of all of these emotions and their associated behavior were simply like some kind of a song that my entire body and being were able to somehow, and with excitement and ease, assume. Why? I will explain this in a minute.

I was told in this role I was consummate. I actually received letters from (regional level) audience members expressing how powerfully moved they were by the performance, and beside the fact that it was at a few moments exhausting, it was really fun. Well, I'll go further than that; it was an actor's dream to perform. The associated, liberating, exhilarating and goose-bump inducing affects of this role, from way back when, come right back to me now as I describe it. But why was it so? Actors don't get dream roles like this every day. Roles that they can sight read and perform consummately not only with continual excitement, but comfort and ease.

As it turns out, only now, while I am completing my study into the nature of dramatic intelligence, as a result of past experiences I DO have associations with mania. Serious, horrendous, nightmare, psychotic mania. Even, in fact, in my early childhood. Wouldn't ya know it. My mother, in fact, battled with severe depression, psychosis and eventually all out schizophrenia from the time I was born until about the time I was about five years old.  But why did I never think about this nor ever make ANY association with it in the playing of this role? Further, the playing of this role DID NOT release whatever is still buried in my psyche regarding those early experiences. (And remember, they didn't really happen to me.) Released some energy? Maybe. Balance? Sure. Existential assimilation? I think so, absolutely. But in no way, shape or form did the performative source of this role have any direct zone#1 relation, or release. Were it so, last summer, facing the advent of my parent's 50th wedding anniversary, and long over-due family reunion with the people who went through this real life trauma with me, I would not have suddenly for the first time in my life felt myself really growing crazy because of it. In other words, the legitimate psychotherapy work regarding this event has still never occurred. And at times, the dark shadow, repressed so far not even to be felt for over 30 years, authentically begins to show. I acted a crazy person. I did not perform psychotherapy. Nor did the role accomplish such.

The source of an actor's talent is simply exactly the same as the source of the musician's, etc: un-conscious pattern recognition systems, highly sensitive and acute which can be traced to zone#5. i.e. inside the brain. We actually have a lexical affect "vocabulary" stored in these unconscious cognitive systems and this is what we use to express affect every moment of every day, and what the gifted actor intuitively and instinctually uses in a gifted performance.

Heilman, Blonder, Bowers (from the Florida Affect Battery):

A radiant smile, a piercing scream, a looming upraised fist! In humans and nonhuman primates, the ability to decipher the meaning of nonverbal social signals - facial expressions, tone of voice, body posturing - is present very early in life and remains relatively stable throughout the adult life span. These nonverbal signals form the basic elements of a highly evolved and complex social signaling system that enables socially driven creatures to "read" the intentions of others ( i.e., threat, acceptance) and at the same time communicate one's intentions [and affects, attitudes, etc] to others. Over the course of normal development, the complexity and the nuances of this nonverbal language rapidly evolve . . .

We have argued that specific neural networks exist within the brain that are particularly concerned with deciphering the affective meaning of perceptual signals (facial expression/tone of voice). In our view it is primarily [. . .] the right hemisphere of humans that contains a "vocabulary" or neural representations of these nonverbal affect signals. We have referred to these representations as the "nonverbal affect lexicon." . . .

The overall network appears modular in organization . . . Broadly speaking, these affect representations are just one component of a cortically based affect processing network that is dedicated to reading [and communicating] the nonverbal social displays of [and to] other members of the species.

The role of crazed Alan in Equus was performed out of neutral patterns which had as a result of the experience of the same (or similar) in my own life left representations within my personal zone#5 lexical affective vocabulary. My mother's mania, without my even being aware, added itself to my affective vocabulary. Thus, when called upon, and without my knowing it and without the slightest disturbance to zone#1, I was able to "speak" this particular role.

Why and how then was the performance moving? Because, as audience, your own un-conscious zone#5 cognitive affect pattern recognition system HAS NO CHOICE but to start telling the rest of your brain and consciousness, "my god there's a psychotic in the house!" and signal the body, etc. to respond affectively to that "fact." There's another zone#5 mechanism at play here also; that is, the one-which can also be impaired-which allows you AND me to consciously engage in FICTION. This is the mechanism that allows the rest of your brain-neocortex and rational mind-to say "This is just a play" even while you are on the edge of your seat, overcome with emotion. This is developmentally graded, however. Mrs. Sarah Kemble Siddons did scare ladies in the audience so much when she played Macbeth that they fled the theatre in terror . . . This is also why amber has never been so fond of actors. I did not release nor touch upon mania in any way. I merely sang the tune, and in this instance sang it well. Singers usually enjoy singing. Actors usually enjoy acting.

Stanislavsky had a name for this. He called this "secondary emotions." But he did not have the knowledge and resources available to him in his culture and time to validate, clarify and affirm what he meant. (Nor could he have imagined Boomeritis though he clearly warned some of his ideas could be misunderstood.) 

Acting needs to be rescued from all association with psychoanalysis. Integral has this opportunity. Not only is the zone#1 subconscious NOT the source in reality of any great performance (do we really see people leaving the psychiatrist's office and suddenly saying "Guess what!? I'm ready to play Macbeth!"), but I will tell you first hand, even the most inspired of performances does not accomplish the point of and necessity for genuine psychotherapy. 

The shadows of my mother's mania still abide within me. They were not released in this consummate performance. And somehow . . . I do not suspect that delving into such would be as much fun . . .

References:

Richard Hornby, The End of Acting, 1992

Peter Shaffer, Equus, 1970

Benoit Constant Coquelin, Art ad the Actor, 1915

Constantin Stanislavsky, An Actor Prepares, 1980

Dawn Bowers, L.X. Blonder, K.M. Heilman Florida affect battery, 1999

Dear me, dear me. Here we are at the end of the soon to be historic I-Izaadz blogapalooza and I'm supposed to deliver the last word. (Gulp!)

This event has been so spectacular thus far it gives me goose-bumps. Not only have all the blogs been brilliant, but the responses equally as brilliant. How fortunate to be a part of a community made up of so many dorkishly inclined as myself. (What d'you guys do for fun? Oh, you know, we have big events where we talk about "worldspace" ... Ummm. Okay, check ya later!) But it was only a kind of fluke that I ended up being the last post here. Pelle and I made brief spontaneous contact and he offered me the spot and said "You'll get the last word." Why, how could I resist being handed a silver platter awaiting (my) the last word!  But from the first word of this whole event I have been deeply humbled, am thankful and remain in awe and I have scarcely had time to even read it all much less begin to write something. Thus, now I'm stuck trying to peel something off as quickly as possible and ... well, let's try. Pardon if this is just a stream of consciousness ... however much of that I can muster ...

What do I know about worldspace ...? 

 Happy Birthday?

There was a commotion. Perhaps that is not the right word. But I was aware that everyone around was focused on the same thing at once and they were rather excited about it. I didn't really know what was going on, but it became somewhat apparent that this communal focus, filled with happiness and excitement, was directed at me. I was sitting at a specific angle, facing the door leading out to our side porch. Then amidst the excitement the tall man went out on the porch to where I could no longer see him, and reappeared with a smile on his face, looking at me and holding up a blue stuffed bunny. He made sure that my attention was drawn to it and the chorus of voices coming from other hazy figures seemed excited about it too. It was for me. And in a moment there was a bright flash. I was sitting in a high chair and it was my first birthday.

The memory of this moment has stuck with me ever since, though to even describe it I have to apply language, perspectives, contexts and referents that did not even exist in my world at the time. In truth I did not even know who "these people" were. ("These people," because that's about the best way to express the thought.) I think I was aware that "these people" called the tall man Dad, but that is probably retro-interpretation of the actual moment, beginning not to many years after. At that moment -and this I know for sure since the same lingered for quite a time after -I was not even sure who I was ... Who and I didn't exist. But I know that this was my first birthday because years later I would suddenly put two and two together with a photograph; a picture of "little me" sitting in a high chair in that exact spot in the kitchen with a cake in front of me that had a single lit candle on it. I would eventually ask my parents years later when exactly they had gotten me that blue bunny -which we had for so many years after -and indeed -"You remember that!?"

But despite no I or who I can assure you that I was not "enlightened" in this worldspace. I was simply there, aware and in a strange sort of indescribable way (here's the key word) confused. And the look on my face captured in the photo betrays this (i.e.WTF is going on?) For years worth of memories that still hold there was the consistent thought of "who are these people!?" In fact, I even have a distinct memory of speaking to my brother and confirming with him "I'm Tim" right? I have a load of memories of "this woman" who would do all sorts of things with me; sit me on the bed while she laid on the floor in front of that box thing thing and moved her body all around while the lady inside the box directed her and told her what to do. If I recall, I think they called it "exercising" (early 1970s style). I also remember standing on top of "this woman's" legs and trying to keep my balance and/or impulsively demanding that she hold me or let me sit on her lap. Eventually, "these people" would emerge as something completely different. They would emerge as brothers and sisters with names and histories and obviously the ones that were called Mom and Dad - to whom all people went for help and assistance with life problems and difficulties. 

Emerging Worlds

Many years later I made mention of these sorts of early memories and a friend of mine said he was "very interested in what the world looked like to you at that age!" He was pretty certainly, I think, looking for signs of Buddhic enlightenment. My answer at the time was that the most striking thing about it all was that familial relationships "had not yet been formed." This was important to me at the time-that is, in the worldspace from which I answered this question- because I was still very much in the process of deconstructing the "conditioned" nature of those relationships -while taking the "conditioning" or "learned" or "taught" part of it all as the key to the entire story. (i.e. There are no parents or brothers and sisters! They're just unenlightened people who teach you they are such because they stupidly believe such and in the process screw you all up from your basic purity which people keep telling me is supposed to be enlightenment.) Now I would say that to the perspective of the one year old in the high chair, brothers, sisters, mothers, father, much less aunts, uncles, neighbors and in most instances even names, just did not exist. "These people" were there but, literally, my brothers, sisters, mother and father could only be called intrinsic features of the environment. To them, in their worldspace - there were certainly brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers and I was one of the brothers from the start . . . and that's the interesting and fun thing about worldspace: so many differing worldspaces can co-exist in the same place at the same time. (Don't know how that works out from a strict postmodern, post-metaphysical view, but you get the point.)

Take my house, now ... (please! no, just kidding).

What exists to the ferrets? Well, for one thing, what does not exist to them is the trouble their owners (my daughters) will get into if they don't take care of them. Care, compassion, responsibility, "trouble" and certainly owners don't exist. That tasty crunchy stuff does ...(but not the money it costs to buy it.) To look at another, I'm sure I'm not alone in fantasizing about the life and perspectives of a cat. How nice to be able to sit and look from such high places and fall asleep in such cozy and curious places any time you want. Yet, just this week one of our friends asked us to "cat sit" for him while he went on vacation. Vacation does not exist in kitty's worldspace - nor does "just being watched for a week" exist to our other pets. Thus, upon arrival, all of them freak out! Where am I? (Rrrrrraaaaaaarrrrrrooww! Hiss!) Who are you! (Growl. Screeeetch!) An intruder! An animal intruder! (Bark, bark, bark, bark, row, row, row row! Pant, pant. Let me out! I gotta go pee!!!!! Bark, bark.) Etc. To the little human beings, at first, yes, this fluffy thing is scary. (Especially when he is hissing, scratching and growling at all the terrible threats to his safety.) But soon it becomes apparent what does not yet exist within their wordspace - animal abuse! And yet somehow we do all manage to get along ...

There was a time and worldspace when if you "needed money" what you did was go to the bank and the nice people that lived there would simply give it to you. Work existed but it was simply a place where father and some of the adults went during the day. No reason, they just did. Legal ownership didn 't exist, but ownership by other virtues certainly did. "Get out of my yard!" was the center of more than few scuffles or arguments, or "You left it in my yard, it's mine," as if this is the unspoken law understood by all. Later, refutes emerged: it's not yours, it's your parents! I'm on the sidewalk it's public property! (Whatever public meant. No matter, it at least means I'm safe from your rules and control!) And whatever happened "these people" now known as Mom and Dad would be able to handle it. There was a time and worldspcae where I wondered why the adults didn't play with toys? They answered but I still thought they were crazy ...(later the reasoning emerged that they exist to buy toys and food for us! Then later . . . toys suddenly became really boring . . .)

If memory serves correct I can recall a time when I was merely present with "these people." Later I had a mom and dad and that was a good thing and "mom" and "dad" were also their real and only names. Later mom and dad (who some people called by other names) were more fearful -for to them you answered if you got in trouble. Later still they emerged as people who had been doing this for a a long time, and had histories dating back to long before I had even been born. (Same with those brothers and sisters.) Later still they were fools conditioned by society and unable to do anything but condition me the same. And later still they were human being always, no matter what, doing their best to live from moment to moment, from infancy to the present, within the Kosmic mystery, experiencing the same joy, hope, love, grief, confusion and sorrow as we all do by nature in this same mystery despite vastly differing worldspaces and histories. Each time "these people" emerged differently.

Ever a Challenge

Some worldspaces are more fun than others. There was a time when I was so certain of who I was and what I wanted to do with my life. Then later came a time when none of that any longer held up. Good god nearly everything I had believed just may not even be true. I recall the end of the Religions of the World class in high school. At the conclusion I could clearly see that each and every one of these religions (Christianity, Judism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Toaism, Islam) made perfect sense and also emerged in their own cultural and historical context that made it make perfect sense ... yet they all disagreed. Thus, you would never be able to find the right one or the one truth. Nobody knew anything ...

And then there was the time when the universe emerged as a vast and endless living system of systems of systems of systems, no matter where, no matter what as far as the eye could see (and the eye itself was just another system in a system of systems). It was beautiful and awe inspiring and, it could make sense. It had to make sense ... It did make sense ...

And then there was the time when I was just so sure I had everything in order. How cool and collected I was, how wise and informed, how truly growing, healthy and spectacular and what's more, still in a humble sort of way. Things looked ever exciting from this worldspace  ... and then some unsuspecting subject was brought up to me ... and before long, after some mounting and truly intensifying agony ... it became apparent that I'd been deceiving myself for nearly my entire life ... something terrible had happened, way back when I was too young to even process it, too young to even speak of it, certainly too young to understand ... but it was still me back there ... and I'd cast it into the nothingness of shadow for 90% of my life ... and it wasn't something little either . .. it had literally ruled me in so many ways, in so many choices, in so many fears, in so many ambitions, in so many relationships ... so much of my own history had been, in the face of this reality, a terrible sham ... I was a sick, sick, scared and confused boy ... and when two and two had been put together I wept ... and wept . . and wept ... like a baby, like an infant, uncontrollably ... seventeen years worth of emotion poured forth ...seventeen years worth of fear and sadness ... seventeen years poured forth in a matter of agonizing hours ... but I at least knew I should attempt to do nothing to stop it and so did nothing to stop it ... Peter Pan wanted his shadow ... I certainly hadn 't wanted mine ... and yet, despite the agony and the regret and the eventual self-forgiveness (and other forgiveness) ... from the very instant of the breaking of the dyke ... it was nice to feel I was starting to become whole ... authentic, True and genuine ... it's not the greatest and most desirable history ... but it was mine ... and at least I would no longer be pretending it wasn 't, while all the while it drove me and followed me. What is so curious is that I finally realized -perhaps the better word is acknowledged -I knew all along. I knew. It was right there and I KNEW! Each and every single moment ... but this mind mechanism -and in part be thankful that it is so -was somehow able to protect itself by blocking it ... it had helped me survive ... amazing ... but it was now time to realize that an important part of me had still been living in a different-ultimately outdated- worldspace.

And I also learned from this that you can change the past . . .

And then there was the time when I knew I was trapped; trapped by my feelings and desires. Oh, I was so in love, it just woudln't ever go away. But oh, it was never going to be. How could I escape this? There had to be a way. It was killing me. It just simply could not be the case that an organism is struck, trapped, locked within the whims of its pain, feelings, longings and desires. That would be absolute hell. Somehow there had to be a way out ...

And then I remembered the poetic instruction from a certain song:

love,
simply love,
merely love,

love . . .

What made me do it, I don't know, but I simply said - okay.

And all at once the crushing torture of the feelings stopped.

Everything interior to me stopped.

I remained breathing, my heart beat, my eyes blinked, the blood flowed . . .

but inside there was absolute - nothing.

I sat up.

Could this be?

Did this just really happen?
I checked. It had.

There was literally nothing - and what an unusual phenomenon.

I was overjoyed and in awe but without the feelings-

feelings would have disturbed this stillness, this silence, this ... complete cessation.

And so I just laid back down on the bed. Intending to stay with this as long as possible.

And then it started ...

From my chest I felt this unspeakable energy,
it both emerged and I fell into it ...

it was touching the core of the universe ...

it was the core of the universe ...

and now I realized it was everywhere and everything ...

for it always had been

the universe itself, in all of its immensity
was suddenly revealed

for the funny little speck that in really always was

in comparison to his vast and illimitable ...This

And I could see all worlds arising from This,

and evolving to This,
and evolving becasue of This,

and only ever being This,

and only ever moving, searching, wandering and wonderig for This,

though This itself was only what was doing the moving, searching, wandering and wondering,

every though, every word, every event,

every sensation, every sorrow, every laugh, every smile,

every birth, every death, every joy, every relationship,

every rule, every role, every -take you pick, it didn't matter

There was only This

and Only This was all that everyone and everything ever really wanted,
and looked for, and lived for, and woke up for, and slept another night for,

they all were and it all was This to begin with and ever ...

I could see the limitless expanse of evolution,

this was driving it, but this was it,

this was where it was going

And whoever it was that was so troubled and confused before,

only because he couldn't see This,

now realized he was This,

and there was nothing that could be wanted,

for everything was already had,

because all there was was This,

and This is what he was,

There is no word for This,

But I can tell you my preferred word,

for it was the only explicable word that had arisen to me -

no doubt influenced by cultural contexts-

but none the less perfectly appropriate,
and accurate,

though always inadequate,

it was Love . . .

And all worlds arise from, within and because of the Love,

and there is nowhere to escape from it, because it itself is doing the escaping,

and there is nowhere to run from it because if itself is doing the running,

and there is no way that you would ever not want it,
because it itself is doing the wanting or not wanting,
and it is the only thing ever to want, or not to want,

All words and all worlds arise from, within and because of This,

and so if you have to choose a last world, or last word

might as well choose the first world and first word,

although worlds and words can't remember their own names, remember who or what they were, and there is no first or final

in the Face of This Love.

From the blue bunny to "these people" to birthday parties, to the bank to the toys,
to every worldspace that has arisen ever since and whatever has arisen within it, and will ever arise ...

And so now, no matter what world, I rest in knowing ...

And it doesn't seem like there is much else to say ...