SEPTEMBER 7, 2011. After writing about the Magic Theater, I’m figuring out plans for a seminar, how it can best be done, the setting, etc. Meanwhile, I continue to expand on the subject…
In the course of a normal person’s life, he attributes power, and therefore, energy, to things, processes, and people outside himself—increasingly so as he grows older.
This is laughingly called maturity or realism.
Actually, the process is mostly carried on subconsciously. Therefore, the person doesn’t quite understand what has happened to his own energy. He just knows he has less of it.
Of course, the basic premise here is that he has a certain finite quantity of energy, and in attributing it to Others, he loses a corresponding amount.
“I find out that Others have a lot more energy than I thought they did, so I have less…”
Which is absurd, because he can produce new energy.
In the Magic Theater, it’s so interesting when the person plays the role of someone to whom he has attributed a great deal of power. All of a sudden, he IS that person and he begins to experience the lost power and energy again, as he speaks FROM that character.
It’s a reversal. And quite often, a revelation.
We look out at the universe and we see and feel enormous energy there. But we make a comparison: all that energy THERE; much, much, less energy HERE. This literally sets the stage for our conception of our own role—a lower energy role. A role in a much smaller space.
This is the machination so many people fail to understand. We create the dimensions of the stage on which we perform our lives.
“I fit inside the world. I fit inside the universe.”
“There is this large, large space, and I live inside it in a tiny area.”
Yes, you do, as soon as you define your role that way.
But how could one define it otherwise, except as a vague intellectual proposition?
BY TAKING NEW ROLES.
BY ENTERING INTO THEATER.
BY ASSUMING A ROLE OF GREAT SPACE AND ENERGY.
And this is where dialogue is so important. When you SPEAK FROM such a large role, old defining and limiting energy configurations in consciousness break up. They no longer apply in the same way. They were there to bolster the much smaller role. That’s how we define our roles—by creating interior spaces and energy boundaries and shapes to cement in the roles.
There is nothing intrinsic in universe or ourselves that implies boundaries around what we can become or do. It may seem that way, but that’s the trick we play on ourselves.
None of this has anything to do with biology or brain paths or genes or the body per se. It has to do with conception, how we conceive of what we can do. The scope of it. The size of it. The energy of it.
The energy-projection exercises I offer in Mind Control, Mind Freedom, and The Transformations, if practiced on a consistent basis, can revolutionize that conception.
Look at the manmade myths of ancient societies. Apollo, Venus, Ra, flying dragons, Krishna, on and on—these are all figures of great power. People attribute power to them and then, correspondingly, invent stories about their own severely limited power. How convenient.
Breaking the chains…enter the Magic Theater, where you can play Apollo, Venus, Ra, the dragon. Where you can enter into a dialogue and speak as those figures of power.
I’m always amused when someone says, OH I COULDN’T DO THAT. Really? Are you kidding? What do you think you’re doing when you pay ten bucks and walk into a theater and watch an action/fantasy film up there on the big screen? Do you really believe those characters, those moving images have life independent of what you give them there in the dark? Do you really think you’re not momentarily merging with the heroes and becoming them? When you go to a concert, do you think you’re not merging with the music?
These are “becoming exercises,” and a thousand years ago, Tibetan magicians were practicing them every day.
To extend the practice, now, you enter the Magic Theater and actually SPEAK AS AND FROM those characters.
And now we come to an interesting crux. Because you see, people do merge with “roles of power” but they don’t want to admit that. They want to keep that fact in the dark. They want to do it secretly. They think admitting what they’re doing would be embarrassing. As adults, they’re supposed to be beyond that.
But who invented those roles and figures of power in the first place? Children? No. Adults.
Without too much of a stretch, you could say that adults invent the space and dimensions of their own lives by secretly projecting power to various other “greater personages”…and then living out the consequences of that action. Adults project power, in order to convince themselves they have no power. Yet another absurdity in a long string of absurdities.
Which is better? This dim charade, or the hyper-real magic theater, in which we finally speak as the power we have surrendered?
I once worked with a family, where the power relationships were causing all sorts of problems. So we went into theater. I staged a series of dialogues, in which the kids and the parents played each other. It was touch and go for a while, and then the whole thing turned into comedy. The dialogues were quite extraordinary, as these people turned out to be fine actors. They knew each others’ roles perfectly. You could feel the energies shooting around the room, and the laughter was explosive. Finally, when the whole thing settled down, the people realized, as the son said, “we’re all crazy.”
But not anymore. Father and mother assumed their rightful positions, the kids fell into line—but without force or threats. It wasn’t abject slavery or anything resembling it. Each person had become stronger and smarter. Each person was certainly freer. The right people were making decisions in the right situations. The daughter, in particular, underwent a personal revolution, after she played the role of her mother in the dialogues. The mother had basically been the tyrant in charge, and the daughter loved playing her. When the mother saw herself reflected back at her, through her daughter, she calmed down and dropped her “dictatorship of fear.”
The daughter told me she finally understood why her mother had turned into a monster—because somebody had to take charge in the family that was becoming an out-of-control mob. The father got the most out of playing his rebellious son, and told me he loved that part. But now he didn’t need it. He could actually be a father.
The two kids and the two parents were able to become a family, because nobody was claiming the others had all the power. That had been worked out through dialogue. It had been experienced. All four people had been power hungry, and at last the hunger had been satisfied. They got that message.
The last I heard, the mother was wearing, at Sunday dinners, a T-shirt that said I USED TO BE A MONSTER AND IT WAS GRAND. They built little dolls of each other and burned them in effigy. They told me it was an occasion for much joy and glee. I’m sure Child Protective Services, had they known, would have arrested the parents and sent the kids straight into foster care. But that’s the difference between the play called Government Bureaucracy and what can happen in the Magic Theater. Most people just wouldn’t understand. So be it.