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TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART I PART II PART III What does it take to overcome fear? In a word, listening. Learning to quiet fear and to listen three-dimensionally - to one's own inner voice, to others, and to the environment - is a practice we call creative listening. Universal in nature and applicable in any field of endeavor, creative listening is an essential skill for lawyers, teachers, ministers, artists, athletes, corporate executives, spouses, parents, anyone who has to think on his or her feet - and communicate. Tested in a wide variety of contexts, creative listening has proven to be nothing less than the essential discipline of creativity itself. How we stumbled upon this discovery through dance improvisation, and how we learned to apply its practice to virtually any pursuit, is the subject of our story. How many of us have had to face an audience and perform without a script, making it up as we went along? Performing improvisationally is not most people's idea of fun! But we are all called upon, sooner or later, both to think creatively and to perform publicly. At the very least, the small and large crises of daily life compel us to think on our feet. By using movement improvisation as a means, this book explores the central discipline of creativity: listening. And it confronts the main obstruction to creativity: fear. Creativity is essentially the practice of listening without fear. Within this practice lie immediate answers to any situation where creative imagination or problem solving is required. Our power is defined by the number of options we have and our ability to perceive them. The more options we see, the greater our power. By closing down our receptivity, fear obstructs our perception of options and, thereby, disempowers us. It blocks our access to our one unlimited source of supply, the ideas and intuitions of the improvisational mind. As an ideal state free from fear, the improvisational mind is our true source of power. In this receptive state, we find our resources always fully available. Taking advantage of these resources is what appears to the world as creativity. Listening implies an openness of mind, a state free of prejudice and fully alert to the present. It connotes willingness rather than willfulness and includes qualities such as receptivity, vigilance, expectancy, flexibility, vitality, trust, poise, patience, empathy, and compassion. This is the creative state. To clarify our terms, the act of listening without fear is referred to here as creative listening and the state of listening without fear, as the improvisational mind. In sports, this alert, relaxed mental state is called 'being in the zone.' When we are 'in the zone,' we are present to whatever is happening here and now. In this mentality, there are no mistakes. If we stumble, the stumble becomes the 'dance.' Discerning, but not judgmental, the improvisational mind pays attention with interest and curiosity to whatever transpires. Gaining critical perspective is an important aspect of every creative endeavor, if not every human experience. If handled judiciously, such perspective will greatly enhance the creative process and product. If handled unwisely, it can be a destructive force. Critical perspective is vital for three reasons: it can clarify our own thought to ourselves; it can expand our thought beyond our habitual predilections; and it can help make our work more accessible to others. We all have within us a 'creator' and a 'critic.' The creator is that inner voice which loves to play, experiment, and explore unhindered and unchecked. This voice is counter-balanced by the voice of our critic, providing discipline, perspective, and often an invaluable 'reality check.' The first lesson we had to learn in Sonomama was how to uncover and handle fear. The second was how to reconcile the roles of creator and critic. Listening quiets our fear, frees us from self-consciousness, and awakens us to the present. These three effects of listening provide us with the presence necessary for both creativity and effective communication. Successful communication is dependant in large part on successful performance, and performance is all about presence. When we undertake any public presentation with an improvisational mind, even a presentation well rehearsed, listening will give us a sense of presence, and the performance itself, an air of freshness and spontaneity. The single most vital component of performing is our focused attention on the here and now. Any performer, artist, or athlete knows the folly of compromising this presence of mind by dwelling on the past. Clinging to the past, either with nostalgia for a real or imagined good or with regret over some perceived mistake, deflects the performer's attention from the task at hand. Humility and discipline are required to let go of the past. The game, the dance is all. Anything really attended is transformed - and transforming. The power inherent in attention is art's secret. This power is the means by which art influences individuals, society, and culture in general. Attention is also the foundation of interpersonal dialogue. When individuals are listened to, they feel respected and valued. Whether we do or do not receive this kind of attention profoundly effects us all. The influence of listening on children is especially apparent. Children who are never given the respect of undivided attention find it difficult to respect or even to hear their own thoughts. Just one person in a child's experience who will listen quietly, without any agenda but to understand, can and does change - even save - lives. Fronting the uncertainty of the unknown is what made every performance with Sonomama Improvisation Dance Theater so scary - and thrilling! Whenever we went on stage, we never knew which dancers from the company would join us, what parts the musicians and lighters would play, or even what our own roles would be. We had no theme, no plan, nothing but our attention to the present and our willingness to listen. Our only hope was to take things 'just as they were' and be open and ready for whatever arrived. Be it a crisis situation, a performance, or a relationship, the most dangerous moment is when we stop paying attention to what is because we think we know what should be, and then try to force the issue. If we make the mistake of assuming we already know what the improvisational situation is all about, we risk missing signs of both its unexpected pitfalls and its possibilities. Synchronicity, spontaneity, and vivacity go out of our interactions in professional or personal life when one party attempts to manipulate another, or takes for granted what the other will think or do. Any vital working relationship is in spirit an improvisation in the face of the unknown. At first glance, creativity would appear to favor the new over the old, invention over memory, with its sense of continuity with things past. From this perspective, it would be reasonable to conclude that memory itself, not just fear, is an impediment to creativity. But actually, depending upon our attitude toward it, memory can work as readily for creativity as against it. If memories are of positive experiences, or of difficult ones through which we have gleaned valued lessons, they will tend to strengthen our trust, faith, and confidence, and thereby enhance our ability to listen. If, on the other hand, memories are fearful or seductive, they may arrest our thought processes, closing down our receptivity to the new. None of us needs to remain trapped in the past. By humbly and earnestly listening to ourselves, one another, and the greater physical, social, and spiritual contexts of our lives, we can use our memories - whether positive or negative - as a point of departure into something new, into something liberated, and upon reflection, larger and more meaningful. As we are not our fears, we are also not our history. What we hold in consciousness now is what we experience ourselves to be. And that can change. An idle state of mind, we believe, possesses a hidden potential, essential to imagination. Entered into with the improvisational mind, idleness is the very seedbed of creativity. What we are contending here is that creativity depends upon listening, and that our ability to listen depends upon a mental state of idleness. We cannot listen optimally with a cluttered mind, or in the clamor of the marketplace... Traditionally, our elders have feared that idleness leads to dissipation, or worse. But certainly, not to creativity. Indeed, early Church fathers declared 'curiosity' a dangerous sin. Why is idleness so threatening? Perhaps, we are afraid of the potential 'nothingness' involved, and would rather the hyperness of diversion or the security of old habits and routines. We would prefer working hard at the 'same-old-same-old' to the possibility of a flare-up of imagination. What is the key that unlocks our creative muse? More than any one thing, it is the mental state of receptivity. In our improvisational work, we have found three progressive stages of receptivity, which one by one open the way to creative thought and action. The first stage is giving up on our own personal ability to make things happen, and just letting go. The second is turning our focus away from self-interest, or fearful self-concern, towards the practice of listening. The third is embodying in practice the ideas that emerge from our listening. Achieving a state of receptivity is no small task for any of us. It requires courage and humility, the willingness to grapple with fear in ourselves, in order to attend non-judgmentally the concerns of another. At times, this may seem a stiff price for simple receptivity, but paying this price is the precursor of every serviceable work, the principle thing enabling us to be useful in the world - even creative. The question of will is central to creativity, especially as it affects the delicate balance between vitality and surrender that is the mark of the improvisational mind. Successful improvisation, whether in art or in life, hangs on the differences between a willful, a willing, and a will-less act. In the practice of creative listening, we have found that to be 'willful' or 'will-less' are really two sides of the same counterfeit coin. But to be 'willing' is something else altogether - the real currency. Both willful and will-less attitudes are fearful at base. One is overbearing, the other, spineless. In contrast, willingness represents neither the ego-directed position of willfulness nor the ego-defeated position of will-lessness. It is a responsive position. Willingness is self-contained, but receptive. It has the energy of willfulness, but without its aggressive rigidity. It has the yielding quality of will-lessness, but without its lifeless passivity. The willing state of mind neither dominates nor is dominated, is neither master nor slave. The distractions of fear that cross our path daily are numerous and often subtle and seductive. But to realize our creative potential, we must learn to stay focused, to maintain our mental alertness and listen. Resisting the temptation to become sidetracked requires a continuous, disciplined presence of mind. Three of the most common distractions in the practice of creative listening are a sense of personal responsibility to generate creativity, a need to control others in order to succeed, and a fear of judgment. Of all the distractions we face in improvisation or in any other creative endeavor, the fear of judgment is among the most aggressive. Chery: Wendy was a dance major at Wesleyan. After graduating, she worked in New York City for a time, doing office work while dancing and choreographing on the side. Eventually, she made a sudden decision to return to school for a graduate degree in dance. As she perused entrance requirements and application deadlines, she was startled to realize that one university was holding an audition the very next day, the only audition offered for next year's program. In haste, she called to place her name on their applicant list. When she arrived on campus, Wendy was expecting to participate in a dance technique audition. To her astonishment, she discovered everyone else was nervously rehearsing an original solo which each candidate had choreographed to perform before a panel of judges. Wendy had no dance. And it was now or never. When it came time for her solo, Wendy presented herself before the judges and explained her plight. She stated that instead of foregoing her opportunity to apply, she would perform an improvisation. The other applicants in the room looked on aghast. She took her place on the floor and began with the quiet, centered, inner focus she had learned from her study of improvisation as an undergraduate. When the dance concluded, she stepped up before the judges for their response. At first, no one spoke. Then one judge asked, "Are you, by any chance, from Wesleyan?" Astonished, Wendy blurted out, "How did you know?" "Well," the judge replied, "we have all just watched you create something out of nothing!" As it turned out, Wendy eventually chose another institution for her Masters study, but in the years that followed, her story became an inspiration for Wesleyan dance students and professors alike. Ran: There is a story in the Zen tradition of a young acolyte seeking enlightenment. He had heard many stories of a particular master, renowned for his magnificent pottery. The pots he created, it was said, were of transcendent beauty. The young student had never seen this master's work, nor could he find anyone who owned a single piece. He began to wonder why. "Maybe his reputation is just a legend," he thought. "Maybe this 'master' is nothing more than a myth. Or worse: a fraud." The young man decided he would have to find out for himself. He traveled to a remote mountain village, where the master was reputed to live, and was directed by the villagers up a steep, rough path to a small hut. As the young man approached the dwelling, he came upon piles of disfigured pots littered about the premises. "With so many failures," he pondered, "what kind of master can this be?" The youth made his way as quietly as he could up to the open door. As he peered inside, he saw a room completely bare except for a potter's wheel. No pots anywhere. An unassuming figure, wizened with age, sat at the wheel working. He was so absorbed that he seemed not to have heard the stranger's approach. In silent, perfect concentration, he began to turn the wheel and shape the clay before him. As the young man watched, a shape of the most astonishing loveliness rose up between the old man's hands. It was like a living thing, the most exquisite object he had ever beheld. When the potter had finished, he sat back and observed the pot. The young man stood in the doorway spellbound. Then with one swift gesture, the potter grasped the pot, mashed it in his hands, and hurled it out the door. "What have you done?" the young man gasped, stumbling into the room. "I have come all this way to see your magnificent works, and what have you to show? Nothing! Nothing but globs of clay! Where is your life's work?" he demanded angrily. The old man looked at him quietly. Then he stretched out his empty hands. How to convey a state of mind or any conceptual reality using finite forms, such as clay, words, or movement, without resorting to literalism, is a perpetual dilemma in all artistic, psychological, and spiritual disciplines. After all, however perfect, a symbol is not its subject. The word 'tree' is not the tree itself. A pot is not enlightenment. In a time when, day in and day out, airwaves scream with the politics of fear, we are all increasingly at risk of becoming victimized by what President Franklin D. Roosevelt called the fear of "fear itself." Regardless of our physical or social circumstances, none of us is truly free without freedom from fear. But often in today's political climate, there seems to be no sanctuary, no place to hide from the assault of fear on individual consciousness. When we are afraid, we feel robbed of control, even the control of our own thought processes, and this usually leads to feeling victimized. One distinctive characteristic of this 'victim mentality' is a sense of powerlessness in the face of danger. The most direct way out of fear's victimization is to make our first priority the sanctity of our inner mental space. In order to create and preserve that sanctuary, we must watch the suggestions that come into consciousness and learn to say "yes" and "no" - "yes" to listening and "no" to fear. The sanctuary found in listening without fear centers and balances us, placing us at the helm of our own thoughts. The most successful, indeed, powerful leader is one who listens. The same is true of an effective subordinate. Unfortunately, people in all walks of life too frequently believe that having a position of authority gives them the right to lead by fear. Who among us has not, at one time or another, had bosses or colleagues or even subordinates who attempted to get their way by bullying those around them? In 1970, Robert K. Greenleaf published his groundbreaking essay, The Servant as Leader. Here he identifies ten critical characteristics of the 'servant-leader,' the first of which is listening. According to Greenleaf, a true leader does not sit at the apex of the managerial pyramid dispatching orders. Greenleaf believes lasting power comes from the 'bottom up,' turning the traditional pyramid on its head. In Greenleaf's model, the leader's role is not to manage and control other people, but to help them manage and control themselves. Listening, not the person in charge, is the source of power. The freedom to fail is what makes learning possible. No new territory is blazed without it. The trial and error of experimentation, so essential to creativity, is at the very heart of learning. Traditional learning, with its emphasis on the transmission of information and general theory, does not necessarily come with the good judgment to use this information wisely, the ability to apply it creatively, or the qualities of character necessary to put it successfully into practice. Along with knowledge of our past and present world, how, then, do we develop wisdom, creativity, and confidence? We know of only two ways: through listening and examined experience... In the long run, an education comprised of nothing but second-hand learning has serious limitations. This is not to say that reflection and analysis have no place. Indeed, they are fundamental. They provide information and perspective, and they develop a student's reasoning and critical capacities. But facts and logic alone do not prepare us adequately to make the important decisions of our lives. Thinking and talking about life are light-years away from living it, and even further from living it creatively. When it comes to intimacy, we must begin with ourselves. No matter who or what or how the other person in a relationship is, intimacy is not possible for us if we are not there... Intimacy begins not with the presence of certain, specific people or circumstances in our lives, but with our own presence of mind. It begins with paying attention without fear to that still, small, inner voice. Once the foundation of inner listening is established, our attention may safely expand to embrace others, indeed the world, in the intimacy of improvisation. And listening without fear for ourselves, we will find intimacy everywhere. It has been our contention throughout this book that creativity is not a talent reserved for the gifted few; it is a discipline that can be learned. Unlike most disciplines, creative listening is applicable to virtually any situation and endeavor and is as vital to cultivating community as it is to nurturing creativity. In our Creative Listening workshops, as in our lives, we have repeatedly witnessed how the success or failure of human interactions is determined not so much by the presence or absence of differences, as by the presence or absence of listening. How often do we take a moment to step back, especially in the midst of disagreement, and pay attention with true appreciation to another 'just as they are'? But what a gift we give and receive in this one small act.
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