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No Limits

By on April 6, 2012 in inspiration, nature, philosophy, random thoughts, spirituality, Uncategorized

A human being is part of a whole – called by us the ‘Universe,’ a part limited to time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest – a kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty. 

~ Albert Einstein

image: Leonardo Da Vinci

I recently posted this to Facebook, where a friend commented that it’s a difficult task to be limitless. Yet I think in some ways this is the very thing we most, in the deepest recesses of being, want for ourselves. It almost feels like an imperative, driven from a need to yearn for limitlessness, like the Universe possessing a longing to express itself through all its life forms (we humans likely being the most recalcitrant when it comes to a reception of that nature).

And what is it that makes us perceive ourselves separate from, say, the snail? Many agree it’s because humans alone possess a rational mind from which springs thought. Reflection. Emotion. I love my mind; thrill at its accomplishments – how I can, for example, pick up a set of pastels after having put them down over twenty years ago and render a decent portrait.

I love crafting words into sentences – tweaking this and cutting and pasting that. I love that birds can fly and have such an expanded view of the sky and the forest and sea – but I wouldn’t actually wish to be a bird. Instead if I could, I would project my consciousness into that creature enough that I could experience flight without distressing it in any way. But as a bird, I would be exposed to a great deal of uncertainty as well as having too short a life span to grow beyond my species’ limitations.

The human mind can rule a person to such an extent that some of us truly do forget quite easily (thus the optical delusion of consciousness). We forget where we placed our keys, but also we have difficulty in connecting with our primal origins, which is another form of forgetting, perhaps a kinesthetic one. To free the mind, I must be willing to release that which I once felt supported me. The walls of personhood begin to crumble, and who am I, if not my history, my heartbreaks, my victories? Yet these are the same walls preventing me from granting a greater power more direct access. Ironically, relinquishing walls gifts me with a wider freedom and ease. But it can be alarmingly unfamiliar too, and I have a built-in resistance to change that must be DNA-deep (though I work to soften it daily).

As I open and relax into expansiveness, I discover other, deeper layers that begin to soften as well. Yet words and concepts are one thing. Actually embodying this sort of magnitude of change takes practice. But as it becomes more familiar, it feels right, somehow. I begin glimpsing how my own life works. Conversely, I notice the underpinnings of others – their pain and suffering at living illusion and making it real. I know. I’ve been there. Now I can wish for them to awaken to that spacious beauty within, just like the trees and the ocean and the wind. The forest becomes my home, as does the sea (and, when I fly in an airplane or in dreams, the sky). This home is sacred. Thus I seek balance – not just for myself, because I do not exist outside the cosmos. What is personal extends beyond boundaries to all of life – for we are all dancers in this great cosmic experiment.

image: homeinteriordesignthemes.com

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YOU ARE THE DIAMOND

By on February 21, 2012 in inspiration, relationships, spirituality, Uncategorized

image: cheekyangels at flicker.com

 

From birth to death, life is steeped in paradox. Like the diamond, we begin as fairly humble material. As human beings grow to physical maturity however, the depths to which one may be moved in acts of loving kindness is matched only by another’s capacity for venomous hatred. The creative expression of a Michelangelo and the destructive acts of a Hitler can melt our hearts with joy or sorrow in their turn, as we are ultimately confronted with our own proportionate creative and destructive potential. Most of us live somewhere in the muddy middle, though we all experience thoughts which constantly draw us to and fro, back and forth between right and wrong, good and bad, love and hate. Yet as surely as a lump of coal quietly strives to become the diamond, we are drawn to the refractive brilliance of the polished gem within. For the human soul, transformation holds that kind of allure.

We live in challenging times. Figures such as Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden personify our collective Shadow. The war on terrorism uses fear and aggression in an attempt to eradicate these undesirable elements and, in the process, becomes a representation of the Shadow, itself. Patriotism has become just another excuse for righteous anger, but there is no such thing as a holy war. War itself is the most unholy act on the planet – the taking of lives, many of them innocent, in the name of justice.

We might discover common ground with our enemies, but this cannot happen until enough of us face the harsh reality of our own inner foes. The Shadow is part of collective consciousness. We cannot eradicate it; we are dealing with a primal force. We can, however, face it in ourselves and work on accepting, loving and integrating our denied qualities. At this point in time, might we break the tension of extremes? War feeds Shadow elements of hatred, oppression, prejudice, racism and more. When we chase that Shadow outside ourselves, we collectively energize leaders to point fingers at.

How might we encourage transformation on a daily basis? Fear of our own quixotic nature may be the single biggest obstacle to the changes we so desperately seek. How might we unconsciously sabotage our own noble efforts? The process of disentangling threads of fear which intersect the fabric of our lives is onerous as it is rewarding, and there are few shortcuts. We can only face what comes to us and do our best. Like a lump of coal, we are imperfect. Remembering the potential of that coal however, we refine our character over time by meeting ourselves and others as honestly as we are able.

Goethe asserts that behavior is a mirror in which everyone shows his image. All human beings share common emotions. If someone’s behavior triggers us, our power lies in being able to sit with feelings that emerge, rather than blaming that individual for possessing elements denied within. Labeling another may ring true, but searching inside for these traits gifts us with the power to transform them. As we heal through acceptance and unconditional love for ourselves, we are able to witness character defects in another with greater compassion and unconditional reception. As we practice this skillfully, the most resistant among us opens to communication. We become examples for others to follow. We become what singer/songwriter Carole Isis terms diamonds in the heart of all life.

 

(The following link will lead you to Carole’s performance of You Are The Diamond):

watch?v=KKtA-h_MTnk&context=C36bef40ADOEgsToPDskJWZZjCNeTsBicms23OSDoc

 

                       

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And So It Begins

By on February 15, 2012 in health, nature, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized

image: richeast.org

 

Born into a world fraught with duality, none of us spring fully formed from the head of Zeus the parent. Instead we labor, step by step. We learn, the slowest alongside the fleet of mind; plod through our lessons from walking to speaking to writing. In a single day, an infant will gurgle with glee, howl with abandon. Blissful in repose one minute; tiny fists pummeling the air at what cannot immediately be satisfied, the next. Is duplicity our fundamental nature? Or simply an illusion brought about by living on a polarized planet?

Challenges increase with age. Again and again we reach for the warmth and comfort of the light, only to be cast back to earth like Icarus with melted wings. If defeated by darkness, we seethe in a self created Inferno, buried alive in our own mental excrement – awaiting renewal like a bear in its den. Invariably just as Spring follows Winter we resurface – rising like the phoenix from the ashes – only to discover the dance continues.

 

 

If we fail to grasp the inevitable facts of our existence – that we are here to learn and grow and that this growth most certainly will involve adversity, we remain poised over a widening gap in consciousness. If we wish to experience integration and a modicum of sanity, we learn to roll with the soft body of emotions. Becoming the observer of the mind while remaining grounded in the body physical gets us through the most challenging of times.

We know what it is to feel pulled beyond our limits. At times it seems as though we might spontaneously combust in a situation or condition whose duration seems without end. And even though I know by this stage in my life that this too shall pass, I am given to wonder with each fresh challenge if the duration increases with each subsequent travail, until I am food for worms – transforming me even then into something wholly rotten and at the same time wholly new!

In The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, Sogyal Rinpoche speaks about the bardos, or in-between stages typically associated with a time when our eyes close on this world. And yet he reminds us that this life, too, is a bardo. What we learn, our practice in this life, prepares the ground for our death and what lies beyond.

 

image: jeffspirit.com

 

I don’t believe we are meant to be defeated by darkness, anymore than the creatures of the ocean are doomed by a life in the depths. Darkness exists in nature in far greater excess than does light: the endless expanse of the heavens, the shadows in the woods, caves and the human womb. From the depths derives our potential, bursting forth like stars, pinpoints of brilliance birthed from an inky matrix.

 

 

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Metamorphosis

By on February 8, 2012 in life, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized

Transformation. We hear it, see it, maybe even feel it – but how does it pertain to us personally? Does it imply that our lives will completely change? Does it require us to alter the way we think and speak? Does it mean we’ll have to leave a marriage, say goodbye to old friends? There are all sorts of renderings that take place in life, whether we embrace them or not. For transformation demands change: change of condition, form, appearance, nature or function. Metamorphosis ensues when something has outgrown its skin; outlived its purpose.

We cannot control what others do or say (though some of us spend the better part of our precious lives trying), but we can control our responses. It may not be easy, but we can transfigure ourselves through honest self evaluation. This requires reflective time spent alone – where meditation or prayer give rise to conceptual expansiveness and self forgiveness. While it is never easy to admit to less savory shortcomings such as the need to dominate others or have the final word, gaining insight through contemplation can nourish relationship to ourselves as well as with others. We can learn to stop blaming another for our unhappiness or discomfort and look within to affect lasting change. In other words, we can transform our thinking, transform our way of being in the world.

What holds us back? A big stumbling block for many is a lack of self worth. This leads to the unconscious belief that we can’t have what we most desire. Some make excuses to keep themselves down: no money, no time, no training. If this fits, consider no faith, and instead try opening to possibilities and affirming a willingness to accept a wider purview. Move tentatively forward, knowing the gods usually meet us halfway. While cultivating patience, resolve to know yourself better by exhibiting a more authentic presence in the mirror and to the world. Infinite possibilities spring from the depths of tranquil self awareness.

 

image of dolphins in Kealakekua Bay - John Dunlea

 

Hello darkness, my old friend …

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On Suffering and Compassion

By on January 18, 2012 in compassion, inspiration, peace, spirituality, Uncategorized
THICH NHAT HANH answers a retreatant’s question on what to do in the face of suffering. 

Dear Thay, I suffer a lot and I know that suffering is part of my practice. My suffering comes from two main things. One is that I have a chronic illness, which causes me a lot of physical pain. The other is that I am an activist and I care very deeply for the world. Sometimes I feel a lot of despair about what’s happening in the world around us, in terms of violence, poverty, and environmental destruction. What practices would you recommend for those of us who are living with physical pain or are in despair about the suffering of the world?

Thich Nhat Hanh: As activists we want to do something to help the world to suffer less. But we know that when we’re not peaceful, when we don’t have enough compassion in us, we can’t do much to help the world. We ourselves are at the center. We have to make peace and reduce the suffering in ourselves first, because we represent the world. Peace, love, and happiness must always begin here, with ourselves. There is suffering, fear, and anger inside of us, and when we take care of it, we are taking care of the world.

Imagine a pine tree standing in the yard. If that pine tree were to ask us what it should do, what the maximum is a pine tree can do to help the world, our answer would be very clear: “You should be a beautiful, healthy pine tree. You help the world by being your best.” That is true for humans also. The basic thing we can do to help the world is to be healthy, solid, loving, and gentle to ourselves. Then when people look at us, they will gain confidence. They will say, “If she can do that, I can do that too!”

So anything you do for yourself, you do for the world. Don’t think that you and the world are two separate things. When you breathe in mindfully and gently, when you feel the wonder of being alive, remember that you’re also doing this for the world. Practicing with that kind of insight, you will succeed in helping the world. You don’t even have to wait until tomorrow. You can do it right now, today.

The Buddha proposed so many ways to practice to reduce the pain in your body and in your emotions, and to reconcile with yourself. We have learned in this retreat that you can reduce physical pain through the practice of releasing tension in the body. Pain increases as a function of tension, and it can be reduced if we release the tension. You can practice relaxation in the lying or sitting position. You can also practice relaxation when you walk, and with every step you can help release the tension. Walk like a free person. Put things down, don’t carry anything, and feel light. There is a burden we always carry with us. The skill we need is how to lay down our burden in order to be light. If you sit, walk, or lie down like that, it’s very easy to release the tension and reduce the pain.

The Buddha said that you shouldn’t amplify your pain by exaggerating the situation. He used the image of someone who has just been hit by an arrow. A few minutes later, a second arrow strikes him in exactly the same spot. When the second arrow hits, the pain is not just doubled; it is many times more painful and intense.

So when you experience pain, whether it’s physical or mental, you have to recognize it just as it is and not exaggerate it. You can say to yourself, “Breathing in, I know this is only a minor physical pain. I can very well make friends and peace with it. I can still smile to it.”

If you recognize the pain as it is and don’t exaggerate it, then you can make peace with it, and you won’t suffer as much. But if you get angry and revolt against it, if you worry too much and imagine that you’re going to die very quickly, then the pain will be multiplied one hundred times. That is the second arrow, the extra suffering that comes from exaggeration. You should not allow it to arise. This is very important. It was recommended by the Buddha: Don’t exaggerate and amplify the pain.

~ Published in Shambhala Sun, November 2011

 
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The Heart of Compassion

By on January 11, 2012 in compassion, health, inspiration, spirituality, Uncategorized

Typically I eschew today’s news. As far as I’m concerned, good journalism died a long time ago, and the opinionated drivel that clogs the arteries of society is not worth my time and attention. We do however subscribe to a daily paper, just in case there is something major of which we need to be aware. Other than that, it’s Bizarro and Annie’s Mailbox which pretty much take me through my morning papaya. I always find it intriguing to discover what others deem critical enough to share on a national forum, and today it concerned a gal so repelled by her obese father that she just had to ask for help in managing her irritation. Annie’s response was that “Dad already feels worthless, so instead of anger and disgust, try compassion.” That got me going.

The term compassion gets tossed around a lot these days, with less regard than the word sympathy. To my mind, any of us can feel empathy or sympathy for another going through a tough time. Compassion, however, is a horse of a different color. Compassion itself has come to the fore largely due to the life work of such noble beings as the spiritual leader Tenzin Gyatso, more commonly known as Tibet’s 14th Dalai Lama. Even the Tibetans don’t toss the concept around lightly – they encourage a lifetime practice of sitting with ourselves in mindful meditation so that we might touch, among other things, the heart of genuine compassion.

You can understand how something this demanding differs from a sentiment like sympathy. Even Webster’s definition is dilute in its effort to express the depth of this character trait as the sympathetic consciousness of another’s distress together with a desire to alleviate it. Yet it becomes clear even then that this is simply not something we learn overnight. Sympathy or empathy are feelings that naturally arise when we observe another’s pain and can identify with it. Compassion derives from a committed inner practice and awareness of the pervasive nature of suffering itself. It is not a quality that can be elicited or forced before its time, much like the aging of a fine wine.

In typical Western fashion, many strive to attain overnight what Tibetan monks and nuns have achieved over a lifetime of dedicated service, having entered the monastic life as very small children. There’s nothing wrong with a desire to better ourselves, only let’s be realistic about what it takes to plumb the depths of our true being: a moment to moment awareness of our thoughts and intentions. Forgiveness of ourselves and others develops over time, where we discover what lies beyond inner walls of self hatred and blame.

Forgiveness itself may well be key, as most have someone or something hanging in that balance, and absolving ourselves can prove the most humbling of all. As we strive to bear no malice toward others – and this is not something we can simply say and it becomes so – we discover in the process that, in being sentient, we suffer. Awareness of this noble truth arises in an open heart. We begin to understand the lonely twisting pain of those who have wronged us – those who are not yet able to forgive others who have crushed their spirit and have little hope of exculpating themselves. And so in their ignorance, they pass it on. It is with an equal yet opposing force of determination that we may choose to commit ourselves to a path of peace, diligently cultivating the tenderness required for a compassionate existence. As Sogyal Rinpoche offers, “Compassion is not true compassion unless it is active.”

 

Tenzin Gyatso, The 14th Dalai Lama

 

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Monkey Mind

By on January 4, 2012 in inspiration, life, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized

Each day from the time I open eyes on the world, I strive to stay in the moment. Reining in the mind is the single most difficult task I face here on earth.

When I was young, structured religion confused me – memorizing archaic texts that were open to interpretation by human beings, themselves fallible, soon lost its appeal. When I noticed my elders saying one thing and clearly doing another, my mother reminded me that it was not the people I should pay attention to but the teachings. Yet to a child’s mind – or to any thinking, vital mind at all – it has always been the living examples of truth that inspire one to explore and examine belief systems, changing them as needed to embrace a larger, more meaningful truth.

Most religions call for faith, and I give faith its due. However getting me through life’s challenges requires I examine what my thoughts create in every moment. Prayer is an effective way of communicating with the divine, but it is the act of contemplative sitting or movement that encourages me to calm the inner turmoil that all the faith in the world fails to quell. It is that monkey mind that is my greatest nemesis – and paradoxically, my greatest ally – if I can rein it in and master it constructively.

As soon as I sit with my thoughts, off my mind goes running – over the same glittering fields I have wandered in the past, as well as those I plan to explore in the future. This fixation on past/future is the ultimate mind game – preventing me from seizing the potential inherent in this moment. Anyone knows we can’t change the past. And none of us knows the future. A second from now, an earthquake could shake the foundation of my house and my life – and has!

Nothing is predictable, and this is what makes life anxiety provoking for so many people. Controlling runaway thoughts may not make me appear productive, but it grounds me in sanity; returning me repeatedly to all that is real and renewable in this, the present moment.

 

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Enter the Dream

By on December 27, 2011 in inspiration, philosophy, random thoughts, spirituality, Uncategorized

We all possess the capacity to imagine and to conjure images, whether asleep or awake. Humans speak in words, but our creative impulses originate from imagery that comes alive each night in our dreams. In such incubative spaces, we often receive inspiration to try something different or new. As we reflect, our intuition opens up. We are carried into a place of immense possibility. This state of expanded awareness is where we may rediscover our own innate creativity.

Albert Einstein, who purportedly slept very little but credited the unseen worlds with his ability to imagine and thus invent, offered that Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Many of us remember daydreaming as kids, but at some point we learn to become practical in order to interface with the everyday world. Consequently, many of us do not grant ourselves nearly enough down-time in which to balance our right and left brain activities. Time spent in nature is restorative and imperative if we are to calm the monkey mind enough to relax into the magic of the moment. The rhythms of the natural world place our bodies back in touch with an inherent wisdom.

Many spend their entire lives in fear, and though it may be difficult to understand, fear is a state of mind. Our mental outlook can be changed through such practices as mindfulness. From Wikipedia:

Enlightenment is a state of being in which greed, hatred and delusion have been overcome, abandoned and are absent from the mind. Mindfulness, which, among other things, is an attentive awareness of the reality of things (especially of the present moment) is an antidote to delusion and is considered as such a ‘power.’ This faculty becomes a power in particular when it is coupled with clear comprehension of whatever is taking place.

The Buddha advocated that one should establish mindfulness in one’s day-to-day life maintaining as much as possible a calm awareness of one’s bodily functions, sensations (feelings), objects of consciousness (thoughts and perceptions), and consciousness itself. The practice of mindfulness supports analysis resulting in the arising of wisdom. A key innovative teaching of the Buddha was that meditative stabilisation must be combined with liberating discernment.

Mindfulness gives us insight into the nature of our doubts and fears. Moving beyond fear, even during the briefest moments of clarity, allows us to access our intuitive, creative potential.

If we feel we have lost our ability to To reactivate this potential, we have only to begin anew. The power to create afresh exists within every one of us, in every moment.

 

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Where Do We Go When We Die?

By on November 10, 2011 in culture, health, life, nature, random thoughts, spirituality, Uncategorized

There are numerous answers to this question. Still, nobody really knows until they go through the gate, so to speak. And death brings up so much fear in our culture. This is not necessarily so in other cultures.

Tibetan Buddhists have studied the path of souls through life and death for hundreds of years. The Tibetan Book of the Dead was brought to the west by Sogyal Rinpoche in The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. And now it has an even greater audience in The Tibetan Book of the Dead, a documentary film narrated by Leonard Cohen. The visual aspects of this film are stunning – from humble monks attending upon the dead and dying to the striking animation of souls in transition. No matter your religious belief or persuasion, this film is a must see by everyone possible. For you never know, it may pave the way out of suffering in the world beyond. Keep an open mind.

Some say this sacred Tibetan knowledge should have been kept secret. But most, I think, agree it is amazing that we have this kind of guide through the world of the afterlife. No other people I know of have a process of collective prayer for 49 days following the death of one’s physical body – assisting the dead through the various bardos, or stages. How remarkable this kind of support exists, so foreign to our death-phobic culture.

You can rent the dvd from Netflix or watch the entire documentary here:

The Tibetan Book of the Dead

Excerpted from that website:

Death is real, it comes without warning and it cannot be escaped. An ancient source of strength and guidance, The Tibetan Book of the Dead remains an essential teaching in the Buddhist cultures of the Himalayas. Narrated by Leonard Cohen, this enlightening two-part series explores the sacred text and boldly visualizes the afterlife according to its profound wisdom.

Part 1: A Way of Life reveals the history of The Tibetan Book of the Dead and examines its traditional use in northern India, as well as its acceptance in Western hospices. Shot over a four-month period, the film contains footage of the rites and liturgies for a deceased Ladakhi elder and includes an interview with the Dalai Lama, who shares his views on the book’s meaning and importance.

Part 2: The Great Liberation follows an old lama and his novice monk as they guide a Himalayan villager into the afterlife using readings from The Tibetan Book of the Dead. The soul’s 49-day journey towards rebirth is envisioned through actual photography of rarely seen Buddhist rituals, interwoven with groundbreaking animation by internationally acclaimed filmmaker Ishu Patel.

 

image of original Tibetan Book of the Dead: records.photodharma.net

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Damsel in Distress

By on November 7, 2011 in culture, health, life, philosophy, relationships, spirituality, Uncategorized

The Damsel in Distress may be the oldest female archetype in all of popular literature and the movies. She is always beautiful, vulnerable, and in need of rescue, specifically by a Knight and, once rescued, she is taken care of in lavish style. When disappointed, a Damsel must go through a process of empowerment and learn to take care of herself in the world. The shadow side of this archetype mistakenly teaches old patriarchal views that women are weak and teaches them to be helpless and in need of protection. It leads a woman to expect to have someone else who will fight her battles for her while she remains devoted and physically attractive and concealed in the castle. Many women still expect to marry a man who will give them a castle and take of them. And some men are raised to expect to do this (see Prince and Knight).

The Damsel’s fear of going it alone is holds the Damsel/Knight relationship together. It also often shatters the relationship when the Prince or Knight grows older and expects to have a perennially young, attractive Princess at his beck and call. The Princess inevitably grows older even if she remains helpless. Or she becomes more interested in the outside world, develops skills and competencies and is unable to maintain the same old dynamic of dependency. Either way, most Damsel/Prince relationships ultimately find that they change or fail. The Damsel/Princess must ultimately learn to fight her own battles and evolve into a Queen.

The Princess is more often associated with romance rather than distress. She awaits a Knight who is worthy of her beauty and rank and will take her not to his castle but to a palace. The castles that Damsels are taken to have prisons, cold stone walls, drawbridges, and moats. Palaces are fantastically beautiful and charmed and are associated with ballrooms and elegance. The common (archetypal) expression, “Daddy’s little Princess” implies an adoring father who brings up his daughter surrounded by beauty and abundance. There is no “Daddy’s little Damsel in Distress.” The Princess and the Damsel, however, both are taught to be helpless and do share a yearning for a Knight as a partner in life, the implication being that without a Knight, they are powerless in this world. The challenge inherent in these archetypal patterns, therefore, is to do for yourself what you expect the Knight to do for you–provide and protect yourself.

The Princess archetype is also influenced by our colloquial use of the term and especially its heavy freight of anti-feminist connotations of a woman who is overly demanding, as in “Jewish-American Princess” or in the story of the Princess and the Pea. Even when used positively, the word can imply an unreal, bland, or cosseted character, like the teenage daughter nicknamed Princess on the TV series Father Knows Best. But a genuine Princess looks out not for her own comfort and whimsy but for the welfare of those around her. In Asian, tales abound of clever and resourceful Princesses, of conflicts between schools of martial arts for instance in which a Prince and Princess battle it out, as depicted in the Ang Lee film Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. And Scheherezade bravely married the sultan who had decided to kill all his new wives at daybreak, and beguiled him with tales for a thousand and one nights until he rescinded his decree, thus saving all the women.

In reviewing your relationship to this archetype, return to your fantasies as a young girl and note what your expectations were in looking for a mate. Most significantly, were you (or are you) consciously or unconsciously awaiting the arrival of your Knight in Shining “Amour”? Did you think or behave like a Damsel? Were you hoping to be rescued? And if you are now coping with the consequences of a broken relationship, can you trace the reasons for the failed partnership back to being disappointed that your expectations as Damsel were not met?

Films: Pearl White in the Perils of Pauline silent films; Fay Wray in King Kong; Betty Hutton in The Perils of Pauline; Jean Simmons in Young Bess; Robin Wright in The Princess Bride; Carrie Fisher as Princess Leia in the Star Wars Trilogy; Ingrid Bergman in Anastasia; Gwyneth Paltrow in Shakespeare in Love; Kate Winslet in Titanic; Jeff Daniels in Something Wild.

Fiction: Gone with the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell; Emma by Jane Austin.

Fairy Tales: Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, Cinderella.

Religion/Myth: Ko-no-Hana (in Shinto belief, the Japanese Blossom Princess, who symbolizes the delicate aspects of earthly life); Io (in Greek myth, a princess and the daughter of a river god, who suffered continually as the object of Zeus’s lust); Princess Aigiarm (strong, valiant daughter of Mongolian King Kaidu who offered herself in marriage to any suitor who could wrestle her down but who, if he lost, had to give her a horse. She never married, and won 10,000 horses).

~ myss.com

 

image: Frank Bernard Dicksee's "Chivalry"

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