The Dreamer is the part of us that trusts life, ourselves and other people. It is the part that has faith and hope, even when on the surface things look impossible. It is the part of us that keeps the faith in whatever it is we are hoping for. It is also the part that allows us to trust others enough to learn from them, so it is essential to learning the basic skills of life and work.

The Dreamer

Goal:  To live in paradise

Fear:  Abandonment

Task:  Fidelity

Gift:  Trust, Optimism, Loyalty

We all begin als Dreamers. In the optimism that we and others believe in us and our potential, encourage our efforts at mastering and developing our skills and our individuality.

STORY TIME

Give some thought to when, where, how, and how much the Dreamer Story expresses itself in your life.

1.  How much or how little is the Dreamer expressed in your life? Has it been expressed more in the past and present? Do you see it emerging more in your future? Is it expressed more at work, at home, with friends, in dreams or fantasies?
2. Who are some friends or relations who seem influenced by the archetype of the Dreamer?
3.  Is there anything you wish were different about the expression of the Dreamer in your life?
4.  Since each archetype expresses itself in many different ways, take some time to describe or otherwise portray (e.g. choose favorite heroes and heroines from books) the Dreamer as it is expressed or could be expressed in your life. What does or would it look like? How does or would it act? In what setting does or would it feel most at home?

There is a village priest in “Cinema Paradiso” who is the local cinema’s most faithful client. He turns up every week like clockwork, to censor the films. As the old projectionist shows the movies to his audience of one, the priest sits with his hand poised over a bell, the kind that altar boys use. At every sign of carnal excess – which to the priest means a kiss – the bell rings, the movie stops and the projectionist snips the offending footage out of the film. Up in the projection booth, tossed in a corner, the lifeless strips of celluloid pile up into an anthology of osculation, an anthology that no one will ever see, not in this village, anyway.

Giuseppe Tornatore’s “Cinema Paradiso,”  takes place in Sicily in the final years before television. It has two chief characters: old Alfredo (Philippe Noiret), who rules the projection booth, and young Salvatore (Salvatore Cascio), who makes the booth his home away from an indifferent home. As the patrons line up faithfully, night after night, for their diet of films without kisses, the boy watches in wonder as Alfredo wrestles with the balky machine that throws the dream-images on the screen. At first Alfredo tries to chase Salvatore away, but eventually he accepts his presence in the booth and thinks of him almost as his child. Salvatore certainly considers the old man his father, and (this is the whole point) the movies as his mother.

In “Cinema Paradiso” we catch glimpses of Charlie Chaplin, John Wayne and of course countless Hollywood melodramas in which men and women look smolderingly at one another, come closer, seem about to kiss, and then (with the jerk of a jump-cut) are standing apart, exchanging a look of deep significance.

We become familiar with some of the regular customers at the theater. They are a noisy lot – rude critics, who shout suggestions at the screen and are scornful of heroes who do not take their advice.

Romances are launched in the darkness of the theater, friendships are sealed, wine is drunk, cigarettes smoked, babies nursed, feet stomped, victories cheered, sissies whistled at, and god only knows how this crowd would react if they were ever permitted to see a kiss.

The story is told as a flashback; it begins with a prominent film director (Jacques Perrin) learning in Rome that old Alfredo is dead and making a sentimental journey back to his hometown. Then we see the story of the director’s childhood (portrayed by Cascio) and his teenage years, where he is played by Marco Leonardi. The earliest parts of the movie are the most magical. Then things grow predictable: There are not many rites of passage for an adolescent male that are not predictable and not many original ways to show the death of a movie theater, either.

Tornatore’s movie is a reminder of the scenes in Truffaut’s “Day for Night,” where the young boy steals a poster of “Citizen Kane.” We understand that the power of the screen can compensate for a deprived life and that young Salvatore is not apprenticing himself to a projectionist, but to the movies. Once that idea has been established, the film begins to reach for its effects, and there is one scene in particular – a fire in the booth – that has the scent of desperation about it, as if Tornatore despaired of his real story and turned to melodrama.

Yet anyone who loves movies is likely to love “Cinema Paradiso,” and there is one scene where the projectionist finds that he can reflect the movie out of the window in his booth and out across the town square so that the images can float on a wall, there in the night above the heads of the people. Yes, it is tragic that the big screen has been replaced by the little one. But the real shame is that the big screens did not grow even bigger, grow so vast they were finally on the same scale as the movies they were reflecting.

The Power of Your Story Seminar

Amsterdam 17 April

You will examine with Peter de Kuster, founder of The Power of Your Story the way we tell stories about ourselves to ourselves — and, most important, the way we can change those stories to transform our business and personal lives.

“Your story is your life,” says Peter. As human beings, we continually tell ourselves stories — of success or failure; of power or victimhood; stories that endure for an hour, or a day, or an entire lifetime. We have stories about ourselves, our creative business, our customers ; about what we want and what we’re capable of achieving. Yet, while our stories profoundly affect how others see us and we see ourselves, too few of us even recognize that we’re telling stories, or what they are, or that we can change them — and, in turn, transform our very destinies.

Telling ourselves stories provides structure and direction as we navigate life’s challenges and opportunities, and helps us interpret our goals and skills. Stories make sense of chaos; they organize our many divergent experiences into a coherent thread; they shape our entire reality. And far too many of our stories, says Peter, are dysfunctional, in need of serious editing. First, he asks you to answer the question, “In which areas of my life is it clear that I cannot achieve my goals with the story I’ve got?” He then shows you how to create new, reality-based stories that inspire you to action, and take you where you want to go both in your work and personal life.

Our capacity to tell stories is one of our profoundest gifts. Peter’s approach to creating deeply engaging stories will give you the tools to wield the power of storytelling and forever change your business and personal life.