As you may have guessed, two of us chose the Pandora role and, given creative license to define our parts, we chose to play the role as sister, Pandora, and brother, Pandoro (me - I had volunteered for the part because I had suggested the myth, and I figured volunteering was the least I could do).

From what I knew about the story, opening the box released chaos into the world;  I thought it adequately symbolized an individual's fear of opening up in group process -- because what if one opens up and shares something painful, and then can’t put it back in and close the box?  The risk of showing an overflow of powerful emotions to a room of people – even a room of friends – was my primary reason for not speaking up much in the first few days of the ArtReach training.  Others in class thought Pandora’s Box was a good representation and, with a few minor tweaks to the story to align with the group’s thinking and preferences, we broke up into groups to prepare for the drama.

Rehearsals for this group myth drama exercise were minimal, by design. The healing opportunity is linked to the improvisation, as the children express their emotions through the character. 

Honestly, I figured the role of Pandoro would be a breeze because I could simply put on a cap and be instantly “costumed” as a boy.  At Pandora’s suggestion, we would play the role as children who “find” the box while playing ball in the house.  We planned to dismiss our mother’s request for us to stay away from the box and open it together when she wasn’t looking.  Again, easy part . . . Pandora and I practiced playing catch with bottles of craft glue, then I goofed around with friends, stepped outside for fresh air, donned my cap, and waited for my cue.

And that is where the drama began -- Pandora and Pandoro stood before the group, glue bottles in hand and adrenaline a bit on edge, alongside the person who would play our Conscience.  Our start was a little slow -- we're amateurs after all -- so I was grateful for the warnings to NOT open the box from our mother, and the emphasis provided by the vocalizations of our Conscience.  I remember giggling as I told Conscience to "talk to the hand" and squealing (like a girl, predictably) at the spider drawn on the box as we gazed at it with Temptation. 

In fact, there were characters in the role of Temptation who danced to original music and songs.  The Temptation team was really good:  I found myself becoming truly curious about opening the box and revealing the cast of characters who were eager to "escape" (I knew they were "in the box" because I observed their casting; soon, Pandora and I would unleash Envy, Violence, War, Greed, and many others into world).

Although Conscience continued to emphasize our mother's wishes, Pandora found the Key and I leaped into the role of "lookout" after our mother left the room to go to bed.  We had agreed to lift the lid in unison, but all other words and actions were most definitely improvised.  Mother did not return, and the Box was quickly unlocked and opened.

I have goosebumps covering my arms and legs as I remember this play.  (If any of you readers out there know me personally, you've likely figured out that I am REALLY dragging my feet on getting to the heart of this story because it's painful.)  The box was fully open, and the improv band/Greek Chorus was playing scary music.  Characters were flying from the box and, in my memory, there was an excruciating roar in the room.  I think I was standing at this point, eye-to-eye with Pandora and Conscience.  All of my body parts were at full attention, and I felt a twitch in my right arm.

. . . I write this from Javaology, a coffee house in Atlanta; despite the soothing overhead music, I hear "No Pandora No" playing in my mind, and the tears on my cheeks have begun to pool onto my shirt.  I have a meeting (day job) in 20 minutes, so I need to stop here and collect myself.  I'll pick back up with the story soon.