Dear Harvey (guest post by John Hyslop)

This morning one of my creative writing students from the Moray Feelgood festival sent me this, as his morning ‘free-write’. I asked my teenage daughter to read it aloud to me while I did dishes and laundry. She researched the topic online as she read, stopping to look up words like ‘redemption’. She found the #metoo and looked for sites offering redemption to perpetrators of abuse.
“We need a ‘Dear Harvey’ movement all over the planet” she said. “We need an amnesty and a way forward.”
I love my daughter. Indeed,let us begin with love. Here’s a letter to Harvey Weinstein from John Hyslop. John Hyslop is the heart of all Earthlings…..
John Hyslop is a big blue whale
Dear Harvey,
I wish you the depth of healing that your psyche has called you to.
You might think WTF, and quite rightly so. I feel you squirming like a trapped rat. Death and suicide are easy options. There’s no way out. Your expensive top end lawyers will be adding a new till roll to their calculators many times a week as they TRY to do damage limitation.
Please know that I understand the place you are in personally and I honestly say that I love you; the soul of you, that wants to unburden.
I ask you to choose life everyday, no, every second of each day, until you are on your knees brought to the very edge of sanity. So that the gunk in your system is purged and purged again, until your inside world is clean.
I will and can, if you choose, stand with you as you unravel.
Please start reading and watching anything you can get your hands on regarding redemption as this is firmly where you’re at !
Here in this hell of yours, there is an opportunity.
You finding your soul centre will let you look at a career way beyond what you’ve been. You may even yet be an advocate for the end of human trafficking !
Why not secretly open a trust while you still have some money with maybe Ashton Kutcher as a Trustee, this money protected and only for this purpose, not yours.
There’s no way we can save you from this call of your soul. I, as a man, wish to thank you for the Karma that you have helped to awaken on this planet. Nobody else has yet been outed in such a spectacular fashion.
Thank You!
I mean that sincerely as you have done an amazing job in your movie business and now you are firmly on your own ‘Stage of Life’.
It’s happening all the time all over the world.
Please know that all your biological children have your genes in them. Please stay alive to show them your true worth. You have the ability to do your time for the actions and face honourably your wrong doing. You have the business acumen to turn this to serve others.
Thor’s hammer has fallen on your identity. It has cracked open those pieces to be brought to the light. You will be humbled to begin your next chapter.
If you want to meet me you will find me,
blessings of deep Grace to you Dear Harvey.
John Hyslop

ps. and one last thing, this is no quick fix in some expensive facility, this is for the rest of your life.Your broken parts will never reform the old you.

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orgasm #Findhorn

“We have never met anyone who had low self-esteem at the moment of orgasm.” –

Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy, The Ethical Slut, Crown Publishing, 2009.

When you write, are you asexual? Are you unable to write sex? Is your writing non-binary? Is your writing homogenised to perfect politeness? If you would care to contribute to a writing workshop dedicated to writing sexuality, whatever that may mean to you.

How would you like the reader to perceive you as a sexual being? Are you free, bigoted, twisted, angelic? How do you portray this?

Writing sex scenes

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Guest Post – John Hyslop#Findhorn

Whale Message This Morning

humpback whale

by John Hyslop, October 2017 #Findhorn

She bellowed ,deep deep down in the ocean , this was not a call looking for her fellow pack of family .

This was a warning bellow this was to warn them that something threatening/malevolent was coming and she had to put her wide oceanic family on standby !


She’d picked up an  acrid burning sensation in her gills that sent an unease through her whole body from her blow hole to the very tip of her tail , it stalled her motion her tail flipper became still .


She silenced herself like a submarine that had shut down engines and put the whole crew on silence !


She felt through her enormous body a violence a shuddering far far away as if there was a ripping apart of the earths crust as she waited she could read the messages coming from the others in her family scattered around the globe of noxious substances and things appearing in and off the ocean floor ,something deep was emerging and it had to crack its way open and it didn’t care what damage it would do to all the life forms on this planet it was happening !

If this was a human governmental experience the world will have declared a red alert .however this was happening deep down here in the deepest parts of the ocean a form of something that even these mammals with a millennia of memory could not make any sense off.

The old matriarch regained her movement and she picked up through the vibrations of her family there was to be a meeting place where all would gather to put all there energies towards a common plan of survival it would take many days and hours to reach there common destination yet they all resumed a urgent push of there bodies and tails and moved synchronistally to this meeting !

There energy was so aligned in the movement the space station picked up the sonic waves and ripples in the ocean so many were together zooming towards a centre point the outlines of these herds of whales made long white trails on the oceans surface the pictures coming back to earth led some human analysts to question these movements yet most looked in awe and scratched there heads in wonder !

Yes humans wonder cause there’s something going on right below there feet as of yet they can’t feel it or indeed have any interest in it ,yet it’s happening and it’s happening right now ! right below your feet !

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Guest post by Nib


by Nib, October 2017

(As it should be spelled. The extra expense of the apostrophe in printing precludes I’ll wager)

Hallow, rather a fine word, the loud cry or shout to incite hounds in the chase? The part of the hare given to the hounds after the chase to reward and encourage? Indeed this is so. Also, to make holy, consecrate, to sanctify or purify. Somewhat removed then from the beyond ghastly, polluting, plastic plethora of ugly Chinese imports to demystify and pervert the evening before All Hallows’ Day, or in other words, All Saints’ Day.

In the past, this was the day given aside to give thanks for the lives of the saints and their good works, the miracles they performed and the succour they brought to believers. Religious hocus-pocus aside, what a massive perversion, another filthy American retail import, of the day historically at the family level, given aside to the memory of all souls who have preceded us and the contribution, good or ill, to the world in which we now live.

Instead, we have another event to add to environmental and animal butchery that the bastardisation and perversion that great festivals have now become.

Easter-eat chocolate, paint eggs, huge rabbits wrapped in foil, extra lamb, “Happy Easter” to celebrate the cruel murder of an albeit, figure of myth. Anyway, rising on the third day has been moved from what was once the celebration of Winter Solstice but Christians saw a truly fabulous marketing opportunity.

Christmas. Jeez, where to start? Best left for another day perhaps.

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Write To Recovery #Findhorn

Write To Recovery.

For me, there’s no real recovery, there’s a system of tools to use to get through each day. I have to write down all the things I need to do to keep me feeling well.

Fresh air is First. Not your freshly polluted air. No thank you. Not diesel fumes, I need fresh clean chem-trail free air. I have to spend hours every week sitting on a beach filling my lungs and my body with fresh sea air from the Atlantic.

Writing shit down is essential. Transforming the fucking hellish pettiness of my banal existence into sheer gorgeous unadulterated comedy is my special gift. At first, when the pen was new in my hand, I was filled with existential angst and my writing read like a good wallow in self martyrdom. An ex lover kept all my most horrific self loathings. Writing the life-shite releases grey toxins in my body. It has to be done or I get a bit shaky and my eyes go too-dark. It has been known for hair to actually stand on end and frizzle if I haven’t had a chance to make a reading rant for a month.

About 15 years ago I learned what ‘wired to the moon’ meant and I readily identified with it. So, I wrote down all my inner weirdnesses when the moon was full or new. Initially I ritually burned these offerings, but then ego kicked in and I began to buy myself notebooks – just school copy books – and fill every page with woe.

When the GP prescribed me something for post natal depression I thought my brain was dying. I wrote like my life depended on it. I wrote everything I saw, felt, heard, imagined.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s no one on the planet would describe me as ‘sane’ or ‘normal’. But, I have managed to function and stay alive, and even raise a child, so I must be doing something right, right?

Write it out. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or any nonsense like that. It doesn’t have to make sense. Just put one word after the other. Do not ever get so intimate with anyone that they have access to your written subconscious unconscious thoughts, desires or fears.

Every day I have to still my mind, to transform any greyness into light. When my mind is still, I can pick up my pen. When I can write it out, I feel better, calmer, more relaxed, easier in my bones.

Everyone has their own routine. Mine is the beach for the breathing, then write. Straight home, sit down, put words together, sometimes making sense.

The heavy duty chemicals the GP gave me for the nervous sweats lie half used somewhere in my cave. The Prozac is still in the chemist’s bag, unopened for weeks now.

I have muesli for my bowels and medicinal marijuana for the rest of me.

Some tell me it all seems to be working. Here’s a photo of me; my kid took it when I was exercising and meditating this morning….

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Find Your Inner Writer #Findhorn

Writing sex scenes

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