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

HALLOWE’EN

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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Legends

Are you prepared to dig deep inside yourself to find the legends your grandparents whispered to you? We all have a history rooted in Mother Earth. Can you remember your original voice, your original tribe or clan? Friday’s meditation will invite you to connect with Mother Earth and allow your ancient wisdoms access to a blank page. We will play a few writing games and share our myths….

£30 per person for a 3 hour workshop. Teas, coffees and strawberries will be provided. NFA members have a 25% discount. Bring pen and paper and lots of imagination.

 

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Isle Martin Writing Retreat

Yes, that is correct. I am finally managing a day away on an island. Three days of silence and bliss. I’ve been at home working all summer. Working and mothering, gardening and growing. In less than 3 weeks, I will be electrickery and inter-webs free for a whole and entire weekend. Also, devoid of child, dog, cat, home, feeding responsibilities. I will be among a wonderful group of women writers. The fabulous LG Thomson will be hosting and facilitating. I cannot wait.. And there are spaces left…..Get in Quick
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