The ambiguous APPLE. Inseparable from our mythologies, inherent in our cellular folk memory, an enigmatic emblem. What is the code therein, and in what ways has the true story been scrambled? How have our cells and folk records twisted into countless variants of signal error--or is it merely different versions of the same tale? You are invited to embark on a Bardic Voyage: THE GIFT OF THE APPLE, Part 3 in the webinar series The Problem of the Mothers by mystic seer Jocelyn Woods will be a POETIC voyage in the dark subconscious -- and YOU are the poet! Every signed up participant is requested to submit a piece of poetry which continues my introductory prelude (below.) INSTRUCTIONS: You must register here if you wish to be included: https://paypal/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=Q8JF7PY6TC7T6 Where my poetic prelude trails off, let yours begin. Write it as though it is a continuation of the poem, but in YOUR perspective. Let it be as automatic as possible. In other words, dont think about it too much, just let it flow from the subconscious. It might not make sense, it might be filled with seemingly random imagery. It might surface something disturbing or rapturous that you did not realize was within you, and you might have NO clue what it means. Thats exactly how we want it! Let your subconscious body, your cells, tell the story. It can be half a page or a whole page. Just let it flow without censoring your words. I will then read all submissions from participating attendees in the webinar, and decode it! This will show how we all have many versions of the same story, lending unique perspectives, and an opportunity to descramble programming that has lurked in our cellular retention. Take some deep breaths and listen to the words. Dont think that you have to make them come. Rather, listen for them, and simply be the scribe and write or type it out as quickly as possible so as not to interrupt the flow. All submissions are due by Thursday evening EST, July 10, and will be read and decoded by me in the July 12 webinar. So here it is, here it begins: ----- In a place that is not a place, a time that is not a time Between the worlds we are. Beneath an old oak tree I repose, in shade of dewy moss-strewn bed The firm roots uphold my flesh, my eyes gazing through veils of leaves that dance in myriad greens My eyes flit and fly through flickers of golden sky. Bedside me the pristine currents of a stream, fresh, like liquid diamonds it springs from deep underground And under my skin the shamanic timbre of fecund frog. Gurgling sparkling brook, fountainhead of Life Sweeps through my spine, my skull, With magical refreshment. As I inhale the perfume of tannin, ions and woodsy scent I stretch and turn my head, eyes closed, with vivid dreams. As I open them, there scattered in the oaken glade Are crimson gems; round they seem, though curious Mist hovers in telluric tendrils round the shiny scarlet fruit And as I reach to touch its summoning sphere, serpentine snake doth brush my hand Tickling me with musical scales, or is it the colors of the wind? Enchanted, I gasp with glee at my sweet scented treasure, Filling my palm with invitation. Invitation to touch With a serpent that wakes in my mouth My lubricant tongue Arousd to shape an O, my oral orifice Lightning liquifies my loins As invitation and intent Into one invocation chant: Summoning me like rosy lovers lips To kiss--to taste-- I swell, I open I hover, I lick Like a lover, I enter Like a lover, I receive The flesh of fruit. What is this mistress upon my tongue? Who hast inflamed my cheeks to blush this young? What the troth that tastes this tingle I froth in frenzic foam, fathomless Into my mouth, the Muse of Madmen, Dame of Desire Desireless, what is this mistress? Plump excitement of my name never before now sung, This calling Chwyfleian upon my tongue-- O tide of inundation, pale phantom of swathed mist Doth gown around me, down down and up around, thy Fool I become! Between my legs and salivary drool down my throat, up my groin doth sweetly swell! Do I dream or do I dive? --into the Applewell... Email the poetry piece to Ecstasyofacripple@gmail You must register here if you wish to be included: https://paypal/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=Q8JF7PY6TC7T6 About the Facilitator: My name is Jocelyn Woods and I live in Cambridge, VT. I am a 28 year old poet, mystic, playwright, model and actress preparing to publish my first manuscript (a metaphysical dialogue on Shakespeares King Lear) and debut my first large scale stage plays. Home schooling gifted me with the immeasurable privilege of developing a radically independent mind. As a highly gifted child who graduated at age 16, learning though immersive, hands-on, immediate experience, facilitated a spirit of passionate adventure that never ends, but expands with every breath I take. It is my fervent desire to contribute to the public by being a facilitator of unlocking inner and outer worlds, encouraging audience members and participants to become enthralled mystics of an eternal pioneering voyage: the theatre of the imagination, poetry in motion through embodied presence. To follow my work, subscribe to: facebook/ResurrectionofPassion YouTube Preview of my recent performance, THE FOOLs RIDDLE: Hysteria Has No House: youtu.be/si_5QKRwy0s
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 13:15:10 +0000
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