h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Wow.

It's called a cabbage white because the adults are white and the young'uns eat (amongst other things) cabbages.

>>> "It's called Holding the Moth"

heheh - 's Pooh Quay!

...and i seem to remember that Jung's inspiration to define 'Synchronicity' came from two incidents with the same client: a dream; and an actual event - both related to the same flying insect

neat, eh?

Neat, indeed.

um, well, sorry this is quite dull really, it is mediative, at times of mental stress when I just can't stop my brain from whirring, or knawing at a problem, it is technique that I use to 'switch myself off for a while'

There have been times when it has proved insightful, mostly not, more a tool, to give me some space, it helps me settle and puts me in a better position to focus rather than just go round in circles.

Over the last year or so I seem to have been in overdrive for a sustained period of time which is not healthful, I think that is why I was drawn so much to your moth because of that healing element, which has made me think about what I am doing from a different angle, perhaps not just a tool, it something I can explore as process



interesting stats is a page that shows you latest conversations and guide entries

http://wsogmm.h2g2.com/dna/h2g2/classic/Info?cmd=conv&show=35

did you know there's 12 moths in a year (I'm short tongued)

>>> "did you know there's 12 moths in a year"

yes, indeedy - each moth has, on average, 4-and-a-third eeks

...and every eek contains 7 ays

it's a fu..y ol. .orl.!

you know, i can't believe that 12 moths have passed since last Easter - these days time just seems to flutterby!

You guys .... you're a team..

and I knew the Prof would return with the moth puns ... always rely on my friend Prof for a laugh ...

's Pooh Quay? ... oh .... spooooooky

Ah, laughter, the best medicine, eh? I guess that's what Mr Adams realised. Nothing like a laugh when we're all thrown here together on this strange journey through Life, lurching through space ... heheh ... love it. Kisses to you all. .

I am allowed to send you kisses because I am a middle aged lady on the verge of .. erm .. old age. .

Yes, Jung and the insect incident. The Insect Incident. There must be a band. There's The Insect Trust...

Oh, so thanks Willem, for cabbage white facts. Interesting. I spent ages last night, imagining them fluttering around on my Dad's lavender bushes. Good memories. Healing also.

And thanks Peanut for interesting stats information, and I was fascinated to hear about your visualisation/meditation process. Thanks.

You know, Peanut, I was thinking what you said, about your having to Google the white moth, to get a visual image, because I realised I never actually described it. I just called it a white moth. hmm.Then I realised, last night, that I didn't even know what it looked like. Like, I couldn't describe it. Hmm again. . 's Pooh Quay.

Like many dream-images, it was sort of ... sort of ... see through, only half formed .. luminous ...it had a fluttering sound ...maybe other sensory textures also ..

Which led me onto realise that, for me, images created in the artistic/dream part of my brain are energy in disguise. Like, they take on a recognisable form, so I can identify with them, and hopefully put their message to good use, but they are, in fact, energy.

Which, perhaps for a Monday morning is a bit bendy, , but I am going to bash on anyway, because I need to tie up some loose ends in a responsible way.

In fact I am going to change postings and get all deep and serious.

mammoth??? what happened to the ????

Serious Posting

I would like to say to anyone reading this who might not be familiar with various aspects of things mentioned on this thread, say, of inner travel, image exploration, Automatic Writing, the thoughts of Carl Jung etc etc ....

... that as well as being a fun ride, these matters are also a serious business, and, like any other journey, please don't forget to take a map, a guide, be prepared, consult others, travel in a group. The subconscious mind is a strange place, full of unfamiliar and sometimes scary images and things, if you are not used to it.

Such journeys are not for everyone, perhaps. I don't know.

Take care, please.

And I don't recommend the use of drugs. hmm. Well, I never used them. I am older now. I know people who saw too much too young too soon, and they never returned.



OK, so that's that bit out of the way.



Now, where am I? And I'm talking to myself here, not preaching. Ah yes, Holding the Moth, and what if I consider Letting Go of the Moth. . Where did it take me, this dream energy guide, in the guise of a moth....

It took me to the borderline of the unknown. To a place beyond my fear of death and the unknown, a place beyond words, nearest words could be Love, or Hey kid it's OK, or Trust. .

It's still with me, the feeling, I am changed. Not like I'm all spiritually converted or anything, all zoned out and holy. haha. hmm In my dreams. Anyone got any halo polish? . I need it. I am a fallen angel, born to screw it up all over again. . .

Its a tough world out there, with war and pain and illness and injustice and scary things, and also beauty and hope and love and trust and friends and poetry and music and cabbage white butterflies and ...

and ..... and .... and what???? I have absolutely no idea, no idea at all, totally devoid of concept in the brain area , but in the dark corner of my brain where I kept fear of death and the unknown, there is something else going on .....

hmm.

and I want this experience to inform my writing, if I ever write again. hmm. how on earth am I going to incorporate it in a piece of writing that is going to involve a motorway service station, a psychic photographer and a car radio? I ask myself.

And you.

Anyone fancy writing my story for me? . Mind you .... .. you guys .... heaven knows where it will lead. .

Thankyou all.

This week I will have time to read oh yes I will.

And on we go.

Pass the sugar please. Thanks.

most minds are tethered to reality and life in general - tough!
my mind HAS never been tethered and is always free to wonder of it's own freewill plus! it's an homing mindand does come back to visit now and again

cc >>> "how on earth am I going to incorporate it in a piece of writing that is going to involve a motorway service station, a psychic photographer and a car radio?"


ah, gwon, gwon, gwon - you're the lady who entranced us all with pieces such as the purple crow** - you can do anything!


(**that wasn't the Booth Museum, Brighton, in that account, by any chance?)

Hyp!!! Sweetie! Kiss kiss! I just saw from my inbox that you were here and about and loveliness and hullo and I will go over and see what you're all about, these days these ways this time hullo and hug. Winter got waylaid, Mum died in January, intense, tired, bit wired, creatively fired, travelling inward to new spaces and places, but now resting, cucumber slices over the eyes for me now I think. .

I never did do that, relax with cucumber slices over the eyes, I always feared I would turn into a sandwich , no jokes please guys ,

... but you know what I mean.

Love it, Prof, the homing mind. The homing pigeon of the mind. I love that.

A friend said to me recently that he could never get lost in psychonaut-space, because the thought of coming home to egg and chips would always win him over. heheh.



I was running this really funny dialogue in my head last night, between an astronaut and a psychonaut, and the astronaut was saying that, given a choice, he wouldn't trade lifestyles, and the psychonaut was saying well at least I don't have to eat my breakfast floating around on the ceiling.

Hmm. its not that funny, now I write it down. . .

Ah well. .



Oh yes, mister a-l-s, magical poet fellow, although I can't remember the purple crow in question. . I rarely look back, my backtrax make me shy, even a little afraid. hmm.

Must check the Booth museum. Is that the one in the Pavilion gardens?

It's there though, that edge, the lure of writing. Do you find that writing isn't just a pastime, its more like .. more like... well, it takes you places.

I already picked up the pen, started writing Notes for the story in auto dreamstream, ,

...but the poor dude who is the photographer character got so spooked by the cryptic scary language of the pain of the world crackling through the car radio airwaves that he had to go through an entire nervous breakdown in prose poetry before he finally got into the cafe of the motorway services...

....and he still isn't feeling too good, can't even eat, so now I, as authoress, have to step in and suggest he talks to me about the b/w photos he has taken of the gaunt yet beautiful face he sees in the mirror, which is in fact the face of a poet-angel who is there to protect him from apocalyptic car radios ...

and all that without a full stop ..... deep breath.... not sure I want to go there all over again right now ....

faints. cucumber slices needed.

. so I put it aside for now, and played it all out on my synth instead, all electrical and abstract and almost-melodic. ....images returning to energy.

Think I might just enjoy the work of others for now. Much more relaxing.....

It'll lure me back through, writing, I know it will ... hmm...

Incidentally, Mister a-l-s, I am interested in your writing process. Like, that amazing poem you presented here on this thread, and your other work, what is the route you take to write them?

You don't have to tell me, of course. Some writers prefer to protect the process and secrets of their craft, and that's OK by me.

hi there see-see!

cucumber over the eyes is fine - but i'd advise against using salad dressing as sun-block!!!


soooooo - i can see that we're just going to have to wait patiently for the story about the service-station-inhabiting-apocalyptic-radio-listening-psychic-photographer - that's ok


my writing process? - you think i have a process? i'm honoured!!

the 'restaurant in the park' was an easier process than some because it's an account of a actual event; so i already had a bunch of actions which i wanted to include as the main content

the main idea of viewing the night-time picnic in the park as if it were a visit to a sort of celestial restaurant occurred to us at the time - and so that became the theme for the poem, in interpreting each 'action'

i'm not disciplined (oh alright, not *skilled*!) enough to write a whole poem in rhyme, so i often try to arrange to sneak-in at least a couple of sections which match each other at least in rhythm, if not in rhyme

as i got into the actual writing of it, i realised that i could 'round-off' the middle and end sections with a pair of 'mirror-images' which also rhymed:

- moths flew across the wick and became embalmed in it's molten flow
- clouds flew across the moon and became becalmed in it's golden glow

as you now realise, in real life i spend all my time wandering round with my head in the clouds, posing a very real threat to the safety of small winged insects!

i don't know that Jung would've been too interested in my writing, but Freud would probably have had a 'field-day' (*...in the park*)


*now waits patiently as CC teases us with snippets of promised story*

Thanks my friend, thanks for sharing, I appreciate you taking the time.

I really am inspired, like really!!!, by what you said about the mirror images and the couple of sections matching each other in rhythm, and rhyme.

I love that, see, and that's what I am working towards. These kind of things, for me, are part of the intuitive, vocational, transportative, healing power of writing.

The medicine of poetry.

Rhythm, repetition, akin to mantra, maybe the cousin of mantra. hmm. Used by humankind since.. since forever. . That heartbeat, which transports me back to the centre. Back home, to the source. Beyond words and concepts, beyond opposites, beyond ideas and fears, and.. erm.. ...

And here I am talking crazy, , doing my cracked rhythm mantra dance on the borderline of the unknown, with my friends, who are all totally amazing and magic.

I'm not ready to cross over into the unknown, return home. I love words, but I don't want to make too much sense really, because I have no idea what I am talking about.. More like celebrate the shape and pattern of words ...



The photographer story ... I didn't realise till I wrote the Notes.. is my story ... in the 80s I broke down because I couldn't comprehend the pain of the world ...wrote it all out in stream of prose poetry, that seemed to come out of nowhere, but its just that I was starting to find my own language, and a poetry-angel sorta like appeared to me, in a dream hahah, hmm ..

I can't write this particular story, because I don't know how to structure it, or communicate it to a reader. Need help! hah! hint hint, but might just let it go, don't know yet.



People here on hootoo , have always been so incredibly supportive of my writing, you know, its amazing, as I am a total misfit outsider in writing circles and in arts environments.

For the past seven years I have felt kind of ungrateful when I can't even look back or remember what I wrote. grrr, annoying, because I want to support my friend DG and and the arts projects happening here on this site.



I am the opposite of ungrateful, of course, its just that I short-circuit, white flash! uh oh, change the fuse , so much energy goes into the writing, and once it is out of my system I am a spent force, and scared of what I just wrote, but perhaps that is changing now, or maybe it isn't, but I can offer support to the arts projects just by smiling and making coffee. heheh.



So, for now I intend to write synth snippets in my room (under headphones, so spouse and neighbours don't go crazy ,)

but there will be peculiar poem lyrics, , oh no! oh yes! which I can print here in my journal .. sometimes ...



, holysnakes ... sorry 'bout that, that was a splurge, heheh, but I just figured everything. Well, perhaps not everything, but some things.

And thanks again, all, for inspiration. See you in the park.

Park? What park?

Freud??? Oh no!