Afleveringen
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Come to the Bardic Finals with me. It’s at the Glastonbury Assembly Rooms, the scene of the first Glastonbury Festival.
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Mooney's Mythic Podcast, sponsored by... sponsored... sponsored by... sponsored by...
Well,
actually,
it's not sponsored by anyone,
but I was just thinking it would be nice to practice having a little sponsorship
jingle at the beginning.
So there it is.
Maybe it could be sponsored by something nice, ethical, sustainable.
So any ideas, put them on a postcard to me.
And welcome.
Thank you.
Thanks for coming back.
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Zijn er afleveringen die ontbreken?
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A ramble through a day celebrating Beltane/May Day in Glastonbury.
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Starting off with my musings on Little Red Riding Hood
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Last year I was selected to go on an emerging writers course at Quay House with the brilliant Andrew Miller. It was a great few days and really helped to clear the writing path for me. I was dead chuffed to be selected for the Quay Voices anthology of new writing.
Chapter One
Earlier that week,
Julia dragged her school bag and her feet towards the heads’ office. The heavy wooden door was ajar. The slightly openness was something the head had learnt in one of her management training courses to make her seem more approachable. Julia knocked with one hand and pushed it with the other suddenly feeling confused and uncertain… should she have waited even though it was open? Did she need to knock? Should she have walked straight in? Her brain was thinking itself into a stupor when the head spoke,
“Come in.”
Julia hovered at the door for a moment, her body resisting the threshold into heads office. It smelt of dust and bleach, which, Julia marvelled that there was room for both smells to be in the air and go up her nose was a bit of an aromatic triumph. She felt sure one should cancel the other out but she sniffed again, unmistakeable.
“Come in.” The voice repeated, jerking Julia out of her nose and into the room.
Ms Arident was looking down as she entered so she looked around. There was a vast book shelf. Julia could see that most of the spines of the leather-bound books were uncracked, which meant unread. There were trophies dotted about too. Jules hoped for a ridiculous moment that she was being called into be presented with a trophy for some race she had entered and won without realising it.
Julia’s eyes continued around the room, noticing the squareness of it all, desk, tables, books, even the lamp on the table was long and oblong. She noticed that Mrs Aridents’ face had the same longness to it. She was just transposing the womans’ features onto a potato in her mind (whenever she thought the word head, she always put the word potato in front of it) when the head looked straight at her. Julia instantly looked at her feet, where she saw that one of her socks had worked its way down past her ankle and almost under her foot. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’
Julia looked up, shocked. She thought the head (potato) was talking about her sock but then the cement of feeling crashed through her brain fudge and she felt the leaden weight of mourning fill her.
‘I, am, er , thanks..’
Julia may have said something else, the head may have said something like, ‘Fwa fwa fwa fwa fwa.’ but they both, for this moment had burning sensations in their ears (maybe someone was thinking about them, perhaps it was because they were thinking about each other.)
Sounds were muffled and confused. There was a pause, long enough to establish that neither of them were talking and the head jumped in.
‘Moving forward…’
They both let out a sigh, they had made it through the awkward part of the conversation and on to the practical.
Julia nodded eagerly, then felt stupid at letting this dry old crust see how desperate to please she was.
‘As we are two weeks away from half term, and due to your situation…
(The head had meant to say circumstance but it had gone awry on her tongue,) ‘Some of your behaviour has been, curious...so after your fathers’ funeral…‘the school’ has decided…’
Julia could almost hear the wrought iron gates of the school entrance sliding between them.
The head coughed, a sort of choking strangle of a sound before she finished her sentence,
‘You do not need to return immediately.’
Julia could almost hear the wrought iron gates of the school entrance sliding between them.
‘Some of your behaviour has been, curious...so after your fathers’ funeral you do not need to return to school.’
An image flashed through Ms Aridents’ eyes, an unpacked suitcase, locked tight shut. It was where she put all her uncomfortable feelings, Julia thought, it made her able to rule the school. Julias’ feelings seemed to leak all over her face, her desk, her pencil case…they just simply could not have it, not at Mrs Aridents’ school.
“We have decided to give you until the end of the break to er, grieve … then come back dry eyed and ready to knuckle down and learn.”
Julia had not cried. she was cracker dry, as dry as this lizard in the desert of her desk. Now she slumped, wanting to sit in the leather chair in front of her but not quite daring too, settling for using it as an ornate Zimmer frame. Three weeks to eat through the days like a caterpillar, cry all her tears and come back transformed.
She wondered if she would get a trophy for that.
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What is Inanna’s Cauldron?
Inanna’s cauldron is an online mythic journey that takes us deep into the bones of ourselves. We will use story to take us into the liminal spaces where transformation is not only possible, it is inevitable. We will shine out creative deep in the sellers of ourselves, so that we can alchemise our rusted and forgotten places into a creative aliveness.
I believe that one the reason stories have so much power is because the inner child feels safe.
When they feel safe they allow us to open the doors to all the memories and experiences that they have been hiding from.
Like pandora’s box, all the has been suppressed, comes flying out in the story.
Within the container of the myth we are telling these places will settle. We can move forward more whole, rich and deepened.
We will journey into ourselves through story, crafting, alchemical prompts, drum journeying. Little Red Cap, Baba Yaga, Demeter, Inanna, and the moon will guide us.
Booking link here
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This now time, going back to bone time. I allow flesh to drip off my bones. The sweetness slides off. The yes when I meant no mess goes with it. All the layers that hide my wounded DNA. Terror leaks from me as I witness the hidden nightmares of my father line. Tremors tremble through my body, I shiver and quiver as I try to grasp onto something but nothing will hold. It all rots between my fingertips. My teeth clack as I somehow manage to stand and hold a sign that points towards the central fire.
This way
I call, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.
This way please, all last and incarnate souls can find their way home through the fire.
I usher ghoul and ghost, shattered dream and lost soul.
The night melts into sticky sensuality as someone whispers prayers into water over piano jazz.
Samhain is my favorite time of year.
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