Calling in the Muse
🍥 Oracular Writing Tomorrow 🍥
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I never do anything by myself. Nothing. I know it might sound suspiciously woo but absolutely everything I do, from falling asleep to making art, I do with the embrace of the Divine. If I don’t feel it close, feel panicky or doubt my abilities, I have learned over the years how to take a deep breath, screw myself into the earth where my feet are & call it in. Not only is this way of life endlessly supportive, it is a completely yummy method of creating. There is literally no limit to your resources.
As I often say in my classes, the Divine has so many more ideas for you than you could possibly have for yourself.
Tomorrow in ORACULAR WRITING, Sal Randolph & I will be teaching two simple ways to use Oracles & Divination to jump start the creative process. Here is what Sal had to say a few days ago in her USES OF ART substack:
This week I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to write. It’s time to go back into the stream, to enter the waters. One way I do this is by invoking oracles and their art-counterparts, surrealist games and chance operations.
As a little treat, I am offering up a favorite poem of mine from many years ago, one that I began with one of the Oracular techniques we will be using tomorrow (I can’t tell you what it is yet, that would ruin the surprise 😊). It was eventually curated into the epic & classic THE OUTLAW BIBLE OF AMERICAN POETRY.
I HAVE NOT TOUCHED THIS ANIMAL BEFORE
Once there was a nestling in my arms, and that softness left me standing here before you. You were not here then, but you remember.
Believing in the reality of what had come before, we undertook an odyssey, unbeknownst to the others, who were entering the same beginning.
In the mirror we came again upon the animals that did not answer the first time. They came with more than expected.
She lets them touch everything for an hour, then they sit around her in a circle.
Intervals of nakedness appear with theatrical expectations, revealing a maximum of apprehension and duress.
You stuff it in my mouth and I can only smile.
Sympathetic confusion is not necessary. The dress is necessary.
Gnosis of the dress can be learnt by tongue. If you remove the body, the space will satisfy the longing.
Life is in the belly. Special is in the mouth of the one who will come only once and soft is in the back of the box that the bread came in.
We expected the paddle to leave us alone. We did no expect the stimulating blow that was a substitute for the soft love we had become accustomed to believing in.
To my mother I leave only gender. Thank her only when I wake then get over it.
We are not ordinary.
The process of the skin, relieving the awkward pressure of seduction, came from the womb-like surface of her breasts as she breathed, heavy at first.
Where was she going? You can do nothing.
Her dress moved with a shimmy; her zipper a fuse, her voice was enormous.
Without permission, my naked body takes its place in the center and, without punishment, continues.
It was a tail, I tell you, a tail beneath her dress.
Another touch is necessary for the blood to come to the surface where her mouth is poised, ready to receive the next breath, a bubble of non-sacred sadness to enter her body once again.
Until then I never knew what could hurt without needing another.
There is a dagger between the last word and where we are now.
It was then that the animals began to recognize the flesh they had carried so many distances.
Late into the afternoon she was still offering them what she had.
To please the gods, she let them eat from her hands.
Come join us tomorrow for Oracular Writing. You know you really really wanna.
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