Origen "in the cheap hotel of the world"

 

On this day of turning towards the light... again, anew... words about origen, about Eurynome...
About the dance into bee-ing

"Being touched by myth carries us to the center where the world
is always ending and always beginning again." 
- Michael Mead -

In 1986 I came to a cave in Turkey. The cave goes by many name as is befitting for a mantic place; the cave of  the Nymphs or Aphrodite or Zeus or Pan or Mary or Eurynome... or...
After my first visit I lived nearby for nearly one year. I knew that one day I would come back and dance the place, the speech, the oracle.
2011 in front of the cave, I told the version of the creation of the world which star Eurynome and Ophion, that echoed in my muscles. Then we danced a communion.

These Eurynomic words are beautiful:

Excerpt from Eurynomes sandals by Alice Notley.

I'm the spirit that has come a long way. Try to destroy me,

you'll find I'm permanent. I'll live on, though the people fades,

migrating across desecrated countries with dying climates.

Eurynome my name. Did I create the universe? It emerged

from my head and my feet. I'm not gonna die. 

Time, the man, chose death. But the women, too, stole my jewels, my created beauties; they mocked them the way men mock women. Dragged my necklaces of mountains and rivers across the floor of this heaven, polluting them with their jealously. You cannot create a world of pure splendor, you must dabble in vaginal fluids forming a mucus-and-spire-type image of yourself like us. They ripped the surface from my creation. The ocean turned acid, and the sun nurned us up. The men, the women, who cares who did it?
They all did.
In all creation myths, there is something already there, it is I, dancing and flirting with a scaly other. Even chaos is I. I love your terrors of dakness and who sees it, sex the illusion of two.

The deity who arose from my mind was a dancer. 
That is, moved to a rhythm with prehensible feet - poet - 
big brown toes, a few hairs there. You're dancing on me
said the cosmic dragon, the galactic surface of all we can see.
So fucking what? she said. He wrapped himself around her
intensifying, then killing her freedom - a new rhythm.
I am the goddess of all things. I am about to give birth
to beauty, migrants, savage light of every kind.
The light is bloodthirsty and will smash your collarbone
with a spear or a bomblet. I am the dance and its decline,
dear november day of stinking cars. And the same colors
yellow, orange, my feet stamped out on your surface
pressed from the first metalic tubes. Amber, vermillion kissy
opposites. Goose-turd green.

Everything sprang up right, by my lights, forward and backwards: earth time, a human invention, is slower than bacterial time and faster than my own time, which only does beats. I am, like timeless.

The serpentine filmmaker, either my nemesis or lover,
can be too earnest. We're dying, he says, I intend to direct
a final masterpiece. I want to film thankless chaos
if that's what we're moving towards - or is it death? It
must be a quality within us. I'm bored, I say.
If you cared you'd star in my film. Leave me alone. The world's
ending! Well, I'm thinking...brooding over the first misty damp.

I was there, weren't you? It's just like always, he says
I can't rely on you, after millions of years. Wrap myself around you
so you won't get away. But as you know I'm not just here, I say, I am
everywhere. I'm staying with him in the cheap hotel of the world.

The cinematic allusions and the sandals leads straight to this scene in Life of Brian ... be inspired but do follow your own mythic footsteps in the year to come.