Research Interest Group meetings are for any CCP members who are are working towards completing the Research Module of the Advanced Diploma, or if you’re just interested in finding out about what’s involved.

The meetings are led by Dr Tom Werner, and they are held on Saturday morning about once a month on the 6th floor of the Physics Building, Queen Mary University of London (near Mile End station). We start at 9.00am so that the assistants from the BeeLeaf Intermediate Course have time to join us. You can find further details on our Community page and on our online forum.

Practice Group meetings are a great way to refresh your knowledge and practice your skills, and at the same time enjoy a lively discussion and sharing of experience with other CCP members travelling along the same path.

For full details of topics and presenters for each meeting, just go to our Community page. Here you’ll also find full details of our venue, on the 6th floor of the Physics Building, Queen Mary University of London (near Mile End station), which we share with the BeeLeaf Foundation Course.

Elliot Rose says, “I wrote this poem for a personal development task earlier in the year when Pam asked us to create a metaphor for the mind using any medium we wished. I looked out of my lounge window and saw a tree that had been there all the time but I had never taken the time to notice it before and the words just grew from there.”

What if your mind was like an apple tree,
that grew with time from one small seed?
Within that seed a blueprint be,
a mighty plan for your mind-like tree.

The roots fulfil a basic urgency
of hunger, thirst and security.
Growing thick, earth-bound cable.
Establish presence, making you stable.

And, like your spinal cord erect,
a trunk emerges to connect.
Sprouting branches, skyward grows,
like neuron fashioned internal lobes.

Picture the shape of your apple tree.
Filtering leaves distort what you see.
Scatty shadows, diffuse sight,
leafy breaks let through the light.

Blossoms flourish among your leaves
entice pollinating busy bees.
They bumble and buzz around your frame.
External influences in a genetic game?

From each blossom a fruit shall grow.
Emerge like thoughts, but not all on show.
Camouflaged by your many branches.
Obscured by your wind-swept, hypnotic dances.

Like an apple, thoughts may turn bad.
Ferment and fester into something mad.
Life could appear to rot away.
But within, those seeds will grow again.

By Philip J Flores, 2004, published in USA by Jason Aronson.

In this work, Dr Flores shows how to give substance abusers an attachment experience and a sense of community where they feel they are accepted and belong. The theme of attachment, trust and safety is prominent throughout. Therapy, directed along the lines described, allows the chemically dependent person to get close and be intimate with others who are accepting of him without a cost to his identity and autonomy. Ultimately, it allows the alcoholic and addict to deal with the emotions and conflicts triggered by all intimate encounters without relying on alcohol and drugs to sedate, buffer or alter his or her feelings.

Tracy Jarvis writes “Thought I’d blog this. Sometimes I feel so lucky to be studying this artform. Especially when I see and look around every day.”

I often wonder about the world
I wonder about the people
I see the homeless every day
I think about them

I remember a man
Convulsing, skin so blue
Almost a coma
An addict
I presumed drugs and alcohol
Maybe a mixture
I didn’t care
The stench

A Life.

I looked through him
Our unconscious met
I saw him, just a boy
Only a boy
Nothing else
The ambulance came

I drove down the road
The sky so blue
The smell of summer and sweetness
The sound of trees
Delightful

Then I saw him
That boy
That boy with a beard
His skin so soft, unshaven
His bristles alive and well

I looked at him
I smiled
My eyes smiled tears of joy
And my heart sank
I cried

I still wonder about him.

Last week I rode past a needle
I stared, I still do
How many lives has it taken?
How many boys?
How many girls?

Aren’t we just the same?
Separated by our ability of choice