Feminism and Religion

Heartbeat of the Mother: Rhythms from Ancient Times

Traditional women’s dances of Greece, the Balkans, and the Near East have roots in the early Neolithic era, ca. 9,000 years ago. Yosef Garfinkel, Elizabeth Wayland Barber and others have shown that circle dance spread through the ancient world with agriculture – which, Carol Christ explains, was invented by women, along with pottery, weaving, and Neolithic religion. Links between women’s work – gathering and preparing food, spinning and weaving, ceremonial dancing and drumming – have thus been established for thousands of years.

Ritual circle dances surviving today are directly descended from peaceful Goddess cultures of indigenous Old Europe. Now as then, they are based on reverence for mothers, the Mother Earth, and the mothering principle – the highest ideals of matriarchal cultures. Whatever our own background, we are all born from mothers and live from the gifts of the earth, so this is our inheritance also.

Communal circle dance is simple: we join hands in a circle and repeat steps in synchrony, forming patterns such as the zigzag, spiral, serpent, crescent, and Tree of Life. These symbols are reflected in the songs which accompany the dances, and in the textiles made and worn by the women who dance and sing. This continuity of motif since antiquity shows that women transmit meaning through their ritual arts with conscious intent.

Shamanism in the MRI Scanner

Medical tests are an inevitable part of modern life. One experience that tends to heighten anxiety is an MRI scan. The claustrophobic tube, the pounding mechanical noise and the requirement to remain perfectly still for extended periods can create intense sensory overload.

At some point I became aware of the similarities with a shamanic journey, and found a way to transform this ordeal into a ritual of connection and support. With mindful presence and inner attunement, you can imagine the tube as a tunnel to the archetypal realms. The rhythmic, mechanical hum replaces the drumbeat. Spirit becomes a companion alongside modern technology.

I hope you’ll never need it, but should you be scheduling an MRI scan, this is an invitation to meet it with a sacred intention. You might connect with a power guide, receive unexpected insights, or simply meditate on a sense of peace while your body is being scanned. Participate, actively, in something that can feel “done to you” and turn it into a soulful inquiry into your inner world while the medical staff do their thing…

Weaving Magic Together: Reflections on Co-Teaching Witchcraft by Freia Serafina and Amie Ritchie

Welcome, dear reader. It seems you have found yourself at the Witch’s hearth. Imagine–if you can–a cozy cottage, a comfortable rocking chair, a steaming mug of something to drink, and a conversation between two witches who have journeyed together in sisterhood and collaboration over the past year. They are the founders of Witch Workshops, a year-long, community program designed to uplift personal and collective witch wisdom. I hope you’ll stay a while and listen as they reflect, interview-style, on what they’ve learned, what they’ve taught, and what they hope for the future.

Can you give us a sneak peek into one of the workshops?

Amie: Okay, let’s travel back to December 2025… The candles are lit, our bodies are present, we’ve shared reflections around the fire, and it’s time to practice. We unearth and honor the forgotten mothers. I introduce the Cailleachan, and Freia welcomes Skadi to our circle–two ancestral guides from both respective lineages. During our practice, we’ll invite, materialize, and initiate a release. Later this month, our community will share who may be guiding them through this dark side of the year. The monthly challenge will be to rest and rest some more. Last, we’ll offer an intentional closing before the next month begins.

“Care -a- vans” by Beth Bartlett

“ . . . when people no longer have the space to construct homeplace, . . .”
Minnesotans mobilize – providing home wherever the need arises

On Friday, January 23^rd, seven hundred faith leaders from across the country heeded a call that had been put out just a few days before to come to Minneapolis to train, to observe, and to protest actions by ICE agents in the Twin Cities. Hundreds of them gathered in an interfaith service at Temple Israel. Others joined the National Prayer Call for Minnesota. And still others headed to the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport to engage in nonviolent direct action against the MSP airport authority, and Delta Airlines and Signature Aviation in particular, for their complicity with ICE in transporting those arrested either for deportation or for removal to other detention facilities.

While I was simultaneously livestreaming both the Temple Israel service and the National Prayer, Cal, my son, was among those headed to the airport. In the midst of my concern for his and others’ safety from both the bitter cold – it was -40 below windchill – and from the violence of ICE agents, came the words of Rabbi Marcia Zimmerman offering a prayer for all those engaging in the protests that morning. In that moment, my anxiety eased as I could feel them all being surrounded by the prayer shawl of protection. Then, in a stunning moment of synchronicity, the cantor at Temple Israel sang while a Buddhist priest on the National Prayer Call invoked the blessings of Kuan Yin, goddess of compassion – the compassion that moved the protestors to act, but also that which surrounded the protestors with care. For while thousands engaged in protests that day – 50,000 at the march in sub-zero weather, and thousands more daily participate in protests on the streets and outside the Whipple Building – the ICE detention center in St. Paul, or act as constitutional observers throughout the Twin Cities and greater Minnesota, even more are engaged in daily acts of sustenance and care to support the protestors and those afraid to leave their homes for fear of being detained and disappeared by ICE. These acts of care are at the very heart of the resistance.

Omen by Sara Wright

I was driving down the road when I noticed a dead owl. Sun glare blinded me, but I stopped to identify the bird.

It has been many years since I picked up dead owls on the road – thirty five years in all. I began this practice of bringing home the bodies of these creatures when I first moved to the mountains. Finding so many dead owls in a brief span of five years was frightening, but someone in me knew that I needed to honor these Harbingers of Night. Yet the last thing I wanted was to be identified or aligned with an owl, so my behavior rose out a body that never lies. Visions of my mother’s love of owls clouded my mind. Within months of this mountain move a Navajo Medicine woman informed me that I had Owl as a Familiar. Horrified, I resisted mightily. Yet despite what seemed like a curse, I was still compelled to sculpt owl pots out of clay for five years. The losses I endured during this time changed the course of my life.

I taught myself how to dismember owls. I burned owl remains in my woodstove as a symbol of deep respect and out of fear. I always kept feathers and wings in honor of these mysterious night beings not understanding why.

In these United States: A Gratitude Poem, after all, for 2025, by Marie Cartier

Oh yes, I’m grateful for the Portland frog—that blow up adult sized character with the pink scarf blowing back in the wind facing down a squad of ICE “officers.”

I’m so grateful for all the blow-up adult size characters who showed up at the largest protest for anything, single day protest in the U.S. to shout NO KINGS!! And more—the blow-up Tiger with the sign “Fascists get scratches!” My wife inside a blow-up bear, the California bear! With a sign that said, “Yes on 50!”

And so grateful we won: yes, on 50!

Grateful, grateful, for Indivisible! Spreading like Morning Glory. Glory! Glory! Across all 50 states and feeding people, feeding children, passing out whistles – alerting communities when ICE is nearby, stopping ICE in their tracks when they are places, especially in front of schools… I mean, why are they there? (As Gertude says, “There is no there there.”)

But this is a grateful poem. A rant.

I’m grateful for the blow-up unicorn with the sign, “Honk if you are not on the Epstein list.” Dancing on the curb with the rest of us. I’m grateful for all the cars honking as they went by us and all the food donated to give to people in need—some of those in hiding since last spring when this b.s. started – this f*** bullshit– but this is a grateful poem. A rant.

The Legacy of Carol P. Christ: The Feast Day of St. Brigid

This was originally posted on 1/30/12 and then again on 1/29/24. Moderator’s Note: We are posting Carol’s legacy post on Sunday this week rather than Monday because today is the Feast Day of St. Brigid. We also feel this is an important message in these difficult times.

May we remember Brigid on her day in the fullness of her connection to bountiful and life-giving earth by setting a bowl of milk on an altar or special place in the garden on her holy day. Who knows, a snake just might come to drink from it.

The Christian Feast Day of St. Brigid of Kildare, one of the two patron saints of Ireland, is held on February 1, the pre-Christian holiday known as Imbloc. It is well known that St. Brigid has the same name as a pre-Christian Goddess of Ireland, variously known as Brighid (pronounced “Breed”), Brigid, Brigit, Bride, or Bridie. The name Brigid is from the Celtic “Brig” meaning “High One” or “Exalted One.” Brigid like other Irish Goddesses was originally associated with a Mountain Mother, protectress of the people who lived within sight of her and of the flocks nurtured on her slopes.

Imbolc marked the day that cows and ewes give birth and begin to produce milk. It was also said to be the day when hibernating snakes (like groundhogs) first come out of their holes. In northern countries, Imbolc signals the beginning of the ending of winter. The days have begun to lengthen perceptibly after the winter solstice when the sun stands still and it seems that winter will never end. At Imbloc spring is not yet in full blossom. But if hibernating snakes come out of their holes, it is a sure sign that the processes of transformation will continue and warmer days will not be far off. As Marija Gimbutas says, “The awakening of the snakes meant the awakening of all of nature, the beginning of the life of the new year.”

State of Siege by Beth Bartlett

Moderator’s Note: We are breaking into our hiatus because of the importance of what is happening in Minnesota. FAR is not designed for breaking news but we do look at underlying patterns about what is going on in the world and what we are seeing is patriarchy in action. We think it important to bear witness and to understand the trends of what is occurring. This piece by Beth Bartlett does both.

Author’s Note: I live in Duluth, Minnesota, 150 miles north of the Twin Cities where “Operation Metro Surge” is being conducted by ICE agents. Since first writing this, the invasion and siege against the Twin Cities has increased. The Department of Homeland Security has sent 1000 more ICE agents to Minnesota, making the total over 3000. Constitutional observers and people simply driving through an area or being at gas station or parking lots are being pepper sprayed or detained. ICE agents are smashing car windows and dragging people from their cars. ICE agents have targeted schools and daycare centers. They are going door to door. The brutality they have unleashed is indescribable. No one is safe. But the resistance is strong; the mutual aid efforts even stronger. People are caring for each other. …. And as I write this, ICE agents have arrived in force in my city.

“This city will be wiped out, and upon its ruins history will expire at last. . . .”
–Albert Camus, State of Siege

“Loving the daylight that injustice leaves unscathed. . . I found an ancient beauty, a young sky. . . in the worst years of our madness the memory of this sky never left me. It was this that in the end had saved me from despair.”
–Albert Camus, State of Siege

The scene as I drove to the protest and vigil against yet another of the government’s actions and agents was a bit surreal. Juxtaposed against the violence and state repression lay the backdrop of a strikingly beautiful sunset, the sky streaked with pink and purple, peach and blue, and then ahead of me as I passed the hospital, in glowing neon red, the words ”EMERGENCY/TRAUMA.” Yes. We are facing an emergency in this country and trauma of epic proportions. Violence and beauty, rage and tenderness – both. Among the fellow vigilers — friends, former students, long-time comrades in the struggle. We hugged and cried, lit candles, shared our hopes, our fears, our sorrows. Together in this moment we found community in each other.

FAR is on Hiatus

We are also offering you two videos to watch. The first one is an interview with co-weavers Janet Rudolph and Xochitl Alvizo which was done by Carolyn Boyd for Mago. A transcript is available here. The second one is from Caryn MacGrandle of the Divine Feminine App. It is about making a Divine Feminine Library and the effects of AI.

The Elder Berry Woman, part 4 by Sara Wright

Moderator’s Note: FAR will be on hiatus for the month of January. We wish you all a very Happy New Year.

Before we head into our hiatus we will post a four part serialized story from our long-time contributor Sara Wright. Today is the final installment. It is her personal wisdom story. Enjoy!

A few minutes later we continued our conversation under the rugged roots of a nearby pine. The Berry woman had tucked herself into the cracks of the tree’s bark!

“I saw the Mother Tree in my dream – she’s me, isn’t she?”

“Of course. I hope you noticed that she was very much alive, despite her wounding.”

All I had seen were the holes, the dried blood that poured out of her center. Now I imaged the whole tree in my mind, as if seeing her for the first time. She wore a silvery crown of graceful bare branches, and despite the oval black holes in her body she was elegantly dressed in gray ribbed bark. She wasn’t dying.

“You never saw her before – all you noticed were the holes, not a resplendent tree standing between her two sisters. You have a tendency to focus on what’s wrong and that limits your vision. Some of your favorite woodpeckers made those holes and raised children in them.” Woodpeckers create space for new beginnings…and most holes, even those that weep, do not kill the tree. Note that you have two sister trees and neither have holes. You are not alone!