Feminism and Religion

“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!

The Elder Berry Woman, part 3 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. This is part 3 of 4 parts. It is her personal wisdom story. Enjoy!

I thought of the 30 years I had spent celebrating monthly and seasonal changes through earth – based ritual. Every rite had one requirement that included some kind of letting go, surrender, or death of a quality/attitude no longer needed. I had learned that some types of ‘dying’ were part of an ongoing cyclic process requiring endless repetition. But in all these years I had not been able to feel my physical death as part of that round.

“Could it also be that dealing with the fear of death was partly developmental? Maybe I am just moving into this psychic region of influence now? At 70 I am starting to feel that one day, in the not-so-distant future I shall die.”

“What you just said is important. Dealing with dying on a personal level is to some extent developmental. The fact that you are starting to feel death looming as part of your future may seem frightening but is another positive development. You must be able to feel those feelings and one day the child must join you to reach a point of acceptance.”

“I am so tired of stupid fear,” I whisper.

The Elder Berry Woman, part 2 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. It is her personal wisdom story. Today is part 2 of 4. Enjoy!

“I want to trust you Berry Woman, but I can’t let go of my fear.” I feel ashamed admitting the truth.

“You endured the legacy of abandonment, and this has given you great strength, but you have also been cut away from your ability to trust, and the safety of being Earthed. You are like a tree without a taproot, vulnerable to collapse in heavy winds and storms. If you can lean into me just for a moment you will feel a difference. Shut your eyes. Try it.”

I close my eyes. I breathe deeply, sudden images of hearts thrumming, soft skin next to mine… then I feel the warmth of my two little dogs. I am totally relaxed; I trust my dogs implicitly.

“That’s right, start with who you do trust – you are well aware that your dogs have been your most powerful teachers since childhood.”

I get it.

Start with what I have, not with what I don’t. I think about Nature whose benign presence is palpable in all but my most despairing moments. Isn’t this how the Berry Woman came to me? A big part of me must already trust her.

“Let’s leave the trust issue for now and move on to the second problem. You have no faith in your ability to persevere. You are strong but you must say no to the negative voices that undermine you, and to do that you must be able to listen to what they are telling you.”

The Elder Berry Woman, part 1 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 are trying something a little different from what we usually do. For the next four days we will post a four-part serialized story from our long-time contributor Sara Wright. It is her personal wisdom story. Enjoy!

Preface:

I began this story 10 years ago, put it away unfinished, completed it 5 years ago just before Covid struck, and lost it. When did it suddenly surface? On the Eve of All Hallows. Three days ago.

Because the story is autobiographical it deals with my personal issues. However, there are universal elements that people may identify with… this tale attempts to deal with some of the questions and the problems associated with aging, fear of death, and dying. I would greatly appreciate feedback.

The Elder Berry Woman

I turned 70 a month ago, crossing an invisible threshold. With this birthday I reluctantly entered the first year of my ‘elder’ years. “Red Birds” awakened me at dawn. The two cardinals spent the morning hours chirping and hopping around the grapevines outside my bedroom window. I felt deep gratitude for these feathered presences that seemed to understand that this birthday was charged with a heaviness I couldn’t diffuse. My intimate relationship with these birds has been predicated on grief. These cardinals were reaffirming that Nature responds to the longings of the hungry heart.

I have reached the conclusion that aging is a subject that no one wants to touch in case it’s catching. We sprout platitudes. We pretend that age won’t rob us of our abilities or our autonomy. We “forge on” with military precision until we discover that even raking leaves can pull muscles, creating new inroads for pain like I did just last week. Others “soldier on” hiking or scaling mountains when feet, ankles, knees, and hips are starting to complain. Forced snow – shoveling strains back muscles sometimes to the breaking point, as does heavy garden work. In our culture this bull –like ego driven behavior is lauded while bodies weep. “Keep busy” pancaked women chime with false Barbie faces cracking under the strain of deadly smiles. “You’re only as old as you think.”