Earth-based spirituality – Page 2 – Feminism and Religion

The Legacy of Carol P. Christ: Spring in the Era of Pesticides, Global Climate Change, and War

This was originally posted April 6, 2015. Different wars perhaps (or a continuum) but the issues and horrors remain.

This was not a normal winter. It rained and rained and rained. It was grey, grey, grey. Gale force winds blew in from the ocean, not once but many times. Several of my shutters were shattered. An olive tree fell in my garden. I pruned the dead leaves from its branches and had it hauled away. I am still in the process of pulling out a large number of plants that did not survive an unusual number of very cold days.

The soil is so saturated that streams are running where they have never been seen before, the land gives way, and boulders come crashing down the mountainsides. I have decided to remove all of my traditional shutters rather than repair them–as it is becoming clear that no shutters will survive the winds that will blow over our island in the coming years.

They say that we used to have strong gale winds of about 50 miles per hour once a year. Now we have hurricane force winds of 70 miles per hour several times each winter. I once read that Lesbos has the largest number of sunny days of all the Greek islands. We often sit out of doors wearing light jackets in the middle of winter. This year we did not.

My response to the long winter that has only just begun to give way was to stay inside. Though I said I was mildly depressed, I think deep down I was sad and angry.

Changes in the weather are normal and natural phenomena. But it is becoming increasingly evident that the changes we now experiencing are not. Climate experts tell us that because of the carbon we have released into the atmosphere of our planet, we will experience more and more extreme weather conditions.

I have noticed a decline in bees and butterflies in my garden in recent years. So far this spring there are almost none. This is not the result of global climate change, but of our failure to heed the warnings of Rachel Carson to stop poisoning the environment with pesticides.

The house martins have returned. I hear their liquid chatter as they fly above me. Freesias and irises are about to come into bloom. Pale pink, almost white petaled flowers are opening on the quince tree. Red leaves are budding on the pomegranate trees. The Judas tree burst into deep pink blossom overnight. Spring is a time of rebirth and renewal. This year is no exception.

Spring has also brought an increase in the arrival of refugees fleeing war in Syria and Afghanistan to our island. People discuss what will happen to them, but no one is talking about ending war.

Although spring is coming, it is hard for me to rejoice today. Human beings seem to be hell bent on destroying life. Right now I am holding back tears and screams because I fear that if I let them out, they will not stop.

Postscript: I will find the strength to rejoice in the regeneration of life and to redouble my commitment to save what can be saved–because we must.

Dove Tales, part 2 by Sara Wright

Part 1 was posted last Tuesday. You can read it here.

That first winter after my father’s death I became obsessed with doves and finally gave in and decided to buy one. When I went to pick the dove up at the very last minute, I was drawn not to a white dove but to an African collared dove. Lily b came to live with me as a free flying house dove whose intelligence and uncanny ability to read my mind forced me to concede that something was happening that was beyond my understanding. In retrospect Lily b introduced me to interspecies communications on a concrete level which validated my life experiences with all animals wild and tame. My beloved dogs had been life-time companions, so I already knew we spoke the same language in different ways.

Lily b became a spirit/soul guide and remains one some thirty some years later*. The first sculpture I created at the edge of the sea had the head of a dove. At that time, I still separated spirit from body as most colonized people still do. Now I believe from personal experience that the two are ONE.

Dove Tales, part 1 by Sara Wright

Hundreds (it felt like thousands) of wings descended around the stone table I was sitting on at dawn. Transfixed by this sight that seemed to be occurring within as well as without I could barely comprehend the thousands of soft coos that floated through the air. Celestial music filled my ears. Was this really happening I wondered even as the birds clustered round my feet? I’d loved doves as a child, had drawn thousands of them. In Medieval paintings white doves descended upon Mary as Grace. The child believed. Doves were like no other birds the child was sure…

The buildings and churches of Assisi all had doves cooing from rooftops distracting me from outdoor lectures. I was attending a Jungian conference in Assisi Italy and every morning found me wandering the narrow streets or climbing Saint Francis’s mountain to pick wildflowers and sweet herbs. I had no idea until approaching Assisi that the golden sunflowers that stretched across the horizon almost blinding me that I would spend one week of my life in two worlds. One as a member of a professional conference, the other submerged in experiences that lifted me out of ordinary reality. The time with the doves was just one of many experiences of Mary, Saint Francis and Old Women (who approached me in the streets) that lifted me out of the life I knew.

What I felt and sensed was stronger than any rational thought, so experiential reality held me fast and even at the time these experiences were occurring I hoped this reality would never let me go.

Reflections in a Winter Forest by Sara Wright

Yesterday’s welcome sun and warm temperatures had me out the door to lay down another round of ashes before the next storm. After packing down our woodland paths with snowshoes we were off to our favorite forest. I had planned to look for liverworts but as usual nature had other plans nudging me to note which trees might be photosynthesizing around these forest edges. At any given moment there are thousands of interactions between tree bark and ki’s environment that most of us take for granted. If you pay attention to bark you may, like me, develop a deep respect for the unparalleled beauty and for the protective skin of every tree. Especially during the winter months.

We know that bark protects the tree from insects and other damage, and the thick ridged bark of older pines or hemlocks also holds moisture in ki’s fissures as well as providing creaturely homes.

I feel compelled to stop to run my hands over these thick white pine trunks in gratitude and awe for their existence. I do the same thing at home in my modest sanctuary, but here the pines are older like the ones that once entirely covered the mountain behind me, all the way to the ledges…I remind myself that the waxy needles on conifers also photosynthesize on warm sunny days.

White Pine Wonder by Sara Wright

Yesterday was mild (mid 40’s in January) so Coalie and I went to our favorite forest to walk. The roads were icy, but the seeps were brimming and ringed with footprints. Over one of my favorites (because declining wood frogs still lay eggs there in the spring), an elderberry bush arced over rippling water like some sort of plant protectoress.

Seeps fascinate me because they defy freezing weather bubbling up through deep in the earth. Water seeps in the forest are small wetland areas where groundwater naturally emerges at the surface, often at the bases of slopes. They create moist spots with lush plants in season (like elderberries) and serve as important habitats for wildlife by providing clean water sources all year-round. They form from underground layers of rock that force water to flow horizontally until it surfaces. Seeps care for their animal and bird neighbors by providing clear waters at any time of year. There were so many fox and partridge tracks leading to and from these pools that I was surprised we didn’t startle one of the latter. (At home I have a pair that are feasting on the last of the crabapple berries). A couple of chickadees were chirping from nearby maples probably annoyed because we were taking our time. Coalie was nosing every blade of grass in the area.

Indigenous Peoples in Greenland May Lose Their Way of Life to a Madman by Sara Wright

The Inuit make up about 88 percent of the people in Greenland, and most speak the Inuit language with the remainder speaking Danish.

Up until the present the greatest challenge the Inuit peoples have faced besides the threats to their culture/and massive environmental collapse due to climate change has centered around uranium mining and the ubiquitous Military presence.

Now an American Madman demands that the entire country be taken over to secure homeland security against the ‘enemy’ (himself?) What is rarely mentioned is that Greenland is also so rich in resources (so useful to ‘resource’ hungry America). This lunatic threatens to make everyone that refuses to support the takeover ‘pay’.

What never seems to make it into the news is that should this takeover happen the Inuit people who have subsisted in this harsh but magnificent peace of earth (peace used deliberately) for thousands of years will be destroyed. How is it possible that no one mentions that this is yet ONE MORE Indigenous culture that will go down under the tyranny of the colonizers? I repeat this truth for emphasis because Indigenous peoples are invisible in this culture, regardless of what is said. 500 hundreds year of oppression by foreigners isn’t enough?

The Legacy of Carol P. Christ: Liminal Space

This was originally posted on December 30, 2019

From the Latin word limen meaning threshold.

When I returned to Lesbos in mid-October, I imagined I would be living in my new apartment in Crete for the holidays. In fact, my lawyer and my realtor insisted that I arrange to transfer money to Greece quickly, as they expected the contract to be ready soon.

When I opened the door and entered into what had been my dream home in Lesbos, I was greeted by the smell of damp and the sight of peeling paint. The previous winter had been the rainiest in many years, one of my living room walls is partially underground due to a slope, and moisture had seeped through the walls. I wanted to move out—and fast.

In the Belly of Winter: Tending the Sacred Flame by Molly M. Remer

It is February, the belly of winter. We stand in the doorway between worlds, a thin, pale light ahead of us, just beginning to gather itself at the horizon. While life may feel still and inspiration frozen, something in us is listening for the first faint whispers of spring. In earth-centered, neopagan spiritual traditions drawing inspiration from old Celtic holidays, the holiday of Imbolc is on February 1-2. Imbolc is based on an old Irish word that means “in the belly.” One of my favorite reminders to myself at any time of year, not just February, is to cradle myself in the belly of the moment.* To be in the belly reminds us that we need not be focused on arriving or figuring it all out, instead we incubate, we gestate, we draw nourishment from deep within. We do not have to be ready. We are becoming. We are in the belly of winter, and the work of the belly is to hold, to warm, to nourish what is not yet visible.

In the middle of winter as well as in the middle of national crises, international conflict, and climate disaster, the world can feel grim and gray, and like hope and optimism are misplaced or even extinguished. We may feel burned out, used up, or simply too tired to offer anything of value.

Shamanism in the MRI Scanner by Eline Kieft

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…

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.