A magical moment occurs when in the dappled light of forest trees you spot a gentle doe staring at you with her deep, dark, liquid eyes. We all feel the grace and peace she bestows – awestruck by an instant of unity.
Category: General
Yes, there are Goddesses in the Bible, Part 4 by Janet MaiKa’i Rudolph
This is the 4th in a series of blog posts about finding goddesses in the bible who had been hidden away through translation or denigration or other means. In my last blog post I discussed Lilith as a Great Goddess symbolized by both tree and bird. You can see it here.
Today I continue with the topic of trees along with an examination of reversals and how many of beautiful, female pagan symbols were changed or removed from the texts. Perhaps the most obvious and pernicious has been that Eve “caused the fall” of humankind through a sinful act. Thus, the logic goes, it was Her action that has created the “grand curse” that we have labored under ever since. As I wrote in my last blog post, Lilith is another example, being portrayed as a demon in order to denigrate her Great Goddess roots. Lilith originally embodied both bird and tree energies. In my last blog post I showed one image of the Goddess in the tree which was a common theme in ancient Levantine cultures. The image today shows the goddess breast in the tree, which is identified as Isis suckling the future pharaoh Tutmose III. These images show the “Goddess in the Tree” as freely bestowing Her gifts and nurturing (not cursing) humankind. Continue reading “Yes, there are Goddesses in the Bible, Part 4 by Janet MaiKa’i Rudolph”
Tree Teachings by Sara Wright
I breathe in
the scent of
moist wooded bogs,
crystal lake waters,
baskets of dew
heavy and sweet
soaking heat
through every pore…
note withered leaves
shriveled mosses
and still
the rains do
not come.
The Earth is on Fire.
Stagnant pools
shrunken trunks,
the lack of fruiting bodies
falling leaves
a crisped ground
beneath my feet
remind me
that grief must be
felt with as much
awareness as possible
to create the
necessary bridge…
My weeping pine
keeps me mindful –
The Earth is on Fire.
Two thousand year old Redwoods
succumb to flaming
heartwood…
Yet some will live on.
Trees know that
There is nothing they
can do to stop
this holocaust
besides witnessing,
accepting their dying,
leaning into
the Grief of the Earth,
as she yields
to the power of
‘What Is.’
Working notes: From the personal to the collective
A few days ago I had to take down a pine tree that I loved. Although I did not do the actual cutting I did make the decision to end the tree’s life, so I am the one responsible. My young friend made the cut, felling the tree in just the right direction; his father who was assisting felt a fierce wind hit his face as the tree slammed into the ground just beside him. Indoors, I shuddered involuntarily even as relief flowed through me like a river. It was over.
This tree cutting was witnessed by “tree people” – three humans who truly love trees. Afterwards, Marcus came to me. “Are you all right?” I choked back an avalanche of tears. Not (at that moment) for the tree, but for me because, like the tree, I too had just been witnessed by this boy’s sensitivity – For the first time in my 75 years I was not alone with my tree grief. No other words passed between us but the depth of our feelings united us with each other and that tree. Not a shred of separation. Amazing, and yet so comprehensible.
I felt sorrow over the loss of the tree; but also, strangely, accepting. The next morning I wrote the following:
Treefall
Last night I poured water at the base of the tree as a blessing, gathered herbs to place against her trunk. I lay my hands on rough bark as I spoke … reminiscing about the bear fur I first found scattered around her pine-rooted floor. I told the tree how much I loved the sound of her needles rustling, the intoxicating scent of those that fell to the ground, the “candles” s/he bore in late spring, the masses of pine cones that appeared shortly thereafter. How kindly s/he blocked the heat of the summer sun from the house; how much I loved her. I told her too that I hoped that she would not feel too much pain. I listened then for a response and sensed a stillness; this tree knew what was coming and accepted her dying. There was no answer forthcoming regarding pain… (I called this marked tree a female but all white pines are monoecious meaning that each tree produces male and female cones).
That was as far as I got.
An email came in from Marcus a few minutes later that addressed my question: did he feel that trees experienced pain?
What follows is his response.
“In my experience, I have found that trees certainly do feel pain. The difficulty is in understanding it because the pain the trees feel is only knowable at a visceral level in our bodies. The pain in my body is the tree‘s pain. The tough part is that because that pain is in my body, it gets mixed up with my own feelings of loss, which makes it immensely challenging to sort through. However, a few weeks ago when I had to cut down an apple tree that was being destroyed by tent caterpillars the separation of this pain was discernible. Once the tree was gone there was an immense release of pain in my body. But even so I still carried the sadness of the tree’s loss…I spent so much time getting to know that apple tree that I could feel it drowning in its own sap because it could no longer photosynthesize. Yesterday was different. I could feel the tree and the split but couldn’t communicate with it as well…I was so nervous and stuck in my own place (we all were nervous because the tree was 167 feet tall). But what I know for certain is that trees accept death much easier than we do… the dying hurts physically but the trees are never scared of death or regretful at what is being left behind. They are much more in touch with the fluidity of their spirituality and with the cyclic nature of life. They understand that death is not an endpoint… Dead trees that have stumps continue to live as they transfer what I think of as their essence, meaning soul, spirit, consciousness to whatever comes next. It is only when the underground network for transference is ripped away that a tree really dies.”
I should add that Marcus is a nature mystic, though he doesn’t yet know it. A scholarship to Dartmouth left him feeling as if he didn’t belong and after a year he dropped out. Now he cares for his family’s forest, cuts trees when needed, creates magnificent art from dead trees and trains for the Olympics. He is 21 years old.
It stuns me that someone who is 50 years younger than I am could be such a powerful teacher, friend, and the first person I have ever known that feels the way I do about trees and can communicate these ideas/feelings on such an embodied level. I adore him.
The following day I learned firsthand about the terrible fires that are ravaging Colorado after talking with a woman who cannot even leave her own house (I have deliberately been avoiding the news).
That night I had a catastrophic dream rife with cultural holocaust elements.
When I awakened that morning I was so sluggish I could barely move. I dragged myself outside and stood quietly by the tree soaking in her dying scent. Pinenes. Tears were seeping into the heartwood from the still living cambium. I thought of the billions of burning, slaughtered trees. I felt helpless and quite stupid. Profoundly depressed, I knew enough to stay with the grief as I moved through the day; the trees had taught me well. My body felt like lead. I fell asleep in the early afternoon.
The next morning I awakened refreshed; the collective grief had receded because I felt it and didn’t try to hurry it or twist my experience into some bizarre form blurring its painful edges with new age ‘gratitude,’ for example. I paved my own way to peace and illumination on a personal level by being with others who truly loved trees and allowed themselves to feel their grief as I did – with them and also alone.
It also interests me that as a ‘tree woman’ that I was still called to feel catastrophic tree grief on a collective level just after my personal loss. By avoiding the news (because of Trump) I was also lacking in awareness and knowledge. Our Earth is on Fire, trees are dying by the billions, and these beings need to be witnessed, especially by those who are capable of standing it (so many are not and I think this is part of the problem). Blind acceptance of the death of billions of trees seems out of place in this context. Resignation is not an endpoint. The trees will guide me into whatever comes next. Of this, I am certain.
Sara is a naturalist, ethologist ( a person who studies animals in their natural habitats) (former) Jungian Pattern Analyst, and a writer. She publishes her work regularly in a number of different venues and is presently living in Maine.
Yes There are Goddesses in the Bible, Part 3
This blog post is the 3rd in a series of looking for female deities in the bible who have been translated out of easy reach or otherwise hidden within its words. In my last blog post I discussed bird imagery and the bible. It is available here.
You can’t complete a discussion about birds without also bringing up Lilith. She appears by name only in one place in the bible; Isaiah 34:14. Isaiah uses the word liyliyth as a feature in a hellish landscape. Although it is also a name, liyliyth is treated as a common noun. The most prevalent translation is “screech owl” although others have included such names as night creature, night monster, night hag, and she-vampire. Continue reading “Yes There are Goddesses in the Bible, Part 3”
Re-Visioning Medusa: Part II by Sara Wright
Read Part I of Re-Visioning Medusa here.
Recently, I was given a wonderful gift, a small shiny black pot with Avanyu’s image carved into its micacious clay surface. I have become enamored by the images and the mythology around this powerful serpent. Every day I look at my pot and wonder what specific message Avanyu might be trying to convey to me.
As I began this essay I also wondered how Avanyu’s serpentine aspect might relate to my writing about Medusa? Was he guiding me? I certainly believe he is highlighting the importance of needing to live through the truth of my body. Continue reading “Re-Visioning Medusa: Part II by Sara Wright”
Re-Visioning Medusa: Part I by Sara Wright
All through my childhood a self-portrait, painted by my mother hung above my parents’ bed. I was fascinated by this image of the stern face of my very beautiful mother with her long wavy chestnut hair. In the painting my mother’s body was buried in the sand up to her neck. Behind her, churning waves cascaded onto the shore. A blue sky was visible. A few seashells were scattered around and a large shiny green beetle was crawling over the sand. On the surface this image of my mother with her long curly hair seemed quite serene but as a child the painting disturbed me. It was as if this painting held a key – but to what? My father loved the painting and often commented on it…
I can remember playing at the seashore. My father would dig holes and bury both his children up to their necks in the warm sand that also held us fast…
I had one reoccurring childhood nightmare of waking up and not being able to breathe. Continue reading “Re-Visioning Medusa: Part I by Sara Wright”
With Beauty Around Me by Carol P. Christ
With Beauty Around Me by Carol P. Christ
When I moved from Lesbos to Crete, I decided to take some 30 large and medium-sized handmade terra cotta pots acquired over the years along with me. As I had been living part-time in Crete for several years, most of the plants had died, but I managed to salvage freesia bulbs, chives, and cuttings from nutmeg-scented geraniums.
My friend Mavroudis helped me empty the soil into feed bags provided by a neighbor who keeps sheep. I decided to move the dirt too, as I didn’t fancy carrying numerous bags up to my apartment. The movers were not too happy about this, and by the time they were deposited higgledy-piggledy on my balconies in Crete, several of the pots were broken and the bags were leaking.
I mended the broken pots with trusty epoxy glue before I got sick, which was lucky, because, since then, I would not have been able to do it. A few weeks after arriving, I felt tired and had trouble eating. I was diagnosed with cancer and began chemo-therapy. I have little physical energy and spend much of my days resting in bed or sleeping. There are still many boxes to unpack and they can wait, but I felt the need to tend the balconies. Continue reading “With Beauty Around Me by Carol P. Christ”
“We Must Have Music” by Barbara Ardinger
In 1936, Sir Noël Coward (1899-1973), one of England’s greatest and most prolific songwriters and playwrights, wrote a song for a play called Shadow Play, which is part of a series of ten short plays gathered under the title Tonight at 8:30. At one point, Simon steps down to the footlights and sings this song:
Play, orchestra, play
Play something light and sweet and gay
For we must have music
We must have music
To drive our fears away.
You can listen to Coward and Gertrude Lawrence (one of his best friends) singing the song here.
Shadow Play can probably best described as surrealistic: the major characters travel through dreams and flashbacks and flash-forwards as they try to figure out what on earth they’re doing. What do they fear? Probably what they’re doing to themselves with their illusions and delusions. But let’s take the song out of its dramatic context. What did people have to fear in 1936? Franco in Spain. Mussolini in Italy. Hitler in Germany.
From the 1920s to the 1950s, Coward wrote dozens of plays, many of them comedies, and acted in them, too. He also wrote more songs than I can count, most of them witty (“Sail Away”), many ironic (“Mad Dogs and Englishmen”), some romantic (“I’ll See You Again”), that not only advance the plots of the plays but also possibly distract listeners from whatever misery is happening in “real life.” As Amanda says in Private Lives, “[It’s] strange how potent cheap music is.” (Irony: she’s talking about “Someday I’ll Find You,” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_i3DDHL_dnw a romantic song Coward wrote that is playing offstage.) During the war, Coward also wrote and acted in popular movies to cheer his audiences.
Now let’s move into 2020. What do we have to fear? Here’s my current short list.
- That the coronavirus will get stronger and hungrier and Station Eleven (which I reviewed in April) https://feminismandreligion.com/2020/04/05/not-if-but-when-by-barbara-ardinger/ will turn from a spellbinding novel into nonfiction.
- That Trump will refuse to leave the White House in January and Washington will turn into a literal war zone.
- That patriarchy, misogynism, nationalism, white supremacy, and the gun lobby will get stronger and noisier.
- That our school-age children will never go back to school as we know school and grow up to be illiterate and innumerate.
- That climate change will destroy our blessed Mother Earth and all our kin, both animal and vegetable.
What can you add to my list? What do you fear today?
We all know, of course, that music by itself will not solve any of these problems or literally drive our fears away. But music is powerful. As William Congreve (an early 18th-century playwright) wrote, “Musik has charms to soothe a savage breast.” (No, that line isn’t from Shakespeare and, no, it’s not “savage beast.”) Music can help feel less savage…but well, yes, it can also sway us to be more savage (ask the Nazis about that). During this pandemic, perhaps music can heal us emotionally, perhaps help us deal with staying at home and meeting our friends only via Zoom. Music can both stimulate and soothe our poor, worn-out minds. Music can lift us out of depression and help us forget to worry for a while. Listening to and participating in music (maybe virtual bands and orchestras or choruses) will surely help us survive individually, maybe collectively.
Shakespeare often tells us how good music is for us. Two brief examples:
Music oft hath such a charm
To make bad good….
(Measure for Measure, 4.1)
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends;
Unless some dull and favourable hand
Will whisper music to my weary spirit.
(2 Henry IV, 4.5)
I quit watching the Sunday TV talk shows several months ago, and now I don’t watch more news than I must to more or less keep up with what’s going on. I fill my evenings with music. What I’m totally insane about is musical theater. My all-time favorite shows are 42nd Street (Arlen and Dubin—all that tapdancing!), Ragtime (Flaherty and Ahrens), The Fantasticks (Jones and Schmitt—“Try to Remember”), Bright Star (Martin and Brickell), the balletic American in Paris (the Gershwins—“inspired by” and better than the movie), and Rent (Larson—“Seasons of Love”). How many of these shows do you know? Back when we could still go to the theater and see live actors, I saw all of these shows; now I have them on DVD, along with a gazillion others. I also like folk music (especially Pete Seeger and Arlo Guthrie…can you hum “Alice’s Restaurant”?) and classical music (especially Mozart’s Magic Flute because Papageno is so earthy and pagan). Oh, gee, another fear—what if theaters and real symphony orchestras are gone forever?
Now it’s your turn to consider the benefits of music in your life. What music do you listen to? When do you listen? Does this music help drive your fears away? Make yourself some new playlists and schedule more music into your days and nights. And remember—“we must have music.”
Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D. (www.barbaraardinger.com), is a published author and freelance editor. Her newest book is Secret Lives, a novel about grandmothers who do magic. Her earlier nonfiction books include the daybook Pagan Every Day, Finding New Goddesses (a pun-filled parody of goddess encyclopedias), and Goddess Meditations. When she can get away from the computer, she goes to the theater as often as possible—she loves musical theater and movies in which people sing and dance. She is also an active CERT (Community Emergency Rescue Team) volunteer and a member (and occasional secretary pro-tem) of a neighborhood organization that focuses on code enforcement and safety for citizens. She has been an AIDS emotional support volunteer and a literacy volunteer. She is an active member of the Neopagan community and is well known for the rituals she creates and leads.
Sacrificial Gathering in the Long Covid Desert by Tallessyn Zawn Grenfell-Lee
I am a fairly private person; but I do like nice hugs. I grew up in a home that involved so much intentional love and affection that I came to see it as a normal part of any loving relationship. I’m pretty sure I startle my friends sometimes by saying such affectionate things; but they endure, and many of them claim to appreciate a nice hug, too.
I know there are plenty of people who have experienced unhealthy or abusive touch; in fact, I’m one of them. I also know that the way to heal those wounds is usually through healthy touch, in relationships of trust.
Continue reading “Sacrificial Gathering in the Long Covid Desert by Tallessyn Zawn Grenfell-Lee”Herb Talk: Bee Balm by Sara Wright
For Carol.
Women’s relationship with plants stretches back to the beginning of humankind. Most of us know that women invented agriculture and became the first healers.
I come from a family of women who all had gardens, but no one grew herbs. It interests me in retrospect how I turned to these healing plants. I first used them for culinary purposes as a young mother; but as I approached midlife (mid –thirties) I began to gather herbs for medicinal purposes. I realize now that I made this shift just as I began to embrace the goddess and the Earth body as my mother and turned inward to healing myself. The two were definitely connected. It is the Body of the Earth that is capable of healing our broken souls and bodies; and some wise unconscious part of me knew that. Continue reading “Herb Talk: Bee Balm by Sara Wright”
Feminism and Religion 