Goddess Spirituality – Feminism and Religion

Winter Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

Yes, it is December
already and again.
Let yourself notice the milkweed pods,
how they have split their sides
and are sending silky white seed fluffs
into the waiting air.
Witness the trees,
bare and gray and patient.
Watch the squirrels,
tails puffed against the chill,
stored nuts in their cheeks.
Listen to the wind
how it whispers and rattles
through the empty branches.
Watch the clouds,
slow-moving white billows
in a pale blue sky.
Be patient with yourself.
Grant yourself grace.
Remember the three invitations
of the solstice season:
to listen,
to wonder,
to be content.
Remember your promise
to keep company with joy.
Remember your vow
to be in devotion
to your own life.
Think about everything
there is to do.
Open your hands.
Feel that thin, whispering
winter wind
skim over your palms.
Take a deep breath.
Allow yourself to marvel
at all this year
has held.
Bless it.
Thank it.
Cup your hands
around your own face.
Say: thank you.
Here you are in the center
of your own life’s unfolding.
There is nowhere else to be.
Be gentle with yourself.
Invite the winter crone to tea.
Look into her eyes.
See yourself reflected there,
your own winter eyes open
to the possibility
of both clarity and delight.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. In the summer, I compiled a post with 13 summer lessons from 13 years of posts here at FAR. I decided to bookend that post with a Winter Lessons post as well. Here are thirteen lessons to share from past winter posts:

I Was Called by Mama Dove by Judith Shaw

As we move into the Winter Holidays, when calls for peace are found everywhere, my reflections keep returning to the wisdom of the little dove.

Unlike most of my animal paintings, which start with research into their myths, Mama Dove was different. This painting came about through direct experience in the natural world. In the summer of 2024, a dove nested in the deteriorating lattice roof of my pergola, allowing me to observe her closely as she sat on her eggs. This amazing experience revealed her nurturing strength, and inspired me to create this painting.

mama_dove_painting_Judith_Shaw — *Mama Dove*, gouache on paper by Judith Shaw

Living in an Ever-Changing Co-Creative Universe by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Grand Star Forming Region. These stars are only a few million years old.

Imagine living in a co-creative universe where all beings, including the Divinity and humans, are ever co-evolving reality in a way that nurtures life. What kind of a world would that be? Feminist theologian and FAR contributor Carol Christ brilliantly describes how these ideas, part of an approach called process philosophy, deeply resonate with Goddess thealogy in her 2003 book She Who Changes: Re-Imaging the Divine in the World.

She writes “process philosophy states that all life in is process, changing and developing, growing and dying, and that even the divine power participates in changing life. Humans and other beings are not things (substances or essences) situated in empty space, as has often been thought by philosophers and scientists, but are active processes ever in relation and transition…” (3). In fact, “the whole universe is alive and changing, continually co-creating new possibilities of life” (45). Further, “Process philosophy asserts that feeling, sympathy, relationship, creativity, freedom, and enjoyment are the fundamental threads that unite all beings in the universe, including particles of atoms and the divinity” (3).

Samhain and the Goddess by Judith Shaw

The wheel of the year is turning us once again toward the dark half of the year. Here in the United States, the bright, shining days of youth and achievement receive the most attention. Death and darkness are rarely honored and often feared.

But the ancient Celts had a completely different view of their place in the world. With a strong belief in reincarnation, the Celts saw death as simply a point of transition in a very long series of lives. People honored the darkness of both night and winter as starting points. In the Celtic worldview a day began at sunset, not sunrise, and the New Year began on Samhain, October 31—the midpoint between Fall Equinox and Winter Solstice.

Samhain, one of the four great fire festivals of Celtic tradition, might have begun long before the Celts arrived in Ireland under the influence of an ancient goddess, Tlachtga (tclak ta). She was most likely from the time of the Fir Bolgs, (fair bolak) the Bronze Age inhabitants of Ireland from the East, and later incorporated into the Celtic pantheon.

Tlachtga--celtic-goddess-painting-by-judith-shaw — *Tlachtga, Celtic Goddess of Sun & Lightning*, gouache on paper

Merrows: The Enchanting Mermaids of Celtic Mythology by Judith Shaw

Mermaids have captivated our imaginations worldwide for thousands of years. Across cultures, mermaids are depicted in differing ways—as a dangerous seductresses like the Greek sirens, or as one who could grant immortality like the Japanese ningyo.

Celtic Ireland, with its abundance of fairies and magical beings has its own kind of mermaid, the Merrow. This term derives from the Gaelic word, “murúch,” which translates as “sea maiden.”

*A Merrow*‘s Longing by Judith Shaw, gouache on paper, 12″x18″

The Cauldron of Life: Destruction and Creation in Celtic Myth, Part 1 by Judith Shaw

With each passing day, the world spirals deeper into chaos under the weight of the most unsuitable and morally bankrupt president the United States has ever elected. In nearly every aspect of life—from politics to economics to technology to the environment—the world as we knew it is gone. We find ourselves caught between chaos and creation. We are in liminal times.

Badb, Dark Goddess by Judith Shaw — *Badb: Fate Weaver* by Judith Shaw

Summer Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

Let us be gentle with ourselves
as we cross the threshold
into summer,
as we both open our hearts to change
and open our hands to choice.
It is now that we both let things go
and celebrate what is flourishing,
what is thriving and growing
and calling us onward.
Let us be soft and supple,
luminous and languorous.
Let us practice the discipline of pleasure
and the liturgy of delight.
Let us protect wide margins for magic,
commit to our own life’s unfolding
and swim freely
in the current of the sacred
that is always available
to receive us
and welcome us home.

Today, I sit missing the orioles and thinking about cycles of change, how things grow and decline, and how we can choose to be present or not with what we see and feel. I tip my head back in the green filtered light of morning and discover berries beginning on the mulberry trees. The wild raspberries and blackberries too are tipped with small, firm caps of green. I am feeling the sort of overdue clarity that descends when I finally realize I can let something go, that not everything is mine to carry or mine to fix. I know that this clarity too will come and go, but for now, I welcome it, feeling the cool wind stirring my hair and brushing my shoulders as I enjoy the sunshine and the sound of hawks on the wing. There is a powerful hope in these blue sky days and for now, I bask in the sensation of both remembering and reclamation.

This year, as we tip into summer in the Northern hemisphere, the temperatures in my own Midwestern biome have been surprisingly cool, peaceful and rainy. In an era of climate change, this slow entry into the heat of the year has felt welcome and encouraging. Something that continues to inspire and teach me this year has been to start where my feet are, to return again and again to where I am on this earth and in my body. In a culture that encourages fragmentation and distraction, distance, discord, and dis-embodiment, this practice of return is an act of both rebellion and reclamation.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. This year, sitting down to write and reflecting on the life lesson of starting where my feet are, I decided to go back through my past summer posts here to discover the other lessons I have learned from summers gone by. I chose thirteen lessons to share from past summer posts:

The Wisdom of Cerridwen: Transforming Her Cosmic Brew by H. Bryon Ballard

Moderator’s Note: This is the Preface to the recently published anthology, The Wisdom of Cerridwen: Transforming Her Cosmic Brew.

Cerridwen, ancient Queen,
Dark Mother, take us in.
Cerridwen, ancient Queen,
Let us be reborn.
—a Reclaiming chant

Open these pages and relish the words of this divine Mother, this wild Sister, this trickster and keeper of the Cauldron of Eternity! Spend time with Her. Learn Her sacred ways, Her stories, Her lore.

I learned the chant above at the Glastonbury Goddess Conference where I taught several years ago. I often use it in both my private meditations and in public rituals. It is simple but direct, quite unlike the Goddess it honors. I learned how to pronounce Her name from a Welsh-speaking colleague who gave it a rolling “r” and an emphasis on the second syllable. Keh-RRRHID-wen. Try it. So delicious to say.

Pandora/Gaia—Bringer of Gifts by Judith Shaw

As we move deeper and deeper into full autocratic rule, the timeless themes found in mythology help me find my way.

My first thought for these days was of Pandora, whose story in the myth of Pandora’s Box serves as a powerful metaphor for the complexities of human choice—relevant today by the choice of many to elect Trump, resulting in multiple destructive consequences.

***Hope Endures***, by Judith Shaw, gouache on paper, 7.5″x10″

Opening All the Windows and Returning the Goddess to Her Rightful Place by Caryn MacGrandle

The quote that describes Jesus as the “front door of God” is found in the Bible, John 10:7, where Jesus says, “I am the door of the sheep”; essentially meaning that the only way to access God is through Jesus, as he is the entrance point to God’s presence.

I have been calling on Hathor, and last night, She came.

Ah, let me back up a few steps.

I have up to now not given much thought to Egyptian Goddesses instead preferring my Celtic and Greek ones. But a few days ago, I attended this lovely workshop by Tahya who has developed a modern day systrum, the percussion instrument used by Priestesses in honor of Hathor. And as so often happens on my path, when you crack the window, She comes.

The last two days I have been listening to Hathor meditations, the Mother of all creation, the Goddess of Love, an Egyptian Goddess whose worship may have begun in the Predynastic Era over 5,000 years ago.