Herstory – Feminism and Religion

In Defense of the Queen by Arianne MacBean

I read FAR’s repost of Carol Christ’s 2016 essay, Maiden, Mother, Crone: Ancient Tradition or New Creative Synthesis, with great interest and was struck by this sentence, “It has been suggested that we need a fourth stage, Queen, to celebrate the years between menopause and old age. Since I reject hierarchy of every kind, I don’t want to be a Queen.” Christ rejected the Queen archetype while acknowledging that in her fifties, she felt no connection to Mother or Crone. I believe, the Queen archetype offers middle-aged women who live after the veil of estrogen has lifted, a realm that no longer prioritizes the relational over self – a vital sacred space.

In my work as a somatic psychotherapist, I often encounter women grappling with the time between motherhood (or choosing not to mother) and cronehood. While the Mother archetype symbolizes a universal pattern of nurturing, protection, and sustaining growth and regeneration, the Crone embodies wisdom, intuition, and spiritual power. Many women between the age of 50 – 65 simply do not connect with either of these personifications and I am one of them.

Mountain Mother by Sara Wright

When I picked berries in the mountain field that first summer, I could sense wave after wave of feeling rising up – seeping into my feet from the ground below. The sun spread blue heat over the hills, and I bathed in summer’s glow. For the first time in my life I felt visible, witnessed for who I really was and accepted: I was loved –unconditionally loved by a Mother. That She was a mountain field didn’t seem odd at all. I loved her back – fiercely. I marveled. To be in love with my goddess, the one that lived in this field, brook, young forest, the one who inhabited each of these rolling hills and mountains seemed so natural. Remarkably, She celebrated my presence not only by gifting me with a love that ran like a great underground river beneath me but because She created a palpable sense of belonging. I belonged to Her. She loved me just because I was. I couldn’t get over it. My gratitude knew no bounds. All I wanted to do was to serve her…

She was visible in so many ways – in the riot of purple and green jack in the pulpits that sprung out of the sphagnum moss behind the camp in the moist valley that often filled with water, through the solitary pink lady slipper that appeared by the bridge that crossed the brook, the tiny white swamp violets, the blue fringed gentians and pearl-white turtleheads that popped up in the meadow fed by it’s own spring in the center of the field.

I glimpsed her face in the cedar that sprung to life in the rich wooded soil that bordered the brook, she sang to me from the wild apple branches that bowed over rippling water, she blinked through each firefly night, burst into a “high” when thunder and lightening churned up the waters and the brook overflowed – White Fire crackling out of her clouds and slamming into me.

Poems by Annelinde Metzner

For five days this March, I gifted myself with a stay at the Meher Baba Center in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I often plan short getaways to help me find my center and decompress from everyday life. The contrast between “worlds” is very great when you’re staying in a pristine nature preserve with the overwhelming commercialism of Myrtle Beach right outside the gates. I knew that this retreat was helping me to deal with a similar conflict I felt in my body, from the pain and stress of living in this moment in time. Poems flowed easily, and I’m grateful for that.

Retreat in Myrtle Beach

A preserve of five hundred acres,
here on the South Carolina coast,
where fresh-water lagoons teem with waterbirds
just across the forested dunes from the breaking ocean waves.
Turtles sun in the grass,
deer leap and raise generations.
A preserve! and out beyond the gates,
over the protecting wall,
is Myrtle Beach, another type of Mecca.
Come out the gate, and it’s “Hooters!”
then, “Tsunami Beach Souvenir Shop!” (everything on sale!)
then, “Maui Beach Miniature Golf,” with an exploding volcano!
and of course, “the MAGA Megastore,”
who’ll sell you anything you could want or need.
This morning I awoke in my sweet-smelling cabin,
little propane heater in the old fireplace
keeping me warm.
And here is the teaching:
Plant your feet on the Earth.
Love this greenness, these creatures,
love Yourself,
because the entire off-kilter, out-of-balance,
koyaanisqatsi (*) world out there
is depending on You: feet planted,
head in the stars.

Invocation to Shekhinah-Lilith-Ishtar … By D’vorah Grenn, PhD

Moderator’s Note: This beautiful invocation appeared on the Lilith Institute’s website on February Feb 19, 2024. If you would like to learn more or see this invocation on their website, click here.

She of all knowing, dark wisdom … She of the deep abyss, snake’s descent, owl’s knowing … woman of the dark, the light.

We praise You, we stand in awe, marveling at the myriad surprises you hold in store for us always respectful of your power, your M/mystery.

Shekhinah-Lilith-Ishtar, we worship you, in all your aspects; we sing your name.

Walk with us as we yearn to see you, to feel you, to exchange the divine sparks we both need to live … Never let us forget your P/presence in, around and through us, as we seek to proclaim and praise you in every corner of the world, in your many guises, by every name.

Walk with us as we love you, when we are angered by you, when we fail to comprehend you and when we renew our resolve to serve …

Be patient with us as we must be with ourselves, and each other, holding your Presence even when we are in doubt or despair.

MaVynee Betsch: Preserving History and the Environment by Maria Dintino

Moderator’s Note: This piece is in co-operation with The Nasty Women Writers Project, a site dedicated to highlighting and amplifying the voices and visions of powerful women. The site was founded by sisters Theresa and Maria Dintino. To quote Theresa, “by doing this work we are expanding our own writer’s web for nourishment and support.” This was originally posted on their site on Feb 18, 2025. You can see more of their posts here.

“It’s history and nature all wrapped together, baby.” -MaVynee Betsch

Recently I visited the Best Richardson African Diaspora Literature & Culture Museum (BRADLC Museum) in St. Augustine, Florida. On our tour with owner Gigi Best-Richardson, I was captivated by the stunning cover of a children’s book on display, Saving American Beach: The Biography of African American Environmentalist MaVynee Betsch, written by Heidi Tyline King and illustrated by Ekua Holmes.

I had heard of MaVynee’s great-grandfather, Abraham Lincoln Lewis (1864-1947), one of the founders of the Afro-American Life Insurance Company in Jacksonville, Florida during the Jim Crow era. Lewis became Florida’s first Black millionaire.

The Music of Creation: Exploring Verse and Vibration in the Bible by Janet Rudolph, Book Review by Carolyn Lee Boyd

“What if the teachings within the Bible were not dualistic, but taught of oneness, connection, and the flow of energy?” (9) In The Music of Creation: Exploring Verse and Vibration in the Bible, Janet Rudolph (whom FAR readers already know as a FAR co-weaver) explores the definitions and vibrational elements of the sounds of original Hebrew words in the Bible. This is her latest book. In this book, Janet creates retranslations that express the energy, flow, dynamism and movement of the verses. She also discusses ways for readers to experience the power and potential of the verses for themselves. As she notes, Hebrew is a “sacred language” so that “the words themselves carry a vibrational element that we, as human beings, find meaningful and compelling” (3). In doing so, her retranslations revive the energy of “nature and its cyclical wisdom” (4). These are remnants of the original teachings, bringing forth their fresh beauty, inspiration, and world perspective we so need now.

Born Again by Sara Wright

“Let me sing to you about how people turn into other things.” (Ovid)

Years ago I placed my brother’s ashes in a shallow depression that I had dug near a granite fern and moss covered boulder. The brook flowed just a few feet away and at the last minute I scattered a few filaments over the shallow waters, returning them to the sea. A week later I planted a hazel nut tree nearby. A fossilized spiral ammonite marks my brother’s grave.

Thanks to the underground highway created out of millions of tree/plant roots, the extensive net of fungal hyphae and this communal system’s miraculous ability to exchange nutrients/minerals/sugar, my brother lives on as part of this forest…The gracefully spreading hazel and all the other trees (spruce, maple, balsam, hemlock, ash) that are scattered around this hallowed woodland grove have been nourished by the bones of one I loved.

Yet only recently have I been possessed by revelation.

Structural Inequality and State-Sanctioned Oppression of Women by NCRI

Moderator’s Note: This post has been posted in cooperation with the NCRI women’s committee. NCRI stands for the National Council of Resistance of Iran. You can learn more information as well as see this original article by clicking by link below. A description of their Council can be found at the end of this post. As an introduction, a NCRI representative sent us the following statement about the war. It was originally posted on March 11th and we are reposting it because of its importance.

STATEMENT: I would like to mention that the Iranian Resistance — which established a government-in-exile years ago — has long advocated a clear position: no to war, no to appeasement of the mullahs, but a third option — regime change by the Iranian people and their organized resistance.

Mrs. Maryam Rajavi, the President-elect of the Resistance and an internationally recognized figure, has outlined this vision in her Ten-Point Plan. I am sharing the link below, as it reflects the roadmap of the Iranian Resistance. Maryam Rajavi’s Ten-Point Plan for the future of Iran

Unfortunately, behind-the-scenes dealings and political interests have often ignored this democratic alternative. In recent days, a provisional government framework has also been announced as part of this process. Announcement of the Provisional Government by the National Council of Resistance of Iran (NCRI)

Ariadne & Me – Betrayers by Arianne MacBean

Two of the most well-known aspects of mythical Ariadne are the way she betrays and is betrayed. Hers is the ultimate ancient Greek karma story. She casts off the burden of her father’s narcissism, her mother’s bewitchment, her half-brother’s torment. No one thinks she has it in her. But she does. In the thick night, she holds the thread for her lover while he makes his kill and flees with him into the dark open sea. Then, in the most vulnerable space between sleep and wakefulness, she finds herself abandoned. Here, on an island in the middle of nowhere, she cries out and is moved. Did the ancient Greeks tell this tale as warning for women, or advice?

What kind of woman would do what Ariadne did – leave everything – her inheritance, her kingdom, her role as a priestess – for the unknown other? Why would a daughter do that?

She wanted to exist.

Dancing with the Divine by Rabbi Nadya Gross

Moderator’s Note: The first part of this blog first appeared on the Yerusha website on Sept. 29, 2025. You can see it here.

From my earliest memories, I saw things others didn’t see and knew things I had no business knowing. I thought everyone noticed the dance of light around bodies, or the tiny life forms at the base of trees. I assumed everyone could feel another’s emotions as vividly as their own.

That illusion ended when my grandmother—my Savta—took me into the kitchen (where everything important happened), closed the door, and said: “Never speak of these things to anyone but me.” And so, my training began.

Savta’s gifts were different from mine. She had grown up in a circle of women and their daughters—a circle where wisdom was passed from generation to generation. In that circle, women taught each other, shared their insights, cultivated their gifts and skills, and preserved a legacy of sacred knowing.

The wisdom she shared with me was as ancient as the land itself. We began with reverence for the Earth and her elements—echoes of pre-patriarchal Goddess traditions. She taught me that everything is interconnected: harm to a tree, insect, or stream is harm to us. Respect is not something to demand, but to embody. I learned to ask permission before lifting a stone from its resting place, to give thanks to the fruit-bearing trees in my grandparents’ yard when I plucked the ripened fruit, and to recognize Creation as a web of relationship.