Herstory – Page 25 – Feminism and Religion

Big Mama by Arianne MacBean

I used to tell my dance students that the dance floor was like a Big Mama, aways there to catch them, always there to sink into, always there to press back. This was my way of teaching them to trust the floor, that it was not a place where they needed to fear crashing into, but a place that wanted to take them in, hug them, love them. As dancers, we spend much time focused on the floor, how to release into it with control, how to push off it, even how to defy it and manipulate it. It becomes our partner in all dances, this blanket beneath us. But I haven’t been in a dance studio for a few years and so I have found myself looking up, instead of down.

Women’s Woven Voices at the Parliament of the World’s Religions by Brecia Kralovic-Logan

Imagine walking into a space surrounded by the woven stories of 1,000 women from around the globe and feeling you are at home. The Women’s Village at the Parliament of the World’s Religions conference in Chicago in August of 2023 offered a place where women could feel welcomed, safe, understood, honored, and inspired. It was surrounded by the color and texture of the Women’s Woven Voices project tapestry.

I am the founder of the international, collaborative, art project- Women’s Woven Voices- that supports women in claiming their powerful voices through writing, weaving, and sharing their stories. For six years I had been inviting women to reflect on their lives, write about their strengths, challenges, joys and what made them feel whole, and then, weave a strip of cloth to represent their story. I collected the woven “Story Cloths” and stitched them together into a collective tapestry. Having stitched over 1,000 stories into the tapestry from women from 10 different countries, I applied to participate in the Parliament as an art installation and then joined the Women’s Task Force to create a very special space for the thousands of women who would be attending the Parliament.

Judy Chicago, Feminist Trailblazer by Joyce Zonana and Janet Maika’i Rudolph

“Instead of looking to the male world for approval, I had to learn to rely on my own instincts. In some strange way, the rejections I faced strengthened me, but only because they forced me to learn to live as I saw fit and to use my values and judgment as my guides.”
The Flowering: The Autobiography of Judy Chicago

Janet: I live near New York City and am fortunate to be close to many museums. The New Museum has been showing an exhibit by Judy Chicago that takes up the entire facility of four floors. And it is remarkable. Not only is the breadth of her work astounding but so are the stories of how she has had to fight to be accepted in a man’s world of art. Joyce Zonana first recommended that I go. This blogpost came about as part of a discussion between the two of us.

Star Beings? by Sara Wright

The well-known writer LESLIE MARMON SILKO has a very interesting idea – that star beings come to earth crossing over occasionally when the membranes of parallel worlds are more permeable than usual. She painted some star beings and they spoke to her without words…. Some were not friendly; most of hers lacked compassion and didn’t care much for human beings.

This made me think about astrology, a very popular cultural belief system that has ancient origins involving divination and was once correlated with the stars in our galaxy and the patterns they created (the stories they might have been telling and others we told about them), but has since split away into a very fixed system that make little sense to me. However, since the 60’s popular astrology has become a kind of religion for some. Perhaps astrology is taking the place of religions of various kinds that are in a state of collapse?

Navigating the Dark by Sara Wright

This morning I read an article about a woman who ‘forgot’ to light one of the candles on the Menorah or what I would call the ‘Tree of Life’ for the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah which takes place over a period of eight nights beginning in December. I was struck by her concern because she had forgotten one of the ‘rules’ and missed a night. Twice over a period of years…

While reading her reflection I noted that she seemed to get close to the underlying meaning behind the lighting of candles (present in every extant tradition) at the darkest time of year – she believed that she was bringing light into the literal darkness of night and kindling the divine spark within herself.

Let Your Voice Be Heard • Let Your Heart Be Inspired! by Dale Allen

I was honored to be a part of a special project for the Parliament of the World’s Religions Women’s Task Force: conducting interviews inside the first-ever Women’s Village in Chicago at the Parliament Convening. I had been on a team of women led by Sande Hart with Pat Fero. We met online over the course of nearly a year to plan the Women’s Village. It was a very special endeavor, and our group efforts produced a beautiful, calming, nurturing, sacred and inspiring space.

The McCormick Center is America’s largest convention center, and yet we were able to create serenity. The tapestries of Women’s Woven Voices provided a colorful and meaningful enclosure for our space. A fountain cascaded a peaceful hum. Majestic staffs created by Erin Beatty stood as sentries; keepers of ancient feminine power. A great Mother Tree crafted by Elisa Guyton and Leah Myers spread her paper branches outward and received the written prayers and blessing posted there by attendees. The crown-making table was always busy with women talking and crafting exquisite headpieces. The Red Tent room was a tranquil place of mediation, rest, and a variety of spirit-nourishing workshops and presentations.

The Great Mother Tree crafted by Elisa Guyton and Leah Myers, close up with written prayers and blessings.

Snake Priestesses of Crete as Earthquake Oracles? by Laura Shannon

Knossos Throne Room showing edge of lustral basin at left. Photo: Laura Shannon

A few weeks ago I was on Crete, having coffee with an archaeologist friend. She happened to mention something strange. Crete has always been a seismic zone, with lots of earthquakes, yet remarkably, in Minoan times, no one was killed in collapsing buildings; they were never taken by surprise.

We pondered this – it seems astounding. They must have had some means of warning. Perhaps the serpents sacred to them could have given them some sign?

Get Some Grip! by Stephanie Arel

In my practice working in rehabilitative exercise, addressing minor injuries as well as traumatic ones – from brain injuries to falls, I see a lot of women over 60 who have a history of not training or challenging their upper body. The lack of upper body strength in women is, in some part, a result of culture. The historic role for women molds them to avoid muscles – to look thin, small, or frail in the upper body. A message emerges: “Let the man do it.” These roles are not benign, a fact reflected by changes in cultural views of sex and gender roles/expectations. While hewing to the feminine idea of the past might be easier, there is a price to pay later in life.

Anecdotally, men concern themselves with larger pecs, big biceps, and successful arm wrestling. Incidentally, when they can no longer do what they did as young men, some men give up doing much of anything. In my experience, women usually don’t surrender to age, but they traditionally resist both the look of a strong upper body and the labor necessary to achieve such strength. I have one client who feels afraid every time she has a weight over 10 pounds in her hands. Furthermore, women often defer to men: observe the next time you travel who lifts luggage in an airplane or brings baggage to the car. Life gets easier when someone else can grab the bags…but this ultimately makes later life harder – strength in the upper body is critical to the ability to break a fall, recover from injuries, and longevity.

Your Body Knows Before You Do by Andrea Penner

Our interstate move of 325 miles due east on U.S. Highway 40, formerly Route 66, that iconic highway through the American Southwest, took us from one rental home to another. A month later, I sat in a closed graduate seminar, having received a coveted “yellow card.” By some stroke of magic, the professor had read my master’s thesis.

“I know your work,” he said, signing the over-enrollment waiver.

For the next several years, I studied, wrote, taught, ate, slept, and moved through marriage and motherhood (and one more rental)—all toward the goal of completing the PhD in English while my then-husband cycled through professional jobs and both of us recovered from eight years of cross-cultural Christian ministry.

Black Bird Ballet by Sara Wright

In September I was patient. My beloved birds were having a good year seeking food in natural places like my field I reminded myself over and over as they remained absent from my feeders until I fell and was hospitalized for weeks.

After November’s first snow storm the grouse arrived and I had high hopes that she would stay. I occasionally flushed her in thickets but did not see grouse’s plump brown body feasting on the remainder of the berries from the crabapple or see her hieroglyphs in the snow.

The turkeys remained absent. When I walked through my young pine forest where chickadees chirp even on windy days, the musical whirring wings of mourning doves tore into the grief I felt and didn’t want to own. Sometimes I called out “I love you” to those birds who chose to converse with me because I know they know.

In late November when the snow piled up bowing trees to the ground it also brought in the first winter cold; this time the brook almost froze solid. A few birds did visit the feeder for a day or so: titmice, chickadees, one female cardinal, a few juncos, goldfinches, but the absence of abundance was overwhelming. Two days later nothing.