Mother Earth – Page 12 – Feminism and Religion

Label or Be Labelled Part 2: Professional and spiritual identity

This post continues from Part 1, where I situated this essay as a reflection on Xochitl Alvizo’s article Human, Just Human. There, I questioned the difference between the power of naming versus the pressure to label. I then described my search for a personal identifier as ‘participation ticket’ to life. This feels important nowadays to join the conversation and not be dismissed by default. However, I wondered whether looking for things that set us apart emphasises otherness rather than shared humanity.

Today, I question what can we learn from autoethnography about the many selves we bring to different professional situations and how they might hide more than they reveal. I also describe the challenges of naming nature-based practices in a geographical area where 2000 years of Christianity forced our pagan traditions underground.

Monarch Magic, by Molly Remer

When my father was a boy in the 1950’s, he had a butterfly collection. His friends would bring him dead butterflies to add his collection and ask him what they were called. He got so many monarchs that his reply would be, “Thanks! That’s a ‘common sicker,’” secretly meaning they were so common he was sick of them. Now, my father is 70 and his grandchildren rarely see a monarch butterfly, the population of them having declined by 85% or even more in just two short decades. This rapid change is one of the most clear and alarming, observable indications of the massive changes wrought by both climate change and industrialized farming in our very own lifetimes.

Each year, I watch for monarchs from my Missouri home, during their migration season that carries them over our heads and on their way to Mexico. Each one I spot feels like a brush with magic on the wing, a testament to endurance and to hope. I watch them careen along in their delicate and determined way across highways and rooftops, across cars and parking lots, across my own house, and across open fields. I watch them alight on thistles, on goldenrod and oak trees, vine and bush. I see one above the Atlantic Ocean at Daytona Beach. I see two above the weeds in the Dollar General parking lot in Alabama. I see one above the sunflowers by the overpass in Kansas City. I see two coming over the Walmart roof and into the Staples parking lot in central Missouri.

The Monarch That Didn’t Get Away –Butterfly Tagging, part 2 by Sara Wright

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

Today I learned that everyone is invited to witness butterfly tagging twice a week during the month of September. Efforts to publicize the value and ‘rightness’ of tagging are being stepped up.

Several people agreed with my assessment, namely that tagging creates trauma for the insect – and the idea that this practice may interfere with the butterfly’s ability to survive the 2000-mile journey, winter over successfully and then fly north to reproduce in the spring.

To my knowledge no one else had openly expressed their personal views to those in charge of the organization. However, some folks have come to talk with me. Most of us know that trauma weakens any organism’s immune system making it more vulnerable.

The Monarch That Didn’t Get Away –Butterfly Tagging, part 1 by Sara Wright

The timing couldn’t have been worse. I entered the garden focused on photographing flowers, so I was totally unprepared to see the monarch fluttering around helplessly almost hitting the cement as it attempted to recover its ability to become airborne. Instinctively, I turned away before I realized that what I had just witnessed was the trauma that this butterfly was experiencing after just having been tagged.

This organization’s hope was that some guide or kid in Mexico would find the tagged DEAD body of this monarch somewhere on the ground after the butterfly completed its journey from Maine to its winter stopover in Mexico.

Earth Stories by Sara Wright

Every day I send a FB post into what feels like a Great Void including nature photos that I took around the house or in the woods that morning or the day before. There is always Something. Coalescing early morning thoughts with recent images helps me orient myself to the day to come, reminding me to be Present to Now.

Now is my only Refuge.

In these posts I also hope to capture an audience through image if not through words, introducing or reinforcing people’s positive relationship to nature before it’s too late. My intention is twofold. Help others to see nature in all her wonder, and to encourage folks who read the text to think creatively, to question, to challenge what has been normalized.

Round and Round: The Circle Game by Sara Wright

It’s raining again. In five days, the moon will be full as s/he turns her pearl -like face towards September while her rabbit prepares his treachery, and oh I am so ready to leave this season behind. This is the first year where we have viscerally experienced the reality of what a Changing Climate really means to people in Maine. A summer of floods, months of rain, gray clouds, massive humidity, the worst bugs I ever remember, and poor air quality may force even the most skeptical to pause. Extremes. Of course, what has happened here is nothing like what is going on elsewhere. Tornados, fires, drought, and intense heat have ripped through the rest of the continent tearing both human and non-human lives to shreds. Most of the earth is on fire. I would like to think that we are finally learning that our country is not immune to the unpredictability that comes with climate warming. “You are hopelessly naïve” a Voice states sternly. I bow my head. We are living the Unknown and most are denying it.

August: A Summer to Reflect, and a Time to Start Letting Go by Sara Wright

This has been an unusual summer. I can still listen to a roaring brook as I fall asleep at night. The flooding has been intense. The humidity is hardest to bare; I am grateful my cellar is finally free of water if not drying out. Our overall weather pattern remains the same; thundershowers almost every day; many clouds and thick morning fog. And tropical hurricane season is underway.

I am grateful for the moss and tall grasses that still glow lemony- lime emerald and sage green. My frog pond is empty except for snails; all the tadpoles have matured into tiny froglets that have disappeared into the dense foliage I have provided for them; ferns and anemones tower over others. A large toad only shows himself/herself mostly at night when he hunts from the water dish I leave for him. Wild bee balm spikes are in bloom providing bees and hummingbirds with enough food for now. Some bee balm are ragged around the edges but the rain has brought in a second blooming cycle. My magic bean, the one I planted in March (in the house) has masses of deep orange flowers just outside my window. Grape leaves are climbing over the ground and visiting with the bean vine.

Fear and Need in the Absence of Mother God, part 2 by Caryn MacGrandle

Yesterday’s part 1 post quoted from the book, The Malleus Maleficarum

Witches Well in Edinburgh, Scotland, …the Roman numerals for 1479 on one side and 1722 [years when witch persecution was most prominent]

The book wasn’t just a message for women but for all. The tenets that formed the backbone of colonial culture:

Paddle your own canoe.
Success comes with hard individual effort when you stay within the lines that we draw.
And if you fail? Well, that’s on you.
Maybe you will get another shot if you are lucky, work relentlessly and act as you should.
And never ever forget that your worth is defined by the number of 0’s in your bank account.

Why We Need to Bring Back God as a Woman, part 1 by Caryn MacGrandle

26,000 years ago, life was precarious and dangerous. And so the human race revered the Mother. Mother Earth, who provided food amidst scarcity, protection from the dangers of the wild and healthy babies who grew to adulthood.

The Goddess.

In her many forms.

Some of these Goddesses.

Venus of Willendorf. The artifact known as the Venus of Willendorf dates to between 24,000–22,000 B.C.E., making it one of the oldest and most famous surviving works of art.

From the Archives: Sacred Water by Molly Remer

This was originally posted on August 9, 2017

“Drinking the water, I thought how earth and sky are generous with their gifts and how good it is to receive them. Most of us are taught, somehow, about giving and accepting human gifts, but not about opening ourselves and our bodies to welcome the sun, the land, the visions of sky and dreaming, not about standing in the rain ecstatic with what is offered.”

–Linda Hogan in Sisters of the Earth

The women have gathered in a large open living room, under high ceilings and banisters draped with goddess tapestries, their faces are turned towards me, waiting expectantly. We are here for our first overnight Red Tent Retreat, our women’s circle’s second only overnight ceremony in ten years. We are preparing to go on a pilgrimage. I tell them a synopsis version of Inanna’s descent into the underworld, her passage through seven gates and the requirement that at each gate she lie down something of herself, to give up or sacrifice something she holds dear, until she arrives naked and shaking in the depths of the underworld, with nothing left to offer, but her life.