Mother Earth – Page 13 – Feminism and Religion

Earth Day Remembrance by Sara Wright

“It is the Whole Earth You Are”

I was on my knees awash in the kind of grief that only people who have been torn from the same skin can begin to comprehend.

I sprinkled most of the ashes lovingly in the shallow depression that I dug into half frozen ground. I had never felt so alone. Unknown to me, once a beloved companion, my little brother’s ashes had spent 32 years stuffed into a cardboard box in my parents’ attic. Every year since his death my nightmares intensified… he was left wandering in the dark with no place to rest.

May Day Celebration by Sara Wright

Warms spring rain. The flooding fractured a poorly built bridge, rising waters overflowed moss covered banks – roads disappeared under the deluge, and I was out transplanting the last of my perennials! Working in the rain is a sensual experience – the scent of sweet earth grounds me, the sound of rushing waters not only stills inner chatter but reminds me that this is the time of year that every tribal culture used to celebrate the coming of the rains, the rising of the waters, and the blessing of wildflowers. Today, I know of no one that celebrates May Day but me, although some still honor this day as a Turning of the Wheel of the Year. And how can the latter not be?

After transplanting, moving stones, and feeding the tadpoles in my frog pond, I check on the progress of all the wild bee loving violets around the house. No flowers yet. I visit the brook to peer down at budded trillium and marsh marigolds. One golden blossom greets me in the rain; Mary incarnates! The first delicate trumpets of trailing arbutus glow like pearls. Too late for frog breeding, vernal pools are now overflowing.

Feeding the Birds by Sara Wright

In most cultures white is the color of death. No wonder brides wear white.

When I finally stepped into my life at 39, I entered a mythic world. I married myself to the serpent of life, a creature who is now wrapping itself (both male and female) around the earth four times and squeezing the life out of Her, according to Mythologist Martin Shaw (see Emergence magazine). The serpent, once life bringer for feminists now courts death.

I will always remember Marion Woodman, a Jungian analyst (and personal friend), who stated that every symbol carries both light and dark, and one side of the symbol will always shift into the other… She was speaking metaphorically but my mythic education and life experience as a naturalist have taught me/and continue to teach me that symbols like the serpent that were once holy beings are also living beings that were worshipped by Pre-Christian cultures, and then demonized by Christianity, recovered, and reverenced by feminists. Until now. Today the dark side of serpent has risen again and is swallowing us whole.

From the Archives: Green Tara by Jassy Watson

This was originally posted on March 6, 2015

Goddess Tara is one of the oldest goddesses who is still worshipped extensively in modern times. Tara originated as a Hindu goddess, a Great Goddess or Mother Creator, she who represents the eternal life force that fuels all life. In Sanskrit, the name Tara means Star, but she was also called The Great Compassionate Mother and The Great Protectress.

A version of the Goddess Tara exists in most cultures. It is believed that she will assume as many forms on earth as she is needed by the people.

Adopted by Buddhism in the third century BCE, Tara came to be the most widely revered deity in the Tibetan pantheon. Not only is she a Tibetan Goddess, but she is considered a female Buddha; an enlightened one was has attained the highest wisdom, capability and compassion. One who is able to take human form and remain at one with every living thing.

Windigo Winter Rolls On by Sara Wright

Preface: Yesterday someone asked me to contribute an academic article that had to be cited to be included in a book. I said no because my academic years are over. My life experience has taught me that education is simply not enough to shift perception, and that Story may be equally/ or more important because story taps into the creative side of us, moving us through our childhood senses which include our feelings. Although not specifically feminist in content, I believe the underlying messages belong to feminism. The first highlights the destructive greedy ‘head’ without a body. The second addresses the complicated situation we find ourselves in – offering us a way through. The second story also highlights the primary difference between an exchange economy and a gift giving one.

The Crow’s Nest by Sara Wright

Bare tree

shadowy veil

old snow

won’t let go.

Beaded Judges

shift

spring tides

hide

predators

with eyes.

Crows

reveal

old bones…

March is the month when crows scream, screeching and mobbing as they soar through indigo skies – their harsh declarations hurt my ears though I know they are mating and nesting.

Mayflower Memories by Sara Wright

Introduction to MAYFLOWER MEMORIES (‘Blood – Root’)

For the past two weeks I have been obsessed by the thought of emerging bloodroot, a wildflower I have loved since childhood that grows just outside my door (among other places). This obsession, and I take each one seriously, always provokes the same question: what’s really going on here? Bloodroot does not bloom under four feet of snow, and my guess is that this year one of my favorite wildflowers won’t burst with white stars until June.

Today, I also remembered with astonishment that in the old ways, Mother’s Day occurred on March 25^th, the time when ‘Becoming’ begins, long before the snow recedes. I’m struck by the difference between the two mothers’ days, this one seems so much more authentic, no room for sentimentality when we face this messy, muddy turning from winter to spring (at least in the Northeast).

Resurrection by Sara Wright

Experts quiped
you would
not rise
Too old
they said
Abandoned
Pink and Rose
No one
imagined
resilience,
pattern
birthing
form
to vine.
Gray green
veins
swell,
pulse,
pump
sugars
skyward,
powered
by a
single root.
Bowed blade
circles
round to
Beginning
Buried deep.
Spiral loosens,
ascends
seeking sun
star heat.

Shadows on the Wall by Sara Wright

The following poems were written after making a decision to move into an apartment for the winter, and then struggling to understand what went wrong. Instead of community I met with hostility, and as we know one breeds the other, and for a time I got caught by my shadow too.

Called home out of necessity and need, the longer I stayed the harder it was to leave even when 16 feet of snow crashed down from the roof blocking the entire front of my house. ‘The Peace of the Wild Things’ is in my blood and as hard as I try, I can’t seem to make an adjustment to living in a town where crows and men rule, and birdsong is absent though migration is under way.

Sandhill Cranes – a Nation of Women with Wings by Sara Wright

Historically they used the Eastern flyway but were extirpated by hunting… a slow recovery is in process and the stately Sandhill cranes are once again returning to breed in Maine… so far only birders have been keeping track of their numbers but these majestic pre-historic birds have haunting cries that are often described as bugles, rattles, croaks and trumpets and can be heard 2 -3 miles away. They also utter sounds that combine a kind of brrring in unison. Their impending arrival next month calls up a chant I love…

“There’s a river of birds in migration, a nation of women with wings.
There’s a river of birds in migration, a nation of warriors with wings.”

I remember the chill that crawled up my spine as those words seeped into my body all those years ago… I wept, not knowing why.