Exploring the F-word in religion at the intersection of scholarship, activism, and community.
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.
Women and trees belong together; our relationships with them stretches back to antiquity. They have been our protectors, guiding us through grief and difficult times. They offer us gifts of beauty, fruits, and nuts, are receivers of prayers, sometimes speaking through prophecy. Sometimes healing springs appear at their feet. And always they are wisdom keepers, these Trees of Life. It is not surprising that women’s ceremonies were and are often enacted in the forest under a canopy of trees.
Emergence magazine recently posed three questions that I want to share because I think they might help raise awareness for women who love trees and the relatively small minority of other people who are attempting to deal with what is happening to the rest of nature during this political crisis and time of earth destruction.
Some folks who are not Indigenous still love and care for the land as a beloved friend, relative and teacher and it is to these people, both women and men, that I offer up these questions because I think they may help to keep us grounded in a painful but potentially creative way. Queries like these attach us to a larger long-term perspective that allows for a ‘both and’ approach to the future. The last question invites the reader to take personal action. Feeling that reciprocal connection between an individual and some aspect of the land s/he is attached to is a key that opens a door to deeper engagement with the rest of nature.
Continue reading “Women and Trees: Little Red Pine by Sara Wright”This time one year ago, our world here in Appalachia seemed like it hadn’t changed in a thousand years. The giant, churning, awesome power of Hurricane Helene had not yet whipped our waters into a frenzy, and caused the mountains to slide downhill, carrying our lives away. And yet, from just below the earth’s surface, Spring reappears with all Her perseverance, Her steadfastness, Her fertile abundance. The slow, steady regeneration of our Mother inspires me to keep going, day by day, hour by hour.
Primavera
The newness of Spring, Primavera,
”first green,”
soft petals that banish Winter’s icy grip,
the return of the Galax, the trillium,
the return!
Full-blown rebirth,
bright, brilliant green shining in the sun,
Spring!
Rebirth decked out like a debutante
with a roomful of courtiers,
flipping the world from darkness to light.
Ferns unfurl,
fiddleheads play on the forest floor,
insects awaken and buzz
in a hundred keys of life.
Humans awaken too, reminded once more
of the richness of the return.
A breeze blows over the galax,
the Mayapples spread their elegant leaves
The promise of the Great Mother:
we will begin again.
The day after the presidential election in 2016 I picked up what I initially thought was a saw whet owl wing while wandering down a red dirt road in Abiquiu NM. Just one wing and one talon. The hair on my arms rose up pricking my skin like needles. I started to shiver. One wing, one Owl. Women and owls have history. It was obvious that the message was an ominous one. A woman without two wings can’t fly. The day went dead as I dragged myself home. When I did some research to confirm identification, I learned that I had found the remains of a boreal owl.
I have only glimpsed a boreal owl a few times until this winter, but apparently, I have a resident because one hunts before dawn sitting on the same crabapple branch situated next to the side door. Although I eagerly look for him each dawning, I’ve also been concerned for the weasel that lives under the porch, although this owl is not supposed to eat mustelids but is said to feast on smaller prey like mice or voles and even little birds. Three nights ago, I heard one of his calls, a short series of staccato ‘whoos’. According to the literature this is not a mating call which would last much longer
Continue reading “Unnatural ‘History’ : Forecasting the Future? by Sara Wright”January’s twilight
hours draw me
into her pale embrace
stalactites and frozen
streams whisper
that winter’s skin
is thin even with
months to go
flowing water
is muted
under seeded snow
underground roots
pulse
with light
sleeping
forest boughs
wake in wild winds
crack and moan
rest in peace
at dawn
bears sleep
fox and weasel
seek slivers of
open water
I walk in slow
motion to
stay upright
at the edge
of a meandering
serpentine stream
listening for
the scent
of just one
hemlock singing
feeling the tangles
of gray and green
Indoors
standing at the window
I ask
how many
forested eyes
are meeting my own?
Yesterday’s post which you can read here, ended with this line from the Grandfather, “The young people will become confused and when all is finally lost then the Creator will return to restore not just the Tewa but all tribal peoples to the land.”
I experienced wild hope surfacing… I had heard words to this effect before but assumed that the people needed that story to go on. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure… something about the way this man talked to me made me believe him. He exuded a complex sense of deep humility, knowledge and authority. I thought about the ravages of Climate Change and the disgusting cross-cultural belief that the Earth’s job was to serve humanity. My rational brain went on overload giving me a thousand reasons why what he predicted couldn’t be true, almost as if it needed to win this round (ah, Patriarchy exposes itself – if you don’t win you lose). Yes, it was true that we were in a state of breakdown… he didn’t deny it but he also made it clear that this was not the end. First we had to survive the breakdown, and living through it is a challenge that some like me live with every day. These are dark times.
Continue reading “The Grandfathers, part 2 by Sara Wright”
This year while submerged in this process of creating my winter story, I remembered…
When the vision occurred that frigid winter solstice dawning in 2019, I was traversing the Bosque (a wetland) in Abiquiu NM. I had slipped into a light trance as I walked with my hands tucked into my pockets around the junipers, cottonwoods, thorny olives in a repetitive circle. The geese and cranes were wheeling overhead, welcoming in the dawn. The sound of the river in the background was a soothing murmur.
Suddenly I stopped. I was looking down at my cupped hands, entranced. A perfect miniature marbled earth had appeared in my hands. Inside the clear plastic film, the whole earth was visible and pulsing with light. Lush green trees, fields, plains, mountains, deserts, oceans, and clear waters flowed through the pristine planet. I saw a tiny wooden boat with all manner of creatures streaming out of the vessel all at once. What? An Ark?
Continue reading “Evergreen – Part 2 by Sara Wright”This was originally posted June 6, 2019
I love living in a second-story apartment. Having a view of Los Angeles, of the palm trees, the expansive sky, the distant mountains, and the city lights of downtown, makes life feel bigger, more full of possibilities. In the struggle of transitioning my life back to L.A., the view from my second floor apartment helps make me feel ok in the world. I’m in love with Los Angeles – the land, its topography, its sky, its desertness – and even its traffic. Beside the fact of sometimes being made to arrive late somewhere, I don’t mind being in our famed L.A. gridlocks – I don’t mind being in the slow moving flow of cars. I kind of enjoy being among the thousands of other folks sharing the collective experience of trying to get someplace. Traffic becomes for me a leisurely time when I get to do nothing else but enjoy the city.
Continue reading “Archives from the FAR Founders: Grounding My Love by Xochitl Alvizo”The exact day of the Winter Solstice ushers in what I think of as the Winter Solstice Season — a ten day period when, in the northern hemisphere, the sun barely moves from it’s most southerly position in the sky. The days are very short and the nights are long, long, long.
At this time of year I embrace the worldview of my Celtic ancestors who relished the darkness in a way that is foreign to us today. Every day began at dusk not dawn. The new year began on October 31, as the cold set in and the world turned toward the dark. The harvest was in, thanks were given, and nature was moving into its period of death. I find an inherent wisdom in this counting of time.
In this moment, my connection to trees feels especially profound. I find such beauty in the winter trees, naked of their green and golden finery, etching stark lines in the sky. As we drew near to the solstice, I felt compelled to create a new painting that expresses my love for winter trees and the Winter Solstice.
This was originally posted on Dec. 12, 2023
I have a problem with the belief that Winter Solstice is primarily about celebrating ‘the coming of the light.’ This one – sided thinking negates the cross-cultural reality that this is a festival during which candles are lit to light up the night and roaring fires blaze inside and out bringing warmth to all. Winter Solstice is above all else a Festival of Fire.
Fire is an ambiguous element (as all the elements are) carrying both a positive and negative charge. On one level fire brings warmth and light on cold winter nights. On the other hand, fire also incinerates, destroying everything it touches. Approaching a Festival that celebrates the Element of Fire should be done with consciousness and caution.
Continue reading “From the Archives: Winter Solstice: Celebration of the Powers of Fire by Sara Wright”
Feminism and Religion 