Poetry – Page 18 – Feminism and Religion

“Tricolor Mary: Encountering Three Faces of the Divine Feminine” by Simone Grace Seol

simone-grace I always felt curiously distant from the figure of Mary. I always sensed that there is so much there and yet, I could never connect to it emotionally.

The foil to Eve, vessel of Love, suffering mother. I wanted to love her, I wanted to feel her, I wanted to feel drawn to the mystery of Marian devotion. But I felt alienated by the vision of the feminine that she seemed to project: the pure, immaculate, virginal, submissive, obedient, quietly suffering.

Most days, I feel like the opposite of every single one of those qualities.

It’s exactly the kind of feminine archetype I don’t really relate to — the kind of person about whom people say, “oh, she’s really nice” as if yielding compliance and non-offensiveness are her primary attributes. The kind of woman who fades into the background, whose worth lies only in her utility to the patriarchal narrative. Continue reading ““Tricolor Mary: Encountering Three Faces of the Divine Feminine” by Simone Grace Seol”

Divine Physics: A Poetic Reflection on Ecclesiastes 3:14 by Lori Stewart

Ecclesiastes 3:14 – I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all that should stand in awe before him.

Nothing can be added or
taken away…
… then why does it feel like everything is lost?

You haul away the bodies while
we watch
— linking arms
— standing fast
against the tide of
grief that churns until
we can find
a distraction that makes us believe
life will return to
normal

Nothing can be added or
taken away, you say…
Really?
You take away innocence at
the marketplace
— the prices vary by age
— virgins to the highest bidder
Surely, El-roi, you see
— the pain
— the suffering Continue reading “Divine Physics: A Poetic Reflection on Ecclesiastes 3:14 by Lori Stewart”

For Strong Women… by Marie Cartier

This month I had planned to write a long column of finding joy in the midst of pain, or rather enjoying what you can still enjoy. I know you all will be reading this the day after Thanksgiving…I want to be grateful and I am… for so much. I want you to find what you are grateful for and hold onto it.

But, I am also scared and desperately raging and deeply upset that Standing Rock and the protesters there were recently hosed with freezing water, hit with rubber bullets and assaulted…

I am not even going to hotlink here the things that I am deeply and grievously upset by regarding Trump’s new “President-elect” status. As a confirmed and unapologetic sex predator, he will never be my President. I embrace the social media hashtag #NotMyPresident.

I am stunned by the fact that Hillary has closing in on 2 million more popular votes than him. I am #StillWithHer. I am grateful that she is considered the #ThePeoplesPresident.

But here we are with Trump in place, set to be inaugurated in January. I am doing everything I can to Flip the Electoral College. If you want more information about the electoral college and an opinion on why it isn’t working right now you can start here. If you want to know how to write letters and or call the electors to see if they can be persuaded to change their minds you can start here.

I am trying, in the midst of this time, as we approach the holidays to be grateful. I am a strong woman. I have been nurtured by strong women in the feminist movement. And that is what I want to give you, FAR family, this Thanksgiving—a poem for strong women. This is by one of my favorite writers, Marge Piercy. Continue reading “For Strong Women… by Marie Cartier”

Rocks, Flowers, Circles: Sustenance During Troubling Times by Elizabeth Cunningham

Elizabeth_Author Photo 2 I had planned to write my October post about the election. Out of respect for everyone’s election fatigue, I’ll give the subject one paragraph only. I voted for Bernie Sanders in the primary. Like Bernie himself, I will vote for Hillary Clinton in November. To Bernie supporters who intend to vote for a third party candidate or abstain, because they cannot in good conscience vote for Hillary, my own conscience prompts me to make one appeal. Forget Hillary. Vote for the people and the principles she is pledged to represent. Flawed as the two party system may be, there are stark differences between the Democratic and Republican platforms in this election. Reproductive rights hang in the balance as well as whether this nation will address or deny climate change, just to name two of a host of critical issues. Enough said.

No matter what happens on November 8th, we will still face the challenges of climate change, global strife, populations displaced by war and catastrophe, the clash of cultures. The rest of this post may be irrelevant to someone who is struggling for survival. I know I am lucky to have a relatively peaceful place to live and the means to sustain myself. But for what it’s worth here are three sources I turn to for comfort, strength, and perspective in troubling times. Continue reading “Rocks, Flowers, Circles: Sustenance During Troubling Times by Elizabeth Cunningham”

Prayers to Black Madonna and Kali Rising by Natalie Weaver

Natalie Weaver edited This past Saturday, I had an opportunity to sweat in a traditional Lakota sweat lodge for the first time. It was, above all, an interesting cognitive experience for me. I found myself sort of shaking hands with the ritual, the heat, the stones, the songs, and so on, saying, “Hi, I’m Natalie. I have an open mind. I am excited to know about you. Thanks for letting me see what you are all about.” I didn’t know whether I would pass out, have visions, or learn something new and wonderful about myself or the others. I was curious, still, and grateful for the opportunity. I was gifted by generous people, good fellowship, and new ideas. I will go back, even though I didn’t exactly find some thing… or maybe I did. Maybe, I found someone, or, better, maybe someone found me.

Two days before the sweat, I received an email from one of my companions on the journey, saying something I still do not understand about the Constellation Sagittarius, the Galactic Center, and the Rising of the Black Madonna. Although I did not understand the astronomy, I was intrigued by the call to recognize and confirm the Black Madonna. For, without particular reason or impetus that I could identify in myself, I had been dreaming of a Black Madonna statue for some time. After trying to find out what it was, I was able to identify it as the Black Madonna of Prague. I have never been to Prague and was basically unaware of the rich tradition of Black Madonnas in Europe, despite four semesters of art history in college. So, I made note of my dreams, with a promise to myself to seek them out whenever and wherever I travel. I also purchased little trinket at a Canadian gift shop, which sits on my desk as a guide and companion.
Continue reading “Prayers to Black Madonna and Kali Rising by Natalie Weaver”

Elegy for An Old Life Gone: A Feminist Says Goodbye to Football by Marcia Mount Shoop

MMS Headshot 2015

I married into your strange cadence
A drumbeat that never felt natural
All consuming was your intention
But I protected pieces of myself from your designs
And more pieces retrieved me
As you showed me your true colors
You were a ruthless, untrustworthy friend
You were a harsh, seductive suitor
You gave me just enough of what
I never dreamed of
To capture my attention
My intentions, all these years
You, an adored brother of the one I love
You, a superlative dissembler
And people love you for the mythic way you tell
A story
Yours, ours, theirs
I gave into parts of you, I found some contorted freedom there istock-football
Some iteration of voice
Some impulse to make the best of you
Laying you to rest is cumbersome, Continue reading “Elegy for An Old Life Gone: A Feminist Says Goodbye to Football by Marcia Mount Shoop”

Facing the Moon Alone by Molly Remer

February 2016 030

“When all is said and done I think every Witch should, at some time, face the moon alone, feet planted on the ground, with only his or her voice chanting in the starry night.”

–Laurie Cabot, Power of the Witch

I will never forget the first time I heard someone recite the Charge of the Goddess from memory. Bare-breasted, she strode around the fire in sacred circle at a large goddess festival in Kansas, delivering the words with power, grace, and confident resonance. I thought: I will do that someday.

In February of this year, we took a family trip to Dauphin Island. While there, the afternoon of the full moon, I
decided that the time had come. I was going to memorize the Charge of the Goddess. First, I thought I would only memorize it a piece at a time. It seemed “too big” to do in a single sitting. I had it printed out on a piece of paper that rapidly became damp with the salty sea air. I drew a labyrinth in the sand with my toes, set one of my goddess sculptures at its entrance, and drew a Womanrunes card.

One stanza at a time, slowly I began to repeat the poem* aloud:

hear ye, the words of the star goddess
the dust of whose feet are the hosts of heaven...

Over and over, I said the words, letting them twine around my tongue and in the air, experimenting with cadence and rhythm. After I could reliably repeat one section, I’d move to the next, letting it build in my memory until I could put the two together confidently and then moving to the next.

I am the beauty of the green earth
the white moon amongst the stars..

I stared into the waves, listening to them rise and fall along with my words. My three older children dug in the sand. February 2016 073
My husband fished. My toddler toddled around and then came to sit on my lap and nursed to sleep for nap time:

before my face
beloved of all…

I whispered into his damp hair. I felt in an altered state of consciousness. The words began to wind their way through me, becoming a part of me, embedded in me. I danced with them as I have never danced with another piece of writing. I felt them merging with me. I sang them aloud. I stated them fast and slow and I built, adding the next line and then the next…

for behold, all acts of love and pleasure
all my rituals.

I turned over hard thealogical questions as the words spun their magic through the air. What does it really mean that “all your learning and seeking shall avail you not, lest your know the mystery.” Do I really feel the goddess within? Do I find her within myself or is she only outside and if she is only outside, does she really exist at all? Tears came to my eyes: do I even like myself?

Two hours passed. My baby awoke and returned to digging in the sand. My husband packed up his fishing gear. The sky began to darken and spit rain. I stood and danced the words into the sand with my feet.

let your divine innermost self
be enfolded
in the rapture
of the infinite

I felt rapturous. I felt triumphant. I had done it. Faster and faster my feet stamped the sand as I called the words into the waves. I spun in circles with my toddler chanting and laughing and offering my devotion before the sea, beneath the moon.

the mystery of the waters
the desire in human hearts…

February 2016 179

*I used Shekhinah Mountainwater’s adaptation of the Charge, originally by Doreen Valiente, as included in the book Ariadne’s Thread. Molly 180

Molly has been “gathering the women” to circle, sing, celebrate, and share since 2008. She plans and facilitates women’s circles, seasonal retreats and rituals, mother-daughter circles, family ceremonies, and red tent circles in rural Missouri and teaches online courses in Red Tent facilitation and Practical Priestessing. She is a priestess who holds MSW and M.Div degrees and recently finished her dissertation about contemporary priestessing in the U.S. Molly and her husband Mark co-create original goddess sculptures, ceremony kits, and jewelry at Brigid’s Grove. Molly is the author of Womanrunes, Earthprayer, and The Red Tent Resource Kit. She writes about thealogy, nature, practical priestessing, and the goddess at her Woodspriestess blog.

Wonder Bread by Natalie Weaver

Natalie Weaver edited It is a difficult thing to wake up and realize you are living a life you do not recognize. This happens for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes, it happens dramatically as in the case of death, job loss, personal trauma, or illness. Other times it is a slow and insidious transition from what you knew to what you have become, as you find yourself looking at your workplace and recognizing no one or wondering who these people are in your home. Sometimes it is as simple as getting a haircut or a pair of contact lenses, when suddenly you see some wrinkle or skin mark you didn’t know had been forming while you slept. I find this experience shockingly regular now, and while I am no longer surprised that it happens, I am consistently surprised at what I discover.

For example, my son is now an altar server in the Roman Catholic Church. This has occurred concurrently with my very unexpected involvement in an annulment case, which has revealed an outrageous lack of pastoral sensitivity on the part of the Church. Witnessing the hurt this process causes, I could run from the Church. But then there is my son in the choir and serving at Mass, trying to understand this world that I both introduce him to and also roundly critique. I was chatting with a colleague at lunch over such matters and noticed her quieting after a time, eyes cast off into the distance. After a long pause, she murmured, “How did I get here again?” Continue reading “Wonder Bread by Natalie Weaver”

Celebrating National Poetry Month by Elizabeth Cunningham

Elizabeth Cunningham headshot jpeg One of my morning practices is Lectio Divina, divine reading. Instead of reading scriptures, I read poems. The practice calls on me to be alert and contemplative. Recently, I have been reading The Shambhala Anthology of Women’s Spiritual Poetry, an extraordinarily diverse selection of poems from 2300 BCE to the late 20^th century. I won’t be quoting from the collection, but I do recommend it to FAR readers as a sample of our literary, religious and feminist legacy.

Writing has always been one of the more accessible forms of expression for women. You don’t need expensive paints or canvas, clay or stone. To complete your work, you don’t need access to a theatre or an orchestra. Just a scrap of paper, a writing implement, a stolen moment, and, yes, the opportunity to be literate, not easily come by in many times and places for women or men. If you are literate, the act of writing itself does not require even Virginia Woolf’s much-to-be-desired room of one’s own. Jane Austen is said to have written at the dining room table surrounded by the chaos of family life. Continue reading “Celebrating National Poetry Month by Elizabeth Cunningham”

Caroline Schelling on Birth & Death by Stuart Dean

Caroline Schelling

Of the many letters Caroline wrote to her lifelong friend Luise, one of the most intense (the 57th Letter) dates from seven years after the 4th Letter discussed in my last post. By then both were married; only a few months earlier Caroline had given birth to her first child (Auguste); though Luise already had children, Caroline knew that one of them was terminally ill. In the first paragraph Caroline describes how difficult Auguste’s birth was for her; in the second she consoles Luise over the impending death of her child. She thus subtly parallels birth with death and hence the labor for one with mourning over the other.

Fifteen years later, only a few months after the death of Auguste–the last of her four children to die–Caroline’s generally positive disposition evidenced in the 4th Letter and her experience in grappling with birth and death evidenced in the 57th Letter were being put to the test. Though she was holding up well, Friedrich Schelling (Friedrich), the man who was to be her third husband, seems to have been suicidal from feeling guilty (rightly or wrongly) for having failed to do enough to cure whatever illness killed Auguste. Caroline wrote frequently and urgently to him, offering advice and comfort. In one of those letters (274d) she characterizes the challenge of overcoming grief as a formula to be solved: “(death/pain) x (love/bliss) = (life/peace).” She terms this one of her ‘primal axioms’ (the “Ursatz”), although she seems playfully to concede to Friedrich that he or perhaps someone else shares responsibility for it. Continue reading “Caroline Schelling on Birth & Death by Stuart Dean”