Incredibly! The Inquisitional Cultural Mechanism Rears its Hydra Head by by Elisabeth Sikie

As a young witch hungry for feminist sisterhood and spiritual wisdom in the 90s, before the blooming of the internet, I discovered a mag called The Beltane Papers. I remember devouring an article featuring channeled material of women killed during the European witch hunts. This transmission revealed past voices of everyday people living their lives until they were snagged by the slow creep of an increasingly oppressive cultural trajectory. What struck me was the normalcy of their voices, the deceased echoes of regular women trying to make sense of events beyond their control until they were taken by a system that destroyed them. What stayed with me is the author’s observation that even at their violent end these women’s voices remained “incredulous”. 

Decades, and seemingly lifetimes later, I completed my dissertation for my PhD in Religion and Philosophy in which I excavated some of the subaltern history of my European Ancestors and their female shamanic practices. At one inevitable point in my research – kicking and screaming – I reluctantly faced the inquisitions and witch trials. After waving a sage wand and cracking a sacred beer, I cracked open the Malleus Maleficarum, the infamous “Hammer of the Witches”.[1] This notorious guidebook, a how-to for career Christian Inquisitors written by two Dominican Friars[2] during the Middle Ages, details moral arguments supporting the legalized suppression, interrogation, and eradication of women designated by the church-state as heretics.

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From the Archives: A Chorus of Need: I Need an Abortion by Marie Cartier

This was originally posted June, 2022

I need an abortion and I can’t get one

Because I don’t have the money to fly somewhere else other than …here

Where I can’t get one

I need an abortion and I can’t get one

Because the kid, or the cells of a maybe kid, were put in here by the guy that raped me and if I have to have it, I will kill myself

I need an abortion and I can’t get one

Because I have four kids already and I can’t feed another one

I need an abortion and I can’t get one

Because it’s my dad’s…did you hear me say that? I have never said that. I have never said what he does to me…and now I have to show everyone… if I can’t get this out of me I will…

I have to get this thing out of me

I need an abortion and I can’t get one

Continue reading “From the Archives: A Chorus of Need: I Need an Abortion by Marie Cartier”

Elderberrying with the Yei by Sara Wright

Every year at the end of August I celebrate the Wild Harvest by gathering elderberries to make a medicinal tincture that I use all year long and share with close friends.

This gathering is a process that begins in the spring as I search for new bushes and then later blossoming elderberry flowers in old and new places. As the summer progresses, I continue to monitor the bushes searching for those with berries. Beginning in early August I am on alert for ripening. I am especially mindful because our weather is changing rapidly. If the trend of bad air, fog, and too many deluges continues unabated it’s probable that the times for harvesting berries may shift. In addition, many of the wild places that once supported elderberry bushes have been manicured to get rid of the wild plants by mowing them down, bulldozing the soil to remove all greenery, etc. The rape of wild nature has escalated with time. 

This year I have been especially fortunate because I found new clusters bursting out in places they weren’t before. I think the Elder – Berry Woman is helping me. Destroying these precious wild plants and their habitat means that a once common ancient Native plant remedy may be disappearing. Despite horticultural advertising our elderberry bushes do not do well in cultivation, if they survive at all.

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By Song, All Was Created by Janet Maika’i Rudolph

This blogpost is part of an on-going collaborative project between myself and my dear friend Ecuadorian elder and medicine woman, Susana Tapia Leon. The purpose of the project is to illuminate in word and images the underlying pagan meanings of biblical verses. There are many rich verses that got hidden within translations. This has had the effect of erasing their original meanings or at least making them very difficult to uncover. I have come to call these hidden gems because they were not erased completely. In this post, I am offering alternative translations of 3 verses that focus on song.  

Susana Tapia Léon, Cantadora 1
“She came alive after a month of work
She was always inside waiting to be revealed.”
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Why Ritual in Turbulent Times? by Terry Folks

Nick Fewings, Unsplash

It is Autumnal Equinox. Five women gather equidistant apart beneath a giant avocado tree in the garden at Evi’s place near the village of Zaros. This little hamlet is under the watchful loving eye of Psiloritis (Mount Idi) on the Island of Crete in Greece. We leave the solitude of our individual cottages where we have been quarantined to co-create an Autumnal Equinox ritual I have initiated for this occasion. Since we are still testing positive for COVID, we maintain our distance. I have a nasty strain as I’m exhausted, foggy, my nose bleeds, and I’m coughing so much my head hurts. Still … this ritual is important as our morale seriously needs a boost. We are dubbed the five “Corona Sisters” or the “COVID Girls” whose Goddess Pilgrimage on Crete was cut short when we contracted the virus somewhere between our homes in Australia, Canada and the United States, and our arrival in Heraklion a few short days ago. We have renamed ourselves the “Avocado Sisterhood” to acknowledge the blessing of our togetherness, and we represent a quarter of the women participating in Carol Christ’s Goddess Pilgrimage to Crete in 2023.

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Sing Anyway by Dr. Jamie Marich

I often find myself sitting in conservative Catholic spaces. My brother is a Roman Catholic priest in the Dominican order and I remain in support of his vocation. Every time, before a Mass officially starts, I’m overcome with a sense of: “You belong here…and you don’t.”

The part of me that has always felt at home in a Catholic setting is that love of the ritual and ceremony, the smell of the incense, the familiarity of the chants and songs. It was a Catholic priest, the late Fr. Ciaran O’Donnell, who taught me how to play the guitar and got me started with the healing practice of songwriting. When I sink into these associations, I feel connected to my Croatian ancestors and our Catholic faith. And there’s the other part of me—the queer feminist and an advocate for other queer and transgender people to live the fullest, most open expressions of themselves in all spaces of life, especially faith-based spaces. As a survivor of several forms of sexual assault and as a trauma specialist who has guided countless other survivors in their healing process over the years, I can’t sit in a Catholic Church and not feel uneasy about the legacy of abuse and silencing survivors within the church. Between my queer identity and dedication to supporting survivors, I feel that I don’t belong.

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She in Archetypes, Images, Energy… Emerging by Dale Allen

If it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t have gone to church on Saturday evening at 5pm.  It was a special trip made by me, my daughter and my 89-year-old mother who is visiting here in Connecticut from Ohio.  We are met at Holy Name of Jesus Church in Stamford, CT by one of my aunts, some cousins, one of my sisters, a brother-in-law, nieces and nephews – part of our big family.

Holy Name of Jesus Church is in walking distance from the house where my mother grew up: the house where her Polish-immigrant parents raised 8 children. My mother and her siblings attended Holy Name of Jesus Catholic School next to the church from 1st through 9th grade. The school is still there and now houses a daycare and learning center.

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Sailing For The Darkness by Mary Gelfand

As I write this, it is August and very much high summer. This time of year always reminds me of my old life in New Orleans, before I moved to Maine.  David, my first husband, and I were sailors. I never planned on becoming a sailor, but once I mastered the basic skills I found I quite enjoyed it.  Furthermore it became an unexpected source of spiritual insight. I’m inspired to share a piece of that here.

One spring over 25 years ago, David and I and a group of sailing buddies made our usual summer passage in the Gulf of Mexico, from New Orleans, Louisiana to Pensacola, Florida.  By car this trip was 200 miles. By sail it took two to three days. Around midnight, as we were entering the last leg of this journey, I took the wheel.  We were exiting Mobile Bay, heading east, and this should have been a fairly simple passage. There was plenty of depth, adequate wind, the boat was sitting in the water well, and I had Barney, a dear and trusted friend, as my navigator. I’d been at the wheel for fifteen minutes or so when I noticed the many lights we were approaching and asked Barney what was going on.

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A Healing Shrine by Joyce Zonana

From October 5, 2023. Joyce posted the blogpost which she titled: Nineteen months and Counting: Experiencing  the Web of Life

On February 28, 2022, I unknowingly drove into a deep snowbank, shortly after finding myself in  a strangely  unfamiliar landscape. Suspecting a TIA, my primary care physician  urged me to go to an emergency room for a possible CAT scan. There, a lesion in my right parietal lobe was quickly discovered.

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How the Nineteenth-Century Spiritualist Movement Gave Voice to American Women -Part 2 by Theresa Dintino

Moderator’s Note: This post is presented as part of FAR’s co-operation with The Nasty Women Writers Project, a site dedicated to highlighting and amplifying the voices and visions of powerful women. The site was founded by sisters Theresa and Maria Dintino. Part 1 was posted yesterday

Spiritualism began with two young girls, the Fox sisters, hearing knocking sounds in their home near Rochester, N.Y . They determined the knocking to be coming from a man who was murdered and buried under their home. The knocking was soon categorized into an alphabet out of which seances began. In seances groups of people gathered and put their hands on a table while asking questions of ancestors who made themselves known by rapping and knocking in response. Next, mediums in the form of young women speaking the answers of the dead as the bereaved asked them questions, emerged. Instructions were disseminated on how to be a medium and how to run a seance. The movement took off.

The movement was largely white, northern Protestants but other ethnicities were  involved. The Black population may have influenced the arising of these practices with traditions brought with them from West Africa.

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