The Glorians: Visitations from the Holy Ordinary is an astonishing book written by internationally acclaimed writer Terry Tempest Willams that is predicated on the necessity of bearing compassionate witness to all beings during these troubled times. It is a book about family, friends, earth and dreams, the later of which inspired the title. The volume is composed of a series of essays, only one of which I will discuss here.
Terry, who teaches at Harvard Divinity School, writes about the Divinity Tree, a two-hundred-year-old red oak that was removed from the Commons. Listening to this narrative as a ‘Tree Woman’ was/is excruciatingly painful. My stomach roils in misery, but I am compelled to listen, over and over, because this is my story too.
I came to the mountains because I was in love with trees and bears discovering an evergreen paradise or so I thought until the dreams began. In my night stories all the trees were being slaughtered and there was nothing I could do. Since I was surrounded by fragrant forests that stretched from horizon to horizon, I could make no sense of these terrifying warnings and let them be.
As someone who came into feminism in the late 1970s early 1980s, reading Lucy Pearce’s Burning Woman was re-entering the power and promise of women-centered feminism – the heyday of Adrienne Rich, Audre Lorde, Mary Daly, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Andrea Dworkin, Charlotte Bunch, China Galland, Riane Eisler, Carol Christ, Gloria Anzaldúa, Susan Griffin, Starhawk, Sara Ruddick.[i] It was the era of reclaiming the Feminine from its patriarchal definitions and women defining themselves outside of patriarchy – celebrating women’s spirituality, art, music, language, bodies, sexuality, birthing, voices, and power – when feminism was about transforming patriarchy rather than fitting into it — when Meg Christian proudly sang Betsy Rose’s “Glad to Be a Woman.”
And then everything changed. Just as women were coming into our own beyond patriarchy, women-centered feminism came to a halt due to pressures both from within feminism and without – with a whole school of deconstructionist feminists[ii] now critiquing women-defined women as “essentialists,” and moving back to minimizing rather than maximizing the differences between the sexes,[iii] with an emphasis on abolishing the gender binary, welcoming trans and non-binary folk, and questioning the whole concept of “women.” Indeed, one of my Women’s Studies, now Gender Studies, students asked me privately if it was okay to call herself a “woman” because the term had become so forbidden among many of the students. At this time, feminist theorist Nancy Hartsock raised the important question, “Why is that just at the moment when so many of us who have been silenced begin to demand the right to name ourselves, to act as subjects rather than objects of history, that just then the concept of subjecthood becomes problematic?”[iv]
My name is Yalda. I am a woman from the Iranian resistance who, for many years, has fought for women’s equality and worked to amplify the voices of Iranian women around the world. Today, I want to share with you the source of inspiration and motivation that has guided my path.
Covering every aspect of Maryam Rajavi’s life and thought in one article is a challenge, so today I will focus only on what has personally influenced me: her perspective on women.
She herself is a woman who has spent decades fighting against two dictatorships—the Shah’s and the misogynistic clerical regime—and believes that women can change the world. A brief overview of her biography: she was born on December 4, 1953, in Tehran and is a metallurgical engineer from Sharif University of Technology in Tehran. From her teenage years, she embarked on the path of struggle, learning from action rather than words.
the circle repeats tightens with age crushing an aging heart I cannot breathe through these lifetimes of loss instead I relive old pain 4AM lasts an eternity each mourning
In honor of the enormous success and moon joy of the Artemis II project I wanted to use this month’s Herstory Profiles to focus on three extraordinary women who helped make this possible, even if it was over 70 years ago. These three women have just recently in the last nine years been brought to the forefront due public recognition and the Hollywood film Hidden Figures. The film not only inspired by the 2016 non-fiction book written by Margot Lee Shetterly but by the actual women themselves.
I am a plant woman, that is a woman who has an intimate relationship with plants. As an ecofeminist writer I believe that women and plants have a ‘natural’ connection to one another. We see this mythologically as women turn into trees, hold ceremonies under trees, listen to them for wisdom, take comfort from them in distress.
Why do we look to the stars for direction and ignore the urgent messages about interspecies communication that trees and plants convey to us here on earth?
I think this is a very important question to be asking when our planet is facing ecological collapse.
I have Come Full Circle. March 27th is the 48th anniversary of the murder of my father Theodore Van Sluytman in Scarborough, Ontario, Canada. An Easter Monday. My entire life from that time the age of 16 to this time now the age of 64 was, is, and will always be a connection to how word with a capital W and words with a lowercase w, infuse, inspire, and affect my life. I might even say infect my life.
After being contacted by one of my father’s three murderers, almost 30 years after he put the bullet in my father’s heart, we did share healing. All seemed well in the crucible of tying up loose ends as it were. Ten years later, however, he, made choices that were deeply unaligned to that meeting.
When he and I met, it was powerful. It was profound. Terrifying too. And liberating. His choices 10 years after that meeting, though they shattered me for a time, leaving me with feelings of smallness, stupidity, and inadequacy based on the fact that in choosing to meet him major rifts in my family occurred. Few supported my choice to meet him. However, I grew to understand that we are the poetry that we wish to read, to be, and to see in the world. That we are human. I thought about my feelings of smallness, stupidity, and inadequacy. Thought long and hard. Many times. In early dawning days. Sitting in the gloaming. Late into the night.
I recently returned home from a two-week visit to Buenos Aires, Argentina—a trip I took with my eldest son, Mike, who throughout the years has expressed an interest in my birthplace. He has an avid interest in history, geography, and economics. It was like putting puzzle pieces together for him—attempting to understand the various aspects of Argentina in light of my experience. What was it like living in a “foreign” country? Did I have friends? Who were they? What were they like? How did we, the family (parents, 4 children—the 5th was born much later), get along?
My parents were American, Protestant missionaries. They met at Moody Bible Institute, Chicago, Illinois, in the early 1940s. My mother was a Registered Nurse. My father had been recently discharged from the U.S. Navy. Both of them were eager to do the “Lord’s work.” For them, that meant serving the Lord as missionaries. They felt “called” to go to Argentina and preach the gospel mainly to Jews, God’s “chosen people.”
In Argentina, my parents struggled financially. Their mantra (especially my mother’s) was “God will provide.” That translated in my mind to “don’t ask for anything we cannot afford.” My parents’ income depended on God placing our needs on the hearts of people (mainly in the U.S.) who would then be moved to support our mission—the New Testament Missionary Union. Funds were divided among all the missionaries in the organization equitably, meaning the more children you had, the greater percentage of the available funds you received. It was never enough. My maternal grandmother, Jessie, often supplemented our income. I don’t remember ever going hungry, but I do recall appearing slovenly and disheveled—always an embarrassment. Except for my school uniform, the only clothes I wore were hand-me-downs or the ones Jessie sent from the U.S.
Moderator’s Note: This post was written in early February, 2026
The Big Bear Moon
(Ojibwe and other Northern Tribes)
We know that each full moon exerts a powerful pull on the earth. At the full moon, the Earth, Moon, and Sun align and the tidal bulges on both sides of the earth manifest as extremes (reminds us that extremes are part of all nature).
This full moon, called the Big Bear Moon also ushers in the First Turning of the year. Last night’s luminous round pearl reminds me that every full moon creates a magnetic and gravitational pull that effects every living being on this planet.
Dealing with these natural extremes on a personal level is necessary if sometimes unpleasant work. I have been a regular journal keeper for 50 plus years and notice that each full moon brings on physical symptoms that have increased in severity with age (inability to sleep/headache spikes/ irritability). When I was younger, I experienced the full moon’s pull as a potent ‘high’ that energized me too much. Another curious consistency is that for me the worst human betrayals including self – betrayal have occurred occur around or during the full moons. I have learned not to make personal decisions during this period and to watch out for weird highs/lows and for inexplicable/explosive anger.
Lately I also have been thinking about the forest whose individual trees synchronize to prepare for the magnetic/and gravitational pull of lunar and solar cycles/includes eclipses, etc. that literally suck up water drying trees out, so trees have learned to shut down to protect themselves from water loss. These extremes are particularly dangerous for young trees who have few if any water reserves, so old trees communicate to the seedlings/adolescents what to expect and what to do. Afterwards, trees separate again into individuals, but they also remain connected through their root systems and through the air so interspecies relationship within the forest does not cease. I wonder if during the winter months the trees are less likely to dry out during celestial events because so many are sleeping? Although most tree energy/power descends below to roots and the mycelial networks where life keeps humming, in colder climates natural antifreeze remains in tree trunks and expands during full moons. Sometimes the antifreeze isn’t enough to stop cracking which will damage the tree.
Plants as well as trees respond to the Moon’s gravitational and magnetic pull through leaf movements, altered stem/root growth, and by absorbing more water to compensate for shrinkage. I have noticed all these effects occurring in my houseplants during the months I spend more time inside with plants and the moon.
Winters go on forever and without my beloved bright green houseplants I would be bereft. I have been paying very close attention to my passionflowers this week during the waxing moon which is also occurring at the First Turning of the year.
One beauty needs repotting and until four days ago I planned to do this job in a couple of weeks. While immersed in another project I received an urgent message from that plant: repot me now. (root growth) Her voice was so insistent that I immediately dropped what I was doing to respond (all plants communicate with those who love them). As usual I expected an ordeal for both of us, so I was stunned to see how easily the plant separated from her pot. Although her thick white roots were spiraling out of the bottom, the whole plant let go without my help (this has never happened to me before – usually re-potting is traumatic with the plant giving off a scent that I associate with pain because plants make sounds or scents when hurt) Ah, she knew when the timing was just right and I (thankfully) was listening! Another point worth mentioning is that repotting/cutting creates distress for all plants. This repotted passionflower had no reaction at all and is already showing new stem growth.
I have also been watching my two other passionflowers. The two in the south windows have required daily watering One is a cutting I placed in a dove pot early last summer that has vined herself around the whole southern window and is now attaching tendrils to the ceiling and a piece of string that I attached to the plant to give the tendrils purchase if/ as the vine moves across the room. Instead of turning south the top of this vine seems to be traveling northeast– or was (it might be important to add that I also had a dream that my dog Coalie and I were traveling northeast via the coast earlier this month). In the last two days the tendrils have reversed their trajectory and are climbing back over themselves towards the west! It’s winter, and southern sun is normally what these plants love.
The Big Bear moon was full last night and this morning the passionflower is once again traveling northeast! So, this reversal was temporary, but it demonstrates the powers of the moon (and other celestial bodies) to create effects like reversals on earth, humans included. Intriguing to say the least.
The third passionflower is in a window that faces north/ northeast. I planted cuttings for someone whose brutal betrayal last spring on the full moon and good friday*(2) unhinged me. After crucifixion day this passionflower immediately developed a mass of blooms, eight weeks before the onset of her regular blossoming cycle. A crown of thorns greeted me each day.
The trauma was so severe that I lost two months of my life. When each astonishing blossom scented the air I felt the knife twist like a corkscrew deepening the hole in my gut. After two plus months nature intervened and I was free at last.
But it took months before I was able to separate that one passionflower from the Betrayer. My passionflowers lived outdoors for the summer which allowed me some space. I started new plants. Both prospered under my care. When I was able, I asked the original plant for forgiveness, but it was too late. My lack of love and attention resulted in a passionflower that was no longer thriving.
Today I remain the ‘Old Woman’ in the crucifier’s life. What I will never forget is that he scapegoated me without cause; I do not hate him but I do not wish him well. That crown of thorns is on his head, not mine.
Lately, I have been asking the passionflower that produced vines and flowers for a killer of soul what to do. Yesterday I received a nudge. Take three cuttings and let me go.
Begin again.
The words could have come from a fairy tale.
I followed the first directions. Next, I burned both my homemade solstice balsam wreaths to acknowledge the circle that had been broken.
I am hedging around throwing out the old plant – part of me wonders if I need to wait until she speaks again – or maybe I am just not ready. Plants are wonderfully patient with humans who often need many more than one set of instructions.
This morning the three cuttings are waving their tendrils towards the light – (normally they droop for days). The repotted plant looks as if ki has been in her new home for a while. No indication that she has just been repotted!
Plants are Powerful Teachers and I am in perpetual awe of how little I know, how mysterious the ways of nature remain. But in this process of writing about plants, I have also uncovered my most recent intentions. Nature, no doubt has known all along!!
Postscript: February 5 9AM – this morning I was stunned to see a bud emerge from a new plant just repotted…. this too has never happened before (this plant has not lived long enough to adjust her cycle for blooming to the light the plant receives in the house). How important it is to learn how to observe and to listen!
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(1) February 2nd is when the bear first leaves his den to determine how much longer winter will last – if he doesn’t see the sun, he knows that winter will last much longer. When the colonists arrived, they turned the Indigenous bear story into a groundhog story)
(2) (AI) The passionflower is steeped in16th-century Christian mythology, where Spanish missionaries interpreted its unique structure as symbols of the Passion of Christ. The corona filaments represented the Crown of Thorns, while the three stigmas symbolized the nails, and the five anthers were wounds.
My commentary:.
In pre – christian/christian mythology one sees Osiris, Dionysus, and Jesus all wearing crowns of one sort or another. Both sides of the archetype can be lived out depending upon whichever side of the alignment a person is living through. For example, in myth Dionysus wore a crown to celebrate joy; Jesus wore a crown to die. Osiris wore a crown depicting his rule over the Underworld.
For Indigenous peoples of South America the passionflower is called the Vine of Souls.
I read FAR’s repost of Carol Christ’s 2016 essay,Maiden, Mother, Crone: Ancient Tradition or New Creative Synthesis, with great interest and was struck by this sentence, “It has been suggested that we need a fourth stage, Queen, to celebrate the years between menopause and old age. Since I reject hierarchy of every kind, I don’t want to be a Queen.” Christ rejected the Queen archetype while acknowledging that in her fifties, she felt no connection to Mother or Crone. I believe, the Queen archetype offers middle-aged women who live after the veil of estrogen has lifted, a realm that no longer prioritizes the relational over self – a vital sacred space.
In my work as a somatic psychotherapist, I often encounter women grappling with the time between motherhood (or choosing not to mother) and cronehood. While the Mother archetype symbolizes a universal pattern of nurturing, protection, and sustaining growth and regeneration, the Crone embodies wisdom, intuition, and spiritual power. Many women between the age of 50 – 65 simply do not connect with either of these personifications and I am one of them.
Feminism and Religion 