In this post, I review Yoga for Witches by Sarah Robinson, a practical book that weaves together two ancient practices with surprising similarities, yoga from the East, and witchcraft as practiced in Northwestern Europe.
I start with what I loved, and how Robinson describes the similarities and differences between those two traditions. That weaves into some personal and deeper reflections on the theoretical background and yoga sequences. At the end you’ll find a specific recommendation so you’ll know if this is the book for you!
From my earliest memories, I saw things that others didn’t see and knew things I had no business knowing. But at the time, I didn’t realize that others didn’t witness the dance of light around their bodies or the life forms at the base of trees. I didn’t know that the insights I had into people’s emotions were not universally shared. My curiosity led me to ask questions about these things… until my grandmother, Savta (Heb), took me into the kitchen (where everything important happened), closed the doors, and told me never to talk about these things with anyone except her. And so, my training began.
Savta was gifted in ways different from mine. She had grown up in a circle of women and their daughters, a circle where women educated each other, shared their unique gifts and insights, and passed down a legacy of wisdom.
The wisdom she shared with me was as ancient as the land on which we lived. We began with reverence for the Earth and all her elements—pre-patriarchal Goddess wisdom. We explored what it means to be intimately connected to all aspects of Creation, understanding that we are interdependent. Harm to a tree, an insect, or the water harms us. We learned that the respect we wish to receive from others must first be shown by us. I learned to never pick up a beautiful stone that caught my attention without first asking permission to remove it from its resting place. When harvesting fruit from one of the many trees in my grandparent’ yard, I expressed deep gratitude to the mother-tree whose body nurtured that fruit to ripeness.
One of my earliest lessons from karate, which I am still working to integrate, is about the necessity of making mistakes. I used to apologize every time I make a mistake, “I’m sorry,” I’d immediately say to my instructor. She would smile at me and at the end of class would say, “You don’t have to apologize for making a mistake; your body is just learning to do this for the first time, so of course you’re going to make mistakes. Mistakes are part of the process.”
The necessity of making mistakes was something I needed to learn to embrace. As with other areas of life, making mistakes in karate made me feel like a fool. I would get frustrated with myself and would feel embarrassed, and would feel like my teachers were disappointed in me too. But one of the things that has helped me embrace my mistakes is seeing how I have indeed improved in my practice. The mistakes I now make are new ones and are about higher level forms and techniques—things that used to absolutely seem impossible for me.
Born of Stone and Trees Birthing a People from a Mountain of Light I hold slivers of her body touch numinous fragments worked by Peoples who honor and live the Great Round Pungent scent of red pine and spruce, luminescent lemony cottonwood cobalt sky steep gorges, sand flakes of pink, rust a splash of bittersweet translucent charcoal flint spiny cactus juniper serpents twisted into fantastic shapes a peak that pierces sky flat topped on one side I belong to Her and She to me Mother of all Creation.
Changing Woman’s Mountain
I have written before about Changing Woman’s Mountain located near Abiquiu New Mexico. Most call this mountain Cerro Pedernales and an image of the flat side of this mountain, her mesa, was made famous by artist Georgia O’Keefe.
Astonished by my first glimpse I climbed a long serpentine road that wound around steep gorges, rivulets of water, open meadows and unbroken stretches of lush fragrant green forests to reach the backside of this mountain. I couldn’t get over the fact that one side was a mesa and other was a peak that pierced the sky like a sword.
Moderator’s Note: Below is a letter from Mahmoud Khalil in its entirety, dictated over the phone from Immigrations and Customs (ICE) detention in Louisiana. A permanent resident taken by the government for his political speech. The phrase “who has the right to have rights?” was coined by Hannah Arendt who escaped Nazi Germany and wrote poignantly and pointedly about the rise of fascism. While on the surface, this letter doesn’t have an obvious link to FAR’s mission, we feel it is deeply intertwined. Who has the right the have rights? Women once had no rights and it appears we are losing them again at breakneck speed. Immigrant’s rights in this country are being stripped also at breakneck speed. And that is just the tip of the iceberg. If we can’t answer “EVERYONE” to Arendt and Khalil’s question, then human rights mean nothing for any of us.
Wikimedia Commons: Protests in Thomas Paine Park against the detention of Palestinian activist and Columbia student Mahmoud Khalil. [SWinxy]
My name is Mahmoud Khalil and I am a political prisoner. I am writing to you from a detention facility in Louisiana where I wake to cold mornings and spend long days bearing witness to the quiet injustices underway against a great many people precluded from the protections of the law.
Who has the right to have rights? It is certainly not the humans crowded into the cells here. It isn’t the Senegalese man I met who has been deprived of his liberty for a year, his legal situation in limbo and his family an ocean away. It isn’t the 21-year-old detainee I met, who stepped foot in this country at age nine, only to be deported without so much as a hearing.
Justice escapes the contours of this nation’s immigration facilities.
On March 8, I was taken by DHS agents who refused to provide a warrant, and accosted my wife and me as we returned from dinner. By now, the footage of that night has been made public. Before I knew what was happening, agents handcuffed and forced me into an unmarked car. At that moment, my only concern was for Noor’s safety. I had no idea if she would be taken too, since the agents had threatened to arrest her for not leaving my side. DHS would not tell me anything for hours — I did not know the cause of my arrest or if I was facing immediate deportation. At 26 Federal Plaza, I slept on the cold floor. In the early morning hours, agents transported me to another facility in Elizabeth, New Jersey. There, I slept on the ground and was refused a blanket despite my request.
Subtitle: Remembering Eve and the Power of Creative Transgression
I have learned that every good story of spirit has many layers of meaning and pathways of understanding. Dr Leilani has found particularly relevant and even beautiful aspects of the biblical story of Eve. She uses Eve’s actions as a template of her own spiritual journey. Her pathway begins in obedience (listening to the voice of authority), travels through transgressive acts (eating of the fruit), and finally results in a self-knowing that had not been possible at the beginning of her journey. In this book we follow along on her quest to learn about herself with Eve as her inspiration.
This is a luscious book. Vanya Leilani’s insights are not only profound but are written with a poetic sensibility. I found myself speaking some of her passages out loud because the vibration of her words are powerful and feel so sensuous on the tongue. I wanted to take them into my body, as well as read them on the page.
I walk my dog at night—usually after midnight I walk in my neighborhood with my dog, Zuma, a dead ringer for Toto from the Wizard of Oz. We are both quiet. I have a small flask of chardonnay I keep in my breast pocket. I might photograph the moon. I might do Wordle and send my result to my wife. Answer a few emails, but I don’t stay on the phone.
I say my “gratitudes” out loud – at least ten of them before I even look at my phone…I say, “I’m grateful for…” (fill in the blank)—the fact that my truck has a moon roof, and I opened it on the way home; My wife is cooking chicken soup; I saw a former student at the coffee shop; I wrote the web footnotes to chapter 12 of the 2nd ed. of my book; due to the publisher this spring – these are all real gratitudes I said out loud yesterday.
~~~ “Supporting neighbours. Protecting communities. Providing supports. Rebuilding lives.” Donna De Jong, Executive Director of The John Howard Society, Hamilton-Burlington, Ontario, Canada. ~~~
I think often about why and how community matters. About joy and justice and hope and healing. And indeed, the importance of spaces such as our own here on FAR, this community of poets, writers, artists, activists, advocates, allies, academics. Each whose choice to put pen to page, affords light and life to throb and to thrive.
Feminism and Religion 