This month on the Spring Equinox I celebrate ten years of ordination. And for the first time in over fourteen years I am not employed as a minister at a local church. While I miss preaching and occasionally long for liturgy, I have never been more happy, and I find company and solace in the myriad holy women that fill my life. They have become my beloved community. They hold me accountable to my calling. They celebrate the birth of my child, dry my tears, laugh with me heartily, and remind me to dance for justice even when it’s difficult.
So, as winter turns to spring and I enter the next decade of ordained life now outside the church’s walls, I find myself clinging to Walt Whitman’s admonition: “From this hour forward I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines.” As I think about this great cloud of witnesses surrounding me—my beloved Holy Women—I recall the ways in which we are all called to be prophets for justice.
Many have claimed that artists are our contemporary prophets, those who rage against the status quo, and call us to actions of justice that create beauty in the lives of all humanity, even all creation. So I turn to a great artist whose music has set free countless women and queer folk in search of new symbols, new language, new stories that are deep and wide enough to contain our subverted and searching spiritualities. The great womanist prophet, Tracy Chapman, sings these words in her song, New Beginnings: Continue reading “Painting and Ordaining the Holy Woman Icon by Angela Yarber”
We have come to a point in the history of our civilisation where our relationship to nature seems to be more of one of destruction than of nurturance and respect. Humankind has steadily distanced itself from nature, our homes are filled with dead things, plastics, metals and chemicals. Everything around us is synthetic and manufactured in factories. Some people live their lives never touching nature – the soil, the plants, the grass. I have even met people who have a deep fear of being in nature. This distancing from nature is a reflection of distancing from our Divine Earth mother, not just as the outside world, but also as the energy of the archetypal Earth Mother within our own psyche.
Many cultures and traditions herald a Great mother, Mother Earth or Mother Nature but our connection to her, especially recently in the Western world, has been severed. In the Greek mysteries, Gaia or Gaea, the Divine Mother, was one of the primal elements who first emerged from cosmic chaos at the dawn of creation. All the later Pantheon of Gods and Goddesses are said to have descended from her initial union with Ouranos (the sky) and Pontos (the sea). Her geneology and her presence in Greek myth is full of complexities, conflicts and contrasts. Her worship in Ancient Greece did in fact decline, for her role was supplanted by the Gods of Olympus. Some scholars such as Harris and Platzner (Greek Mythology: Images & Insights, 2011), maintain that the decline in her worship and the demonizing and slaying of the snake or serpent – one of Gaia’s primordial symbols and a symbol of archetypal feminine energy, represents the death of the sacred feminine brought about by the insidious reign of a patriarchal pantheon of male gods.
Gaia is not only a figure in Greek myth however. In the 1960s, James Lovelock (2000) formulated the Gaia hypothesis. Lovelock states that all life, and all living things on this planet, are part of a single, all-encompassing global self-regulating system (he avoided the word consciousness) which he named Gaia. It is this global system of interconnection that makes our planet capable of supporting life. Further, he believes, if you live in balance with Mother Nature, health and healing are yours; violate Her laws and tip the balance, you pay the price in suffering and disease. Thus Gaia does not only represent the Ancient Greek Mother Earth and the physical planet, she also represents the forces of nature: laws and intelligences that function on every level of the cosmos. She is the very fabric of existence. Glenys Livingstone says it beautifully: “She is the eternal pulse, in which each one of us flows. Gaia is Earth, is Universe, is Ultimate Mystery, is you, is me – She is multivalent.” (from her Essay ‘Gaia as a Cosmic Name‘, 2014)
I recently taught two workshops for women ‘Painting Gaia – Exploring our Connection to the Earth’ based in my belief that disconnection and distancing from nature is an issue that needs attention. We need more than ever, at this time in history to re-connect deeply with the earth and with the feminine – regardless of faith of tradition. This re-connection that will aid in deep ways in the healing of the planet and of the self. If we are not connected, how can we care about the plight of the planet and all sentient beings? And if we are not caring, how can we take action to make a difference?
I am dedicated to taking action, raising awareness and making a difference in the ways that I know how. The intention for these workshops is to connect to Gaia through the process of visioning, painting and inquiry. Our Gaias were birthed from the cosmos and as we brought her into being we deepened our connection to Her, within and without. We also strengthened our commitment to healing the earth in a capacity that is manageable. Some, including myself, expressed feelings of being overwhelmed by all the atrocities we are flooded with on the news and in social media forums. In this context, our goal was to become more mindful of our actions and choices. The workshop also called us to a deep, primal remembering of Her eternal presence, from the cosmos to the core.
It was apparent in our discussions is that Gaia represents paradox – life/death, chaos/order, creation/destruction, beauty/ugliness, peace/fury. Connecting deeply with Gaia is ultimately about living in paradox; we must accept both life and death to truly know her nature. Marion Woodman (Dancing in the Flames, 1996) states that “paradox is the core of wisdom and the core of the goddess”. The balance of both must be held.
In Greek art Gaia was often represented “tamed,” presented as a beautiful voluptuous woman, half risen from the Earth as can be seen here:
Gaia rising from the earth, Athenian Red-figure Kylix, 5th c BCE – image from http://www.theoi.com
Following are two of my recent paintings of Gaia in all her elemental power. I hope you feel and appreciate the difference! Continue reading “Gaia by Jassy Watson”
In September past I travelled to Zanzibar with a long time friend from Singapore. I intentionally planned to visit the places where other Africans, like my ancestors, were bought, sold, and held in waiting like fish in the fish market. The slave trade in east Africa is linked to this historical island, which was like a Fed Ex hub: a central location to facilitate the transfer of slaves—stolen, captured in war, kidnapped, or bought elsewhere to be traded, from there to parts of Persia and Arabia.
I explained to my friend, EVERY African-American identifies intimately with slavery. We talk as if it were only yesterday. We say “we,” as though speaking of relatives in another city or town. We also say “they” about slave masters and traders, about the over seers who beat us, the men who raped our foremothers and sold off their children, the few who taught us to read in secret, or turned a blind eye at our efforts to escape. Yet, I know of NO WHITE person who identifies with their history as slave masters.
My intention was to perform some simple ritual interface at the markets and holding cells. I had not planned any details, I had only reflected on the value of sacred expiation and the reality of living blood still flowing because my ancestors gave their blood, sweat, and tears. Perhaps my blood would mingle with the spirit of the blood of my ancestors. At least I hoped I could, through some selected prayers or liturgy, release anger, pain, and humiliation in exchange for a life of freedom. I owe my life to them and I wanted to consciously renew the bond and then, like Nelson Mandela’s walk to freedom, to LET it go. To honor my ancestors I must live fully and in freedom. Continue reading “Freedom and Faith by amina wadud”
Yesterday, to this day of my writing, two of my friends died. Both endured years of struggle against cancers, and both finally yielded to death at nearly the same hour. I received notices of their passing within moments of one another. We sat vigil with the family of one of my friends until late in the evening, while the other friend was prepared for repatriation in the land of her ancestors.
In the home where we sat vigil, I entered the room where my friend had passed away. I wanted to feel the last fading traces of her physical presence. I don’t know whether any part of her was there or not, but I was grateful to be in the place where she had been. The room was very full. It held the medical equipment that had briefly sustained her life for the last few days, but it was mostly stuffed with the clutter and the souvenirs of a life. Porcelain trinkets, formal family portraits, travel photographs, colorful shot glasses collected from the cities she had visited, and everything covered with a fine layer of dust. Continue reading “Goodnight, Sweet Friends by Natalie Kertes Weaver”
This Friday, March 7, 2014, the Women’s Caucus (WC) of the American Academy of Religion, Western Region will be hosting its annual “Professional Development Panel and Workshop” in Los Angeles, CA. During the workshop panelists and attendees will consider what ‘gardens’ we have grown in, who our ‘mothers’ are and how this impacts what we bring to the table or what ‘gifts’ we bring to the table when dialoging with and across differences. Our title and praxis at this event is also meant to honor our feminist mothers. Specifically I would like to recognize and honor Letty Russel, Katie Geneva Cannon, Kwok Pui Lan and Ada Maria Isasi-Diaz. Among many other accomplishments, these women edited the 1988 volume entitled: Inheriting Our Mothers’ Gardens: Feminist Theology in Third World Perspective. This book helps to give voice to women marginalized within feminist theological discourses and is the inspiration for our panel’s title this year.
Preparing for this panel, I reflected that many of those who contribute to this blog have written about their mothers (biological or non-biological) and mothering. (Most recently I found myself inspired by Marie Cartier’s meditation on aging, health, her mother and religion.) I realized that I have said very little about my own mom; my mom, who I am so like, who I look like, and who is both my mother and my friend. I have definitely ‘inherited her garden,’ so to speak: flowers, herbs, weeds, rocks and all. So, momma, this blog is for you.
Sometimes we think of Greek myth as a pre-patriarchal or less patriarchal alternative to the stories of the Bible. After all, Goddesses appear in Greek myths while they are nearly absent from the Bible. Right?
So far so good, but when we look more closely we can see that Greek myth enshrines patriarchal ideology just as surely as the Bible does. We are so dazzled by the stories told by the Greeks that we designate them “the origin” of culture. We also have been taught that Greek myths contain “eternal archetypes” of the psyche. I hope the brief “deconstruction” of the myth of Ariadne which follows will begin to “deconstruct” these views as well.
Ariadne is a pre-Greek word. The “ne” ending is not found in Greek. As the name is attributed to a princess in Greek myth, we might speculate that Ariadne could have been one of the names of the Goddess in ancient Crete. But in Greek myth Ariadne is cast in a drama in which she is a decidedly unattractive heroine.
In the story told by the Greeks, Ariadne falls in love with Theseus, a handsome young man who was sent with 11 other Greek young people to be fed to a monster (who is half man, half bull) known as the Minotuar. The Minotuar is Ariadne’s half brother (see below). Because of her “love” for Theseus, Ariadne helps him to murder her brother. She then flees with Theseus on his boat.
Here we are, creeping up on the vernal equinox (March 21), which astronomers and weathermen on TV tell us is the start of spring. I see Imbolc (as described by Deanne Quarrie) as the true beginning of spring, however. It’s when we see the first little crocuses popping up through the snow…..oh, yeah…..well, maybe not this year, when more than half the U.S. is buried under mountains of snow. Let’s just agree that in ordinary years crocuses pop up and bloom and trees start showing us their tiny green leaves in February. The equinox is really the turning point of spring, the hinge of time when the rising energy tips over into falling energy that is flowing toward summertime, which will arrive at Beltane (May 1 or 2).
Demeter and Persephone
We’re probably all familiar with the story of Persephone, who under her childhood name, Kore, was out picking flowers in the meadow one day when her Uncle Hades roared up out of the earth in his mighty chariot and kidnapped her. This led her mother, Demeter, the grain goddess, to search for her and finally go on strike and let the world turn back into winter. This went on until Aunt Hecate told Demeter where her daughter was. When Persephone, now queen of the underworld, came back up with her mother—voilà! It was springtime. That’s how the vegetation myth goes. Continue reading “Persephone by Barbara Ardinger”
Safa N. Plenty is an educator and mental health counselor. She holds a Masters of Social Work from Columbia University in Applied Generalist Practice and Programming and an undergraduate degree in interdisciplinary studies with a minor in Africana Studies. Her research interest include Sufism, Attachment to God, indigenous eschatology, particularly Native American and Somatic psychology. She is also interested in religious mysticism, mindfulness practice in Buddhism and the role of feminism and religion in cultivating a peacemaking capacity among young Muslim women. Safa is currently working to develop a faith based healthy relationships program for Mothers and daughters. She enjoys writing poetry, research, and contemplative practice in art and crafts in her free time.
When I first discovered the Goddess as a young woman, I was drawn to the Goddess of prehistory. I felt Her power and importance through the statues, figurines and shrines that were uncovered, as Her names and stories have been lost to us.
Later I discovered, in the first written tablets found, the story of Inanna, the Sumerian Goddess. Her story covers all the aspects of a woman’s life – the maiden, the lover, the queen, the mother. She brought the gifts of civilization to Her people. She descended into the underworld and was reborn. As Queen of Heaven and Earth, She ruled all. I worked with images of Her for many years.
“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”
― Yoko Ono
If you are reading this on February 28, 2014, then you are reading it on the day after my birthday—I am 58 years old now. I wrote previously about aging and feminism and reclaiming our bodies—my fears of wrinkles—well, not fear…my surprising distaste/revulsion of them, and then yes, fear. My ability to maintain peace inside my aging body came about because I have a life-long history of feminism and I practice yoga. I explored all of this in one of my first blog posts for this site, “If You’re Lucky, You Get Old.” That was two years ago.
I am happy to say that I am no longer scared by my face—by its changes. I believe that “if we are lucky, we get old.” Now—I don’t want to just “get old,” I want to get old and be healthy—and by healthy I mean I want to keep my mind.
This past month I went back to the East Coast to attend the funeral of my mother. She died of Alzheimer’s. Yes. Feminism and Alzheimer’s. Women get Alzheimer’s more than men—women constitute 2/3 of those who get the disease. I know many friends who are afraid now—their mothers had it—are we going to get it? There is a lot of research on Alzheimer’s and little information. There is however the information that women get it more often than men. Some of the things that can prevent Alzheimer’s are physical exercise, healthy diet and social activity. Are these harder for women to attain than men? Continue reading “Birthdays and Aging and Feminism and Religion by Marie Cartier”
This month on the Spring Equinox I celebrate ten years of ordination. And for the first time in over fourteen years I am not employed as a minister at a local church. While I miss preaching and occasionally long for liturgy, I have never been more happy, and I find company and solace in the myriad holy women that fill my life. They have become my beloved community. They hold me accountable to my calling. They celebrate the birth of my child, dry my tears, laugh with me heartily, and remind me to dance for justice even when it’s difficult.
Feminism and Religion 