26,000 years ago, life was precarious and dangerous. And so the human race revered the Mother. Mother Earth, who provided food amidst scarcity, protection from the dangers of the wild and healthy babies who grew to adulthood.
The Goddess.
In her many forms.
Some of these Goddesses.
Venus of Willendorf. The artifact known as the Venus of Willendorf dates to between 24,000–22,000 B.C.E., making it one of the oldest and most famous surviving works of art.
Do I feel safe in America- that’s what you want to know, right? Such a good question—and excuse me, but ridiculous. Four hundred and seventeen anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced in state legislatures across the United States since the start of the year — a new record, according to the American Civil Liberties Union, as of April 2023.
I could on – but you get the idea.
I feel safe I guess in California, in my own home, in my own bed—but as a woman you rarely feel totally “safe.” Most every woman I know, me included, is a rape survivor. It’s not unusual– it’s common– but feeling safe I think is unusual. Feeling loved isn’t– but safe? That’s “a horse of a different color” as they say in Oz, and even Dorothy wasn’t safe there—although I continually wonder why she ever returned to Kansas.
Literally, you did not count on my astuteness. Or in other words, you underestimated my intelligence. It is the perpetual trick of arrogance that white supremacy and classism plays on racially and ethnically minoritized people and the joke/yoke these people carry. It is the most frequent microaggression I experience in academia in the supposed –– disque–– compliment of “you are so articulate!”
Source: Yahoo News
El Chapulín Colorado (The Red Grasshopper) is a Mexican comedic superhero character created by artist Roberto Gómez Bolaños, better known as Chespirito (little Shakespeare), in the 1970s. Whenever Chapulín untangles a mess, whether on purpose or by chance, he says “¡No contaban con mi astucia!” The movie Blue Beetle, which pays homage to this beloved character across Latin America and Latinx people is ––entre otras cosas–– exactly that, astute! Puerto Rican director, Angel Manuel Soto, and Mexican writer, Gareth Dunnet-Alcocer, take the DC comic book story of Jaime Reyes’s Blue Beetle (2006) and transform it into a film that, more than responds to a Latino superhero gap, it takes representation, impact, and issues of capitalism seriously. The truck, the heart-shaped shield, the tools, and the crickets playing in the background of the outdoor scenes ––to name a few–– are an extension of the characters’ parallelisms and the possibilities of what it means to have higher numbers of representation in mass media-produced films with integrity and astucia. ¡Awiwi!
The recent climate disaster, which involved the devastating fire that ravaged Maui and left the historic town of Lahaina in ruins on August 8, 2023, has been weighing heavily on my heart. In the early morning hours of August 12, while on the cusp of wakefulness, an unsettling vision appeared in my dream’s eye. A solitary house sat atop a hill with swirling darkness threatening to engulf it from below and above. A small patch of light surrounded the house, grounding it on the hill. This persistent mental image, though not what I prefer to harbor in my consciousness, refused to dissipate. So I decided to put pastel chalk to paper, hoping to release myself from its haunting presence.
When he left, I couldn’t believe it was over. All my anxiety and fear, all my apologies for being so ‘stupid’ about computers, all the negative experiences with tech people had been turned upside down.
Thirty years of internalized shame sloughed off skin after skin. I was finally free of patronizing tech abuse for the first time in my life. And Stan had just picked up a new client! If I had any problem in the future all I had to do was to contact him. Oh, such relief! That his prices were so reasonable was another welcome aspect of this first exchange.
Many women are drawn to the image of the Sacred Marriage—perhaps especially those raised in Roman Catholic or Protestant traditions where sex is viewed as necessary for procreation but nothing more, and who learn that the naked female body as symbolized by Eve is the source of sin and evil. In this context, the positive valuing of sexuality and the female body found in symbols of the Sacred Marriage can feel and even be liberating.
Jungians have claimed that the Sacred Marriage is an archetype of the wedding between the “masculine” and the “feminine.” Many women have been attracted to this idea as well. It “softens” the radical feminist critique of patriarchy and male dominance. Rather than “castrating” the “phallocracy” as Mary Daly urged, we can think in terms of the “marriage” of qualities traditionally associated with male and female roles. Women, it is said, can use a good dose of ego and assertiveness traditionally associated with the masculine, while men need to have their dominating rational egos tempered by feminine qualities like care and compassion.
Sinéad contacted me for the first time in 1995 asking me if I would teach her some Gregorian Chant. I was living in Glenstal Abbey at the time and she came to my home to spend a few days with me.
I was working on a doctorate then on the Sound of God and we had great conversations in between moments of teaching and at meal times. She was an extraordinary student. Sing her a phrase and she had it immediately; sing to her an entire chant, no notes taken, but she could sing it straight back to you. She loved Gregorian chant and in the afternoons, we would steal into the church and try out the morning’s learnings. One evening in particular I shall never forget. We went up to Compline – Night Prayer at 8.35pm. Afterwards, one of the community, Br. Ciarán, came down to us and Sinéad asked him if she could sing the hymn which the community had just sung once the monks had left. She did and indeed it became her favourite encore at many concerts she gave at that time.
“Drinking the water, I thought how earth and sky are generous with their gifts and how good it is to receive them. Most of us are taught, somehow, about giving and accepting human gifts, but not about opening ourselves and our bodies to welcome the sun, the land, the visions of sky and dreaming, not about standing in the rain ecstatic with what is offered.”
–Linda Hogan in Sisters of the Earth
The women have gathered in a large open living room, under high ceilings and banisters draped with goddess tapestries, their faces are turned towards me, waiting expectantly. We are here for our first overnight Red Tent Retreat, our women’s circle’s second only overnight ceremony in ten years. We are preparing to go on a pilgrimage. I tell them a synopsis version of Inanna’s descent into the underworld, her passage through seven gates and the requirement that at each gate she lie down something of herself, to give up or sacrifice something she holds dear, until she arrives naked and shaking in the depths of the underworld, with nothing left to offer, but her life.
While researching my family tree, I discovered the Survey of Scottish Witchcraft of the University of Edinburgh, an amazing database listing those who were accused of witchcraft in Scotland between 1563 and 1736 and what happened to them. I found a woman named Jonnet who had an unusual last name that closely matched one of my ancestors, who happened to come from a small town very close to where my ancestor had been born, and who had several children. Jonnet would have been of the previous generation or maybe two generations earlier than my ancestor. I was not able to trace my ancestor’s line back any farther than her birth, so I wondered if Jonnet had perhaps been the mother or grandmother of my ancestor, or maybe a more distant relative.
I found a bird’s nest the other day. A perfect, round little nest, with five pale blue speckled eggs. I’ve been working for several years to figure out how to support the birds who share our yard, with bird feeders, leaf litter and better soil for caterpillars and worms to feed the baby birds, yellow LED outdoor lights, and native plantings to attract more insects and pollinators. I knew that songbird populations are struggling, but lately I’ve learned even more about their truly worrying decline, and how we can all create ‘homegrown natural parks’ to help. It’s been a deep source of joy and hope, through the long pandemic, to see the tufted titmice, dapper chickadees, and bright red cardinals at our feeders, and the soft gray juncos hopping about on the ground. When we moved here a few years ago, a bird’s nest appeared right above the floodlight on our deck, and we got to see and hear the wee fledglings that spring, as if they were welcoming us to our common home. We loved those baby birds, and I’ve often wondered whether they are now among the visitors that seem drawn to the window feeder whenever we start to play music.
Feminism and Religion 