You say you want the truth, and I want to give it to you—I mean you asked for it and I want to give it you. I mean—I do want to tell the truth but— to be honest I’m not sure I want to be the person that truth belongs to – but I want to tell the truth
So- ok. To be honest. You know, transparent– I am out of candles. Totally – even tea lights, never mind seven-day candles I am out. In all colors: red, pink, blue, orange, even white. And I have no intention of getting any more. Done with candles. I am also out of quilt squares, and quilt materials and thread— and I – well, I am just out of anything to do with sewing, quilting. And nope- not getting any more. Done.
Thanksgiving is a complicated holiday. As a child, it was simple – a happy day of family and feasting. I would awake at dawn to help my mother stuff the turkey that would roast all day in the oven, and while she prepared all the rest of the meal, the younger of my brothers and I would head downtown with my nextdoor neighbor to delight in the Christmas displays in the department store windows. Our home would be filled – my older siblings returned from college and their adult lives, with a roommate, or girlfriend, and in later years, spouses and children. We would stuff ourselves with turkey, stuffing, and cranberry jelly, mashed potatoes and gravy, black cherry Jello, squash with mini marshmallows, and as my mother would always say, “corn for the Indians.” That would be the only mention of Native Americans on this day celebrating what has become a romanticized version of a harvest feast, shared by a few of the Waumpanoag people and the English settlers who owed their survival to their generosity.
Even though the world is full of injustices, system breakdowns, and wars, I am thankful to be alive.
Even though the current trajectory of climate change, together with inaction to change the way society is organized, promises the collapse of modern industrial civilization, I am thankful to be alive.
Even though my own life has had many set backs and personal disappointments, I am thankful to be alive.
Practicing gratitude helps me deal with these adversities. But practicing gratitude goes beyond its ability to deal with adversity. It helps me to feel more positive, to appreciate small everyday occurrences like sunsets and running water, to treasure good experiences, and to build strong relationships.
“What you make from a tree should be just as miraculous as what you cut down”.
Richard Powers
November is the month of endings and beginnings – I am keenly aware of all trees as they prepare for winter sleep, and this is the season during which I begin to celebrate evergreens. Most deciduous trees are a tangle of sleepy gray branches, but the conifers are still breathing life. Herein lies the Deep Forest Green Religion of Hope. Many trees, both thin barked deciduous trees and conifers are still photosynthesizing.
I love gazing into the woods beyond my brook lush with balsam, fir and hemlock knowing that the animals and birds that are left will soon be nestled in thick undercover finding nourishment and protection from winter winds and snow.
Thanksgiving evokes deep memory and raises questions about what we are celebrating, now that we know the stories we were told about the Pilgrims and the Indians are not the whole truth about America’s early history. I thought about all of this as I prepared for Thanksgiving this year and cleaned up for days afterwards.
Although I do not live in America, I have celebrated Thanksgiving with a group of friends in my home in Greece many times during the past twenty years.
My daughter used to love Dr. Seuss’s book Wacky Wednesday. The premise of the book is that you are supposed to find the things that are off in the picture: an upside down picture, a tiger instead of a baby in the stroller and steps leading up to a house with no door.
My daughter was always so excited to find these anomalies: giggling and pointing them out.
‘See, the world makes sense! But this doesn’t. And this doesn’t either.’
It seems that the hearts of the whole world, and especially the hearts of women, are grieving now, as war and warmongering take over more and more of the Earth. Patriarchy rages on, like a monster in its death throes, and we wonder, “will they take us all down with them?” It is my hope that these poems will help us to keep on keeping on, keep on loving Her.
My grief, my love for the world
I watch the dancer, one arm framing her face, one hip drawing upward in the belly’s rhythm. The dance of mature women, Raqs Sharqi born of the sensuous music of the Middle East. Her hips pull us into infinity, an inward-outward shout of beauty and desire.
Joseph Campbell spoke of ‘mentors’ appearing to help the sojourner, and what Maureen Murdock called the gathering of allies. In my hybrid of these two archetypal journeys, there may be several mentors – human, power animals, divine guides or a combination. She could be a wise elder who helps the heroine prepare for the journey or gives her a gift for later use. In my case the wise elder was my 93 year old mom who became one of my mentors. When I expressed my excitement and fears, she said what she always says when I – one of her seven children – am facing a challenge: “Go get’em Tiger!” She also offered financial support so I could take time away from my psychotherapy practice.
Two other mentors showed up in what Carl Jung called my ‘active imagination’: Carol Christ and Marija Gimbutas. Both have transitioned so my active imagination conjured their support as divine intervention. I reread Carol’s reflections and teachings on the pilgrimage, and watched the videos she made as inspiration. I felt her invitation. I was ready to change.
Carol Christ’s Legacy honored by Laura Shannon, and the Ariadne Institute
Adventure by Autumn Skye with permission of artist
When I teach the Heroine’s Journey in my Sophia Women’s Wisdom Group, I draw on Joseph Campbell’s idea of the mono-myth, an archetypal story that resonates with every human across time: The Hero’s Journey. I combine Campbell’s ideas with pieces of feminist Maureen Murdock’s heroine’s journey to recognize the unique pathway of the feminine. I call this my hybrid heroic journey. If you are not familiar with Maureen Murdock’s work, I invite you to see how she brought her feminist eye to Campbell’s iconic Hero’s Journey in her book The Heroine’s Journey: Woman’s Quest for Wholeness. After her conversation with Joseph Campbell six years prior to his transition, Murdock felt he missed “that the focus of female spiritual development was to heal the internal split between woman and her feminine nature” (p. 2). In my hybrid heroic journey, that split in the early stages is internalized negative masculinity. The rejection of our feminine nature may appear differently in each woman’s life but it is often characterized by treating ourselves how we imagine men perceive us.
My recent Pilgrimage to Crete was astonishing; my epiphany, gradual. As I share my adventure, imagine stages of your own heroine’s journey wherever you are in that cycle. I hope that by sharing this series, you will experience a real life example of Dion Fortune’s definition of magic: ‘The art of changing consciousness at will’. Starhawk, Truth or Dare, 1988.
Feminism and Religion 