Christine Irving – Feminism and Religion

Asking Her Blessing by Christine Irving

… if the carving is in reach of its admirers,

the yoni will often be polished to a shine

by the touching fingers wishing to evoke

the blessings of the Goddess.

~Adele Getty, Goddess: Mother of Living Nature

My book Sitting on the Hag Seat carries the blue cover I designed. Buried in the blue, riding the spiral Wheel of Return, stands a small Sheela-na-gig. The Sheela’ s origins remain unknown and controversial. It sometimes seem to me that the less explanation exists for a mysterious object or occasion, the more emotional attachment accrues to the opinions of diverging theorists. However, no matter what symbolism is ascribed to Sheela-na gig, her frequent placement above church doors or in the walls of cities, castles and watch towers, does seem to support a protective aspect not necessarily at odds with other attributions.

Nettie’s Lament by Christine Irving

Reading Elizabeth Ann Bartlett’s beautiful post inspired me to share the following poem. I wrote it many years ago for my friend Lynette Eldridge to honor her love of the darker shorter days of winter.

As a devotee of the Divine Feminine, I have received many gifts that have enhanced and enriched heart, mind and soul. The greatest of these is the friendship of women. I became friends with Nettie during the hours-long drives we made together once a month for nine months from Nevada City, CA to Santa Cruz, CA to prepare for a Vision Quest in the Mojave Desert. Our journeys began in January, in the early morning dark of the short days following winter solstice.

About Bridgerton: A Different Feminist Perspective by Christine Irving

First of all, I’m grateful to Bridgerton for providing several spirited conversations between my friends and me, not to mention the POVs penned recently in these pages. It was fun to take part in exchanges that did not highlight or veer off into either politics or the COVID-19 epidemic.

What first drew me to Bridgerton was the fun of it – the blatant over the top spoofery and satire so like the Commedia dell’arte it so brilliantly imitates. The Commedia got away with its mockery of society because it disguised it beneath a froth of opulent, frippery, and coarse buffoonery that distracted the rich (but not the poor) from its real message about the foolishness and vanity of the ruling class. So does Bridgerton, but in this case, the culture being satirized and unveiled is ours. Unlike those earlier dramatists, in our age we fortunately and so far, at least in this country, still enjoy much greater leeway in making mockery. “Huzzah!” I say. Continue reading “About Bridgerton: A Different Feminist Perspective by Christine Irving”

Brigit and the Cailleach by Christine Irving

Today, I bring you an old old story from Scotland. It explains how and why winter became spring. Cailleach is another name for the Hag – the archetypal Crone. She represents winter. Brigit is the forever Maiden and stands for spring. There are many ways to spell her name, all of them correct. Ben Nevis is a mountain in Scotland and the word bairns means “babies”.

It’s always important to remember that myths come to us through retellings by countless bards and storytellers. They are layered one on top of the other like palimpsests and sometimes appear contradictory. I think of stories- particularly the ones who have existed for millennia as three-dimensional puzzles to be slowly played with and unlocked in increments. Furthermore, what we see and hear in a story means different things to us at different times and circumstances. There is always something new to be gleaned. Continue reading “Brigit and the Cailleach by Christine Irving”

Birthright by Christine Irving

I am a priestess of the divine feminine, ordained in the Fellowship of Isis. So how did I end up becoming ordained for a second time in the Christian Gnostic tradition? It seemed to me, that there were several paradoxes inherent in the situation. My questions and conflictions made me an utter pain to both my mentor and fellow classmates. Ironically, in the end I was the only one who stayed the course.

I rejected Christianity at thirteen and never looked back. It took me a long time to say, “I am not a Christian,” aloud. The first time I made that declaration, I thought I was having a panic attack because my heart was beating so fast. The next time I felt that kind of fear I was alone in our apartment in Dubai, writing the liturgy for my Gnostic mass – the final requirement for becoming a priest. Sitting safe and sound, of no interest to anyone, in a country that wasn’t even Christian, I was suddenly swept with the temerity of what I dared to do. Women have been burned for much smaller crimes and all those ancient memories flared up at once. The memes that infect us as children stay with us, vocal and insistent at the least opportunity and it may take a long time to manufacture the antibodies our souls need to regain health. Continue reading “Birthright by Christine Irving”