Eco-feminism – Page 2 – Feminism and Religion

Summer Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

Let us be gentle with ourselves
as we cross the threshold
into summer,
as we both open our hearts to change
and open our hands to choice.
It is now that we both let things go
and celebrate what is flourishing,
what is thriving and growing
and calling us onward.
Let us be soft and supple,
luminous and languorous.
Let us practice the discipline of pleasure
and the liturgy of delight.
Let us protect wide margins for magic,
commit to our own life’s unfolding
and swim freely
in the current of the sacred
that is always available
to receive us
and welcome us home.

Today, I sit missing the orioles and thinking about cycles of change, how things grow and decline, and how we can choose to be present or not with what we see and feel. I tip my head back in the green filtered light of morning and discover berries beginning on the mulberry trees. The wild raspberries and blackberries too are tipped with small, firm caps of green. I am feeling the sort of overdue clarity that descends when I finally realize I can let something go, that not everything is mine to carry or mine to fix. I know that this clarity too will come and go, but for now, I welcome it, feeling the cool wind stirring my hair and brushing my shoulders as I enjoy the sunshine and the sound of hawks on the wing. There is a powerful hope in these blue sky days and for now, I bask in the sensation of both remembering and reclamation.

This year, as we tip into summer in the Northern hemisphere, the temperatures in my own Midwestern biome have been surprisingly cool, peaceful and rainy. In an era of climate change, this slow entry into the heat of the year has felt welcome and encouraging. Something that continues to inspire and teach me this year has been to start where my feet are, to return again and again to where I am on this earth and in my body. In a culture that encourages fragmentation and distraction, distance, discord, and dis-embodiment, this practice of return is an act of both rebellion and reclamation.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. This year, sitting down to write and reflecting on the life lesson of starting where my feet are, I decided to go back through my past summer posts here to discover the other lessons I have learned from summers gone by. I chose thirteen lessons to share from past summer posts:

Deep Time and Dreaming by Sara Wright

I am standing on top of a mountain looking over a landscape of unspeakable wild natural beauty that stretches as far as I can see. This is the ‘long view’ the dream -maker tells me. The trees are stretching out their lush green needles to the sky as if in prayer, and they are whole. The forests, clear waters, the animals, birds, insects. All of Nature has been returned to a State of Grace.

An Old red skinned Indian Man appears. He is a Grandfather. He is on the mountain with me but also stands below (both and). He speaks to me.

“Sit, listen, this is the Song of Life”.

A finely crafted flowing red clay seat appears below (it flows like a wave) although it is situated a few inches above the earth. Almost hovering. I also see a drum made from deerskin and red clay sitting on the ground. There is a four directional equilateral black cross on the skin of the drum. The cross is thick and around the cross an intricate design is etched/inked into its skin also highlighted in black.

Do Women Really Need the Goddess? by Collie Collier

It’s been several years now since I first read ecofeminist thealogian Carol P. Christ’s revelatory prose regarding the necessity of the Goddess in a woman’s life:

A symbol’s effect does not depend on rational assent, for a symbol also functions on levels of the psyche other than the rational… The symbols associated with … important rituals cannot fail to affect the deep or unconscious structures of the mind of even a person who has rejected these symbolisms on a conscious level—especially if the person is under stress… Symbol systems cannot be simply rejected, they must be replaced. Where there is not any replacement, the mind will revert to familiar structures at times of crisis, bafflement, [celebration,][1] or defeat.[2]

Reading those words was an unexpected shock—I felt like a previously unknown weight was abruptly lifted off my shoulders! As a young tween, I’d consciously refused Christianity for a somewhat naïve equality-based form of feminism—but I’d still unwittingly internalized the organized religion’s misogynistic teachings. Since then, I’ve worked to encourage the Goddess, in all Her multiplicity of forms, in both my life and the lives of women and genderfluid persons all around me.

I Really Like My Dirty Feet by Caryn MacGrandle

Last night, I had a dream where a nicely dressed woman leaned towards me and said, ‘Come with me, I’ll show you how to do it.’

“I’ll show you how to get those feet clean,” and she looked down at my dirty feet in disgust.

And I knew what ‘it’ she was referring to. She had a nice car and a big beautiful home and a well coiffed outfit. She was one of my children’s friend’s parents, successful the way that mainstream society defines it.

And my small self said, ‘sure, okay’.

But then my Large self said ‘wait a minute. Stop. I like my dirty feet.’

They’re part of me, you see.

After Words: A Reflection on the Fourth of July by Sara Wright

This morning, hummingbirds, hummingbird moths, honeybees with a thousand eyes, brilliant orange fritillaries are capturing nectar from my wild bee balm, butterfly weed, and milkweed. Bee balm stalks are almost as tall as the five-and-a-half-foot Guardian cedar – the latter only planted four years ago.

Early this morning on my daily walk I noted with pleasure the conversation between Yellowthroat and Indigo Bunting (yes they communicate across species) so absentee birds are once again singing after a week of diminishing song which began the morning after the first night of mindless explosions that split the night into fragmented shards of metal, raining down deadly particulate matter and adding even more pollution leaving our air choking with poisons. This kind of noise pollution damages all human cells. This is but one example of an early ‘celebratory’ 4^th of July bombing, machine gun fire, and were there fireworks too? I have no idea. The dogs and I left immediately. I always keep the car ready for instant evacuation for us even if I am at camp. A comfortable puff and pillow offer us a bed and netting stretched across the back of the open car making it comfortable to sleep no matter how hot the night is or wherever we end up.

Saving the Mother Trees by Sara Wright

I am submitting this essay on March 25^th, the original Mother’s Day according to some pre – Christian mythology. It seems important to be writing about the ‘Old’ Trees of Life, today, of all days.

Sixty years ago, Suzanne Simard intuited that the trees in the forests that she and her family logged (with horses) were all connected and operated as a complex cooperative living organism. Trees, understory plants, flowers, insects, animals, fish, and fungi were all parts of one integrated whole.

Suzanne was a trailblazer, one of the first females to graduate from the University of British Columbia as a forester. Her first job seemed daunting. It was up to Suzanne to determine why some newly planted tree seedlings kept dying.

New Beginnings: Sedum tells a Story by Sara Wright

Almost two weeks ago my beloved Vet retired from the Bethel Animal Hospital. He will continue his healing acupuncture practice elsewhere part-time, but he will no longer be at the clinic. For regular acupuncture and all serious issues with my two dogs (one has been seriously ill for the last few years) he will work in conjunction with a new vet who I have yet to meet.

He has assured me that I will like Shelby, the woman he has chosen for us. I do trust his judgement.

I desperately wanted Gary to retire for health reasons last fall and spoke to him about it. We have been very close friends for many years, and it had become obvious to me that it was time. His wife felt the same way. He made the final decision to retire in November. My personal sense of loss was hidden under the shadow of my deep concern for him.

Understory – Spring Meditation by Sara Wright

Time stretches, folds back on herself as I gaze out the window squared by the four directions. A slanted sun glows golden green in early twilight. How comforting to see the trees rotting on the ground and new green wrapped all around me like a cape. The hemlock branches are almost black against the sun that sets early in the gorge. The phoebes are still – a few leaves flutter – lemon lime emerald – we haven’t names for all the impossible hues of green. I am suspended. All thought disappears into shadowy sheltering hemlock and pine against a darkening sky – the day is fading into twilight…. To be steeped in green is to be blessed by the trees who will get to live out their lives as Nature intended because of the people who cared enough to save these forests – a gift for all who see…. Beyond the window a steep gorge has sprung to life – jewelweed and oxalis bubbling out of stone. Crystalline water flows down the hillside…It is clear to me why springs were experienced as holy places. The crisscrossing of downed trees fallen under wind and winter weather is nourishing the next generation of seedlings. Fallen birches send anti- bacterial mycorrhizal mycelial fungal threads to protect other trees and plants from disease. We know almost nothing except that the skin of this precious earth holds the seeds of new life. No wonder I can sleep…

Planting Seeds of Change by Nayeli Delgadillo

There are a lot of things that have led to both feminism and my spiritual path. One could say I am still at the start of my journey at 23 years old, and it may be true. I often meet people older than myself, and they are most surprised by two things; the age that I look versus the age that I am, and in that, the maturity of my thoughts.

I grew up very much in communion with my family, living in a duplex with my extended family only a few feet away. Every month there is at least one birthday, and we all come together Saturday, for the party, and Sunday for the recalentado (breakfast or brunch consisting of leftovers). It was on these Sunday’s that we would gather and talk about everything. The adults in the family didn’t keep us kids away from hard conversations, but instead included us. Conversations that included topics of racism, education, politics, science, war, religion etc. Me being the youngest cousin, before my sister was born (we are nine years apart), would always listen in and absorb, absorb, absorb. It wasn’t until middle school, and high school, where I was truly introduced to a more serious history of the world, that these conversations started to really unravel and make sense to me. It was toward this time my cousins were also in high school, or just finishing, and so, the conversations became more lively. I started to understand why we spoke about the things we spoke about, even when it seemed like no one else was.

The Monarch That Didn’t Get Away –Butterfly Tagging, part 2 by Sara Wright

Part 1 was posted last week. You can read it here.

Today I learned that everyone is invited to witness butterfly tagging twice a week during the month of September. Efforts to publicize the value and ‘rightness’ of tagging are being stepped up.

Several people agreed with my assessment, namely that tagging creates trauma for the insect – and the idea that this practice may interfere with the butterfly’s ability to survive the 2000-mile journey, winter over successfully and then fly north to reproduce in the spring.

To my knowledge no one else had openly expressed their personal views to those in charge of the organization. However, some folks have come to talk with me. Most of us know that trauma weakens any organism’s immune system making it more vulnerable.