goddess – Page 16 – Feminism and Religion

The Emperor’s New Clothes by Barbara Ardinger

On the day the Big Boss decided he wanted to be the Emperor of Everywhere, the first thing he did was pull on his red cap embroidered with the words Make Me Greater Again. He tied the strings under some of his chins and adjusted the earflaps so he could more plainly hear the Spirit of the Cap. The first thing the Spirit of the Cap told him was that an Emperor needed appropriate clothing. The Big Boss pulled out the mail-order catalogue from which he ordered his custom-tailored suits and paged through until he came to the perfect photograph of the perfect Emperor’s New Clothes, which was a royal robe of pure silk the color of peacocks’ tails. “Yesss,” said the Spirit of the Cap. “Order this one.” The Big Boss picked up one of his phones and placed the order. “I want it right now,” he told the operator. “I am very, very important. I always demand very, very immediate service.”

red cap When the Spirit of the Cap upon which were embroidered the words I Am Always Very, Very Great told the Big Boss he needed consultants, the Boss called his posse together and ordered referrals. “I always get what I want very, very quickly,” he told the posse, which consisted of several of his wives and the goodfellas that ran the real estate where Ladies of the Night and their Good Friends gambled the nights away. “I make very, very good deals,” said the Big Boss. “Find me some very, very good advisors. If you don’t, you’re fired.” Continue reading “The Emperor’s New Clothes by Barbara Ardinger”

To Every Season by Deanne Quarrie

Deanne Quarrie We are closing in on the last of the season of abundance. Wherever we look we see Her harvest around us. Purple grapes hang from their vines. Branches hang heavy from the weight of fruit and sweet nuts. All the forces of life have done their work ~ the sun ~ the rain ~ the earth ~ the wind ~ all have added and blessed everything with fruitful abundance.

We have reached the time of the harvest. The shadows of the day are lengthening and our growing season is drawing to a close. We reach out claiming our rich rewards ~ our bountiful harvest. Continue reading “To Every Season by Deanne Quarrie”

Weaving and Spinning Women: Witches and Pagans by Max Dashu: Reviewed by Carol P. Christ

carol p. christ photo michael bakas Max Dashu’s Witches and Pagans: Women in European Folk Religion 700-1000 challenges the assumption that Europe was fully Christianized within a few short centuries as traditional historians tell us. Most of us were taught not only that Europe became Christian very rapidly, but also that Europeans were more than willing to adopt a new religion that was “superior” to “paganism” in every way. Careful readers of Dashu’s important new work will be challenged to revise their views. When the full 15 volumes of the projected series are in print, historians may be forced to hang their heads in shame. This of course assumes that scholars will read Dashu’s work. More likely they will ignore or dismiss it, but sooner or later–I dare to hope–the truth will out. Continue reading “Weaving and Spinning Women: Witches and Pagans by Max Dashu: Reviewed by Carol P. Christ”

Digging My Well by Joyce Zonana

I write this from the heart of a ten-day silent yoga retreat deep in central Virginia. The peace within and without fills me as I gaze over the James River, meandering through its wide valley, thickly carpeted in green. The late summer thrum of cicadas rises and falls around me, and in the far distance I hear what sounds like a mower circling a field. Earlier today, during meditation, I watched a pileated woodpecker pry its meal from the hollow of an ancient oak. Rather than silently repeating my mantra with eyes closed, I had my eyes open, and I experienced the sacred vibration in the bird’s rhythmic taps.

440px-PileatedWoodpeckerFeedingonTree — Pileated Woodpecker

Now a soft breeze touches my face, bringing with it the sweet scent of wet grass. “There is a blessing in this gentle breeze,” I remember the opening of William Wordsworth’s Prelude, and I am reminded as well of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s heroine Aurora Leigh, celebrating “the body of our body, the green earth.” Yes. This earth is my body, and I am blessed to be in it, here, at the ashram of my guru, Swami Satchidananda, silently practicing hatha yoga, meditating, breathing, simply being.

Continue reading “Digging My Well by Joyce Zonana”

The Blood of Isis by Deanne Quarrie

Deanne Quarrie tyet1 Over the years I have seen the image of the amulet called the Knot of Isis but in all honesty, never paid it much attention. I am on the organizing committee for our annual Goddess Festival here in Austin this year and we have chosen Isis as our Goddess to honor. The intent is to reclaim the Sacred Name of Isis and celebrate Her power, especially for women.

I was supposed to go to Brazil this summer to speak. One thing that was to have happened on my trip was to be my ordination as a Priestess in the Fellowship of Isis. However, because I became very ill and was hospitalized, I had to cancel my trip. In preparation for this ordination, I created an altar for Her and began to get to know Her. I have always had special affinity for Hathor and Sekhmet or as I call them together, HetHeru. And so, began my relationship with Isis. Continue reading “The Blood of Isis by Deanne Quarrie”

Killing Us Slowly by Judith Shaw

Judith Shaw photo Killing us slowly with your rules.
Killing us slowly with your technology.
Killing us slowly with your bureaucracy.
Killing us slowly…….

Continue reading “Killing Us Slowly by Judith Shaw”

Priestess as Shamanic Path – Part 2 by Molly Remer

This is a continuation of Molly’s piece from Wednesday, 10 August 2016. You can read Part 1 here.

After explaining that the homebirth of her second son was her, “first initiation into the Goddess…even though at that time I didn’t consciously know of Her,” Monica Sjoo writing in an anthology of priestess essays called Voices of the Goddess, explains:

The Birthing Woman is the original shaman. She brings the ancestral spirit being into this realm while risking her life doing so. No wonder that the most ancient temples were the sacred birth places and that the priestesses of the Mother were also midwives, healers, astrologers and guides to the souls of the dying. Women bridge the borderline realms between life and death and in the past have therefore always been the oracles, sibyls, mediums and wise women…

…the power of original creation thinking is connected to the power of mothering. Motherhood is ritually powerful and of great spiritual and occult competence because bearing, like bleeding, is a transformative magical act. It is the power of ritual magic, the power of thought or mind, that gives rise to biological organisms as well as to social organizations, cultures and transformations of all kinds… (page unknown).

I have been a childbirth educator since 2006 and I have given birth five times. Each birth brought me the gift of a profound sense of my own inherent worth and value. It was the shamanic journey through the death-birth of my tiny third child, however, that ushered in a new sense of my own spirituality and that involved a profound almost near-death experience for me. After passing through this intense, initiatory crisis, the direction and focus of my life and work changed and deepened. Shortly after the death-birth of my third son, I wrote: Continue reading “Priestess as Shamanic Path – Part 2 by Molly Remer”

Priestess as Shamanic Path – Part 1 by Molly Remer

It is late autumn, 2009. I am 30 years old and pregnant with my third baby. He dies during the early part of my second trimester and I give birth to him in my bathroom, on my own with only my husband as witness. The blood comes, welling up over my fingers and spilling from my body in clots the size of grapefruits. I feel myself losing consciousness and am unable to distinguish whether I am fainting or dying. As my mom drives me to the emergency room, I lie on the back seat, humming: “Woman am I. spirit am I. I am the infinite within my soul. I have no beginning and I have no end. All this I am,” so that my husband and mother will know I am still alive.

I do not die.

This crisis in my life and the complicated and dark walk through grief is a spiritual catalyst for me. A turning point in my understanding of myself, my purpose, my identity, and my spirituality.

It is my 31st birthday. May 3rd. My baby’s due date. I go to the labyrinth in my front yard alone and walk through my labor with him, remembering, releasing, letting go of the stored up body memory of his pregnancy. I am not pregnant with him anymore. I have given birth. This pregnancy is over. I walk the labyrinth singing and when I emerge, I make a formal pledge, a dedication of service and commitment to the Goddess. I do not yet identify myself verbally as a priestess, but this is where the vow of my heart begins.

I do not know at the time, but less than two weeks later, I discover I am in fact pregnant with my daughter, my precious treasure of a rainbow baby girl who is born into my own hands on my living room floor the next winter. As I greet her, I cry, “you’re alive! You’re alive! There’s nothing wrong with me!” and feel a wild, sweet relief and painful joy like I have never experienced before.

Continue reading “Priestess as Shamanic Path – Part 1 by Molly Remer”

Women’s Ritual Dances: Secret Language of the Goddess by Laura Shannon

My life’s work with traditional women’s circle dances of Eastern Europe and the Near East has been a natural interweaving of feminism, activism and Goddess spirituality. I would like to share how I came to discover these dances and their potential as tools for healing and transformation.

Circles of women dancing with joined hands appear in rock art, pottery shards, vases and frescoes going back thousands of years¹, showing that ritual dance was a primary means of women’s worship. I believe that existing women’s circle dance traditions of the Balkans are direct descendants of these rituals. In their expression of values of partnership, sustainability, and peace, they are living links to the matrifocal Goddess culture of Old Europe as articulated by Marija Gimbutas.²

garfinkle2 — Tell Halaf, Iraq, ca, 5000-4000 BCE (Garfinkel)

Incorporating symbols of the Goddess in her many guises, these women’s ritual dances are deeply spiritual. They are feminist in the way they provide women with a place of power, not ‘power-over’ but ‘power-from-within.’³ They are an activist practice because the qualities they embody – connection, inclusiveness, balance, empathy, and mutuality – are the principles of a Partnership society, as proposed by Riane Eisler;⁴ or in Carol Lee Flinders’ term, a society of Belonging.⁵ Each dance circle is an opportunity to practice being in community in a respectful and cooperative way, which can offer a profound source of healing.⁶

How did I come to these women’s dances? As a child I was convinced of certain truths: that nature is holy, that God is also female, and that instead of hurting one another, people should celebrate together with music and dance. These longings led me to the rich folk dance traditions of the American melting pot, women’s Middle Eastern Dance circles, and the women’s spirituality network. Around the same time, in the early 1980s, I encountered the meditative communal dance practice known as Sacred Dance. Together with my university training in Intercultural Studies and Dance Movement Therapy, these different streams helped shape the path of my life. Continue reading “Women’s Ritual Dances: Secret Language of the Goddess by Laura Shannon”

Who’s In That Clock? by Barbara Ardinger

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one,
And down he run,
Hickory, dickory, dock.

Someone’s been watching that mouse with the suction-cup feet. From her mouth to our ears.

Hickory dickory image2 You all know my story, at least the popular version of it. I was an only daughter, the princess (so to speak) of the house until Mama died. Then Papa, who couldn’t seem to manage anything, much less a busy household, went out and got married again and brought Stepmother and her two ugly daughters into the house…and the princess was promptly reduced to servitude.

One of the things Mama brought to Papa when they married was her longcase clock, which she had inherited from (yes) her grandfather. That clock is ten feet tall, and it stood in our grand parlor until Stepmother moved it into the hall beside the stairs. Now it stands outside my bedroom under the stairs. (It’s my own little corner and I have my own little chair there.) I’ve been looking at that clock all my life. Although it, and our household, ran smooth as the day is long while Mama was alive, it doesn’t always go bong on the regular hours anymore. And when it strikes, something weird often happens. Like, one time when it struck eight, I heard this invisible chorus start singing about going into the woods and being happy ever after. Like, one time when it struck two, three mice came dancing out of it, and when it struck three, they went blind and I had to lead them to their hole in the wall. And one time when it struck twelve, the front door flew open and this beam of light came shooting down from the sky and shone down the hall the lit up the clock’s face. But it was twelve midnight, not twelve noon! The face changes, too. Sometimes it’s smiling, sometimes it has eyes that follow the hands around, and sometimes frowns. And on Sundays, when Stepmother gets her lazy daughters out of bed and I have to help them get dressed (forget about bathing!) and then they all go to the new church, well, that big old clock looks like it’s shaking its head. Continue reading “Who’s In That Clock? by Barbara Ardinger”