mourning – Feminism and Religion

Mourning by Beth Bartlett

Grief is the experiencing . . . Mourning is the process,
when we take the grief we have on the inside and express it outside ourselves –
writing, planting, burying, burning, rising up
ceremony, ritual, community[i]

A glimpse of our cottage as I drove away.

“As long as I stayed there, I could keep you with me. . . .” Those words kept repeating in my mind throughout my long drive home from my sister, Jeannie’s, “Celebration of Life” service. I’d stopped midway on my thousand-mile journey at the cabin our family has shared for sixty years. There I could still feel her presence — on the hillside where we so often sat with our morning cups of tea, or watching the sunset, or chatting away the afternoon; on the dock where we’d lie in the sun or sit late at night and watch the stars come out, or cuddle up in blankets on windy, fall days; in the circle of couches and chairs where we played telephone Pictionary, charades, and CatchPhrase; in the kitchen where we’d cooked and eaten and played card games together; in the bedroom we often shared with a dog between our beds; the road where we’d go for family walks – eight, ten, twelve of us all together, and always two, three, or four dogs; even the driveway where we’d greet and hold each other with great gladness after months of separation, and where we’d hug and say goodbye, and then hug once more because in the back of our minds we’d be wondering if this was the last time. . . .

Honoring My Academic Mothers: Carol Christ and bell hooks by Anjeanette LeBoeuf

I started writing this post a day after news broke that beloved activist, poet, feminist, and academic, bell hooks had passed away. This news comes months after our FAR community lost Carol Christ; another academic, feminist, writer, and maker of history. This post was finished as almost three weeks into a new year has gone by. The advent of 2022 is filled with the last two years’ heavy, unbelievable, heartbreaking, and extraordinary experiences and events.

Fourth of July: A Time to Mourn by Sara Wright

I awakened to dove gray skies and the sweet scent of falling rain. Soaking in the greening of a fully leafed out forest and the stillness of early dawn felt like a gift because these quiet moments are precious and precarious on the weekend Americans celebrate ‘Independence Day’.

As a person with mixed heritage (Passamaquoddy) I am not one of those people. Indigenous peoples of the Americas have nothing to embrace on this weekend. We are still invisible; we are still discriminated against. We are still outsiders.

Along with the emphasis on Black Lives Matter I often wonder why Red people are not included in the current cultural outrage. These are the people who were deliberately poisoned with smallpox, and also murdered and herded onto reservations by the colonists who took over this once wild and untrammeled country, systematically destroying its beauty by slaughtering the trees and animals that once grew into stately giants or roamed free. Why would Indigenous peoples or any other minority celebrate an Independence Day that occurred at their expense?

Unexpected Divine Encounters by Katey Zeh

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As I finalize my manuscript for Women Rise Up, to be published with the FAR press in early 2019, I want to share this excerpt from my chapter on Mary Magdalene.

The Spirit of God moves at unexpected times and places. When I spot a single red bloom among the barren trees in wintertime. When I watch my daughter takes a bite out of sun-ripened strawberry. When something catches me off guard and pulls my full attention to the present moment. These breath-taking moments illuminate the presence of Spirit at work.

One frigid Saturday morning I took the two-hour train ride from New Haven, Connecticut where I was living at the time to New York City for the day. I’d been invited to join a gathering of advocates working to end gender-based violence. Around a hundred of us made our way to an upper-floor classroom at The New School in Greenwich Village. When we entered the room, most of us were strangers, but in a matter of hours, we managed to form a sacred community of survivors. We took turns sharing our own pain-filled stories of violence, betrayal, survival, and hope. Both gut-wrenching and healing, the act of naming our collective suffering fused us together: our cacophony of individual experiences blended into a unified chorus for justice. What once was hidden had now come into the light. Continue reading “Unexpected Divine Encounters by Katey Zeh”

On Losing Our Dog, Malibu—a beginning meditation by Marie Cartier

When you read this FAR family, it will be the one month anniversary of us losing our dog Malibu due to we believe complications from diabetes. It was unexpected, her illness, and we are still reeling from it.

I have written before for this blog about the sacrality of dogs in a post entitled “Walking with Gods and Dogs.”

It was my intention this month to do a meditation again on the sacredness of animal companions in our lives, and especially of the loss of their presence and what it means to have had them bless us for the brief time they are able to.

I keep thinking of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Percy Six,” and of the line, “How many summers does a little dog have?” from the book Dog Songs. Continue reading “On Losing Our Dog, Malibu—a beginning meditation by Marie Cartier”

Remembering My Grandmother: Not as a Suffering Servant but as a Devoted and Loving Mother By Michele Stopera Freyhauf

The last week-and-a-half has been probably the most heart wrenching time I remember having in my life. You see, my grandmother passed from this life June 19th and the void in my heart is huge. I have to admit that I am lucky that my grandmother was a huge part of my life and the last family funeral I attended was in 1983. Certainly one expects grandparents to pass away, even when they live a healthy long life. Nothing prepares you for the time that you must say good-bye. You yearn for one more conversation, one more hug, one more kiss – the thoughts churn and churn robbing you of sleep or peace. At some point, a level of acceptance or at least the ability to cope will occur – when is a mystery, but for now I just try to be strong – for my mom, my sister, and my children.

Driving home from vacation, I received the news from my sister, Lisa:

Lisa: Nanny has lymphoma, which they found in her stomach and invaded her spine, paralyzing her from the hips down. It is fast moving.

Me: How long?

Lisa: 2-4 weeks. Hospice was called and is making her comfortable.

The news was jolting, but I did not realize that the initial expectation 3 days earlier was 6-8 weeks. She had tests for a bleeding ulcer, so this diagnosis was jolting. Over the last year, we dealt with dementia and health issues. These either were false alarms or cured thanks to the love of her family, care from the people at the nursing home, and her nurse practitioner and physician. I wished that this was also a false alarm – but it was not, this time it was real and the end was eminent.

Seeing my mother at Father’s Day celebration, the news was even more grim – Nanny is no longer alert, can no longer open her eyes – they are making her comfortable. The last time her eyes opened was after her priest gave her last rites. He turned to leave, she opened her eyes, said “Hi Father,” and went back to sleep. This was the last time her eyes would open. My mother tells me that she is not expected to live through the week.

I took my children over to say good-bye. I know I should be grateful that my girls have a close relationship with their great-grandmother, one that spanned 19 years. I know I should be grateful that I had her in every facet of my life. It is no secret that family was important to my grandmother, and she adored all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. This is a trait handed to my mother, my sister, and me. Something I strive to instill in my children.

The good-byes were difficult as she was essentially unconscious and her breathing was noisy.

My sister called, how is she?

Me: Breathing is labored and gaps between breaths are getting longer.

Lisa: Will she be o.k. tomorrow?

Me: I have no idea. You may want to visit tonight just in case.

My sister and her husband appeared about 10 minutes later. Wanting to give her time, I left with my family. Going home was hard. I was afraid she may not make it through the night. I hoped with all my heart that this was not the end.

The next morning I returned to work. She made it through the night. I was in my office for a few hours before when I received a call from my dad.

Dad: I am just calling to tell you Nanny is declining pretty fast. They are saying minutes to hours – we are all here. No need for you to come, I just wanted to let you know.

Me: I am on my way.

Depending on traffic, I had a 40 – 60 minute drive. I had to be with the woman that helped care for me and loved me. The person that I took trips with, would talk hours on the phone with, cook with. My grandmother was at every event, every family function, every holiday, and every birthday. She was a huge part of my life and very important to me. I needed to get there before she took her last breath – thankfully, I did.

The goodbyes continued. Staff and residents alike came down to say goodbye. She was loved my so many. Tears flowed for this petite woman with beautiful blue eyes, a contagious smile, and a heart of gold. Her three children, my father, my sister, a few friends, and I kept vigil by her bedside. I held her hand, sponged her neck and forehead to help with the fever, and kissed her forehead. This went on all day and all night.

It was now midnight. Everyone left the room to have a snack. It was a long day and we forgot to eat dinner. The staff was nice enough to provide us with muffins, water, pop, and coffee but this was no longer enough. Every time someone would leave to use the restroom, you did not know if she would still be there when you came back. Even running to a fast-food restaurant to grab a few sandwiches was done with angst and concern. Continue reading “Remembering My Grandmother: Not as a Suffering Servant but as a Devoted and Loving Mother By Michele Stopera Freyhauf”

ADI SHAKTI! : A MEDITATION ON A MANTRA BY Sara Frykenberg, Ph.D.

Aaadee shaktee, namo, namo: I bow to the primal power (which is female and divine).

My Kundalini yoga teacher training required that each student complete a 30 minute daily meditation for forty days straight at some point during our course. Great! No problem. After all, I signed up for teacher training partially because I believed in the physical-spiritual-mental healing powers of meditation. I chose the Adi Shakti meditation specifically, so I might better understand and embrace myself as a woman and creative being. My own self-definition of womanhood had been very wounded in my past, so I aimed to embrace this fantastic opportunity.

Aadee shaktee, namo namo—I will bow to the primal female power that I have within me! I was excited! I was even eager to do this meditation; but somewhere along the way I discovered that I had underestimated how painful this process would be. I underestimated my scars and I ultimately found this meditative experience somewhat excruciating.

Aadee Shaktee, namo, namo: I am humbled by her power.

Sarab shaktee, namo, namo: I bow to the all Encompassing Power and Energy.

My initial meditations were fun, exciting and led me to contemplate my sister’s pregnancy. I enjoyed the mantra and the physical movements the meditation involved. Very quickly, however, the movement itself became increasingly uncomfortable. I was sore. I joked in my journal, “no wonder the mantra engages female creative power; it really targets the abdomen and hips.” I expected this, as many meditative postures are not exactly “comfortable.” My response was normal. Continue reading “ADI SHAKTI! : A MEDITATION ON A MANTRA BY Sara Frykenberg, Ph.D.”