nature – Page 4 – Feminism and Religion

Shifting Sands Tilting Floor by Caryn MacGrandle

I have this image in my mind of standing on one of those moving floors at the carnival. It is hard to get your balance because it is constantly shifting.

The world is constantly shifting at the moment.

It is unsettling.

You think you have found your equilibrium, and then the next experience or conversation occurs. Financial upheaval. Health concerns. People dying.

The fear calls.

Three months officially out of my second marriage, I am still in a transitory period. Juggling as I normally do so many things and people. Which ones will I catch? Which ones will I let go?

Every morning I wake up and stand on my deck with my arms thrown up to the sky in gratitude. I love my deck and my old 1961 home. The deck needs care. I have replaced a couple of boards, but there are many more in need. I wonder if it is even savable at this point.

I let that thought come and go. It is okay for now. It holds my weight.

Nothing lasts forever, and this does not make my top ten list.

The client that I had for seven years on and off is now gone. With my veteran husband gone and now that we have moved to Alabama, I am officially no longer a small Illinois Veteran Owned Business so I will officially no longer be part of their budget.

My main priority right now is finding a job and income. It can be overwhelming. I do not want to sell myself short as I have done the large majority of my life. I also do not want to be in a job that I am struggling. I want to find, like the new relationships in my life, ones that are just the right blend of challenging, interesting and rewarding: ones that fit into the puzzle of my life. The adventure.

At times it seems a high order: especially in the shifting sands of the world at the moment.

Every morning after greeting the sun on my deck, I go into my sunroom and meditate.

The view out of my back window is of crepe myrtles, pines, a maple tree and a corn field. Birds fly past. My cats lie lazily on the chairs. My stones and statues and other precious items surround me.

Isn’t this moment enough?

Isn’t it enough to be happy in this moment?

I start to stress about money or people, overthinking, analyzing and panicking as I am wont to do and then I stop myself.

I remind myself.

It is already here.

The people I want in my life. Who truly see me. Who I see. The ones where we support each other. Allow each other. Touch each other physically and mentally.

They are already here.

The means to pay my bills in ways that fill and align with my soul.

It is already here.

They both just need to catch up with me. Turn a corner, and they will be there. All I need to do is ‘encourage’ the things I want in my life, and let go of the rest.

Step by step. Breath by breath.

The future is already here.

Yesterday I returned from my Land in Appalachian mountains of North Carolina: ten acres of unrestricted land with a bog and a creek on one side and a mountain on the other.

A few days ago, I bought the land. When the check cleared, I was left with $20 in my bank account. I had a momentary panic wondering what I am doing.

But then I left that thought behind as well.

It is the third time that I have been there. It is the first time that I went alone.

I sat. I listened. I meditated. I got lost in the woods climbing up the small hill and forest that is already beginning to feel like home. I napped in my hammock, took off my clothes, sang, danced, cried, touched myself. Said hello and thank you and I will take care of you. Take care of me.

Almost half of my land on the right side is bog or a wetland: nature protecting itself, impassable and overgrown by invasive porcelain berry plants. The last time I came my friend tried to get to the creek and did not even get close: his feet sinking into the earth a foot, a huge smelly fly ridden animal bed, plants everywhere. The real estate description suggested putting in a pond to drain the bog so that you can use the land.

No. Protect the bog. Protect our earth. I deeply respect that side of my land knowing that it is cradling precious carbon needed to maintain the balance of life. I talk to it and tell it that I just need a small way in to get to the creek so that I can have water and a shower. A small path.

I find another way down a road to the creek. A snake scurries away in the water. The neighbor says good, I see that you have a machete. You will need it. I would suggest a firearm as well.

We shall see. I feel the fear and respect that I carry.

This is the Wild. She is often unforgiving. I get that.

But I believe that we can come to an agreement and a relationship.

It is one of the balls that I am juggling at the moment. To get to the land from Alabama, I drive along the Ocoee River, rushing water and rocks, majestic steep mountains forming a gorge. It leads to my land, out of the gorge, up a small highway, past buildings that nature has reclaimed, no chains, few stores and onto a dirt road.

‘Home’ pops into my mind several times.

Home.

BIO: Caryn MacGrandle is the creator behind the Divine Feminine App which has been connecting and inspiring women [and other genders too] throughout the world since 2016 as a directory to find Sacred Circles, events and resources. Women find the app each and every day, and it currently has almost 8000 users from around the world. Caryn has also hosted Sacred Circles and events for the past nine years and is passionate about the power of a Circle to heal individuals and the world. She has participated in numerous online and location events such as the World Parliament of Religions in September of 2021 in which she presented a workshop on Embodying the Goddess: Creating Rituals with Mind, Body and Soul and just recently a webinar/panel with Dale Allen presenting Dale’s Indie film award winning “In Our Right Minds: Leading Women to Strength as Leaders and Men to Strength without Armor.” Each and every day, Caryn (aka Karen Moon) works tirelessly towards her belief that the most important area to first find equality and balance is the divinity found within yourself.

Refuge Bombing – 5 pieces by Sara Wright

In Maine the 4^th of July…The bottom line is that women don’t create the chaos and unbearable noise that men do. It comes to a ‘head on the 4^th – a time to create misery for all people who are peace loving – just more indication of the breakdown of our culture… I fear that patriarchy may live on until it destroys all we know.

Refuge (before bombing)

A symphony
of phoebe song
a river of stone
blessed by rain….
Beech leaves beckon,

crystal waters soothe

Hemlocks hum
I am part of

all there is…

Powers that harm

live just next door.
Leaning into Presence

Crowning the Mother Tree by Sara Wright

Crown the trees

that feed

the bees,

one more

keystone species.

Crown the trees

that purify

poisoned air,

ground, water,

create clouds

for rain,

return fish

to streams…

Crown trees

that shelter birds

as they turn

light to sugar

releasing oxygen

so that we may

breathe

Abundant Greening.

During this month

of her Crowning

let us gather round

The Mother Tree

to accept communion.

at gnarled old feet.

May: A Reflection on Time and Trillium by Sara Wright

With May coming to a close in a few days, I am feeling nostalgia. This month is both elusive and dramatic – from bare trees to lime green, and now lilacs so heavily laden with blooms that some are bowed as if in prayer. Wood frogs and peepers bring in the night and the first toads are hopping around my overgrown flower garden; in the forests I surprise them when peering closely at small flowers. Gray tree frogs trill at dusk. Violets of every hue grace the earth outside my door along with robust dandelions, forget – nots, rafts of deep blue ajuga, delicate bells of solomons seal, mayapple umbrellas, false solomon’s seal, wild columbine and golden celandine all nestled in long grasses and moss. No mowing happens here!

On my woodland paths starflowers and Canada mayflowers are now so thick I fear treading on even one, as if one foot could destroy the whole. Down by the brook white trillium bloom on, both painted and purple are setting seed, while bloodroot, arbutus trumpets and delicate anemones have transformed into leafy memory. Ostrich and hay ferns are unfurling, creeping blue phlox and dames rocket are budded or blooming; pink and white lady slippers are beckoning both here and in the woods. June is in the air.

A Reflection on Aging by Sara Wright

In feminism becoming a ‘wise’ crone is acknowledged (it is certainly true that experience brings insight), but the vulnerabilities associated with aging remain hidden. I wonder how much of this silence has to do with shame? Does our culture’s obsession with youth keep us quiet? If so this attitude isolates women from one another when older women need each other’s support more than ever. Lately, I find myself keenly aware that I need to write about the changes that are occurring in my own life so that I remain visible to myself if not to others.

When it comes to the challenges of aging the silence is deafening.

Turn, Turn, Turn

It’s May Day. At dawn I scoop water from the brook, first pouring some on the earth and then, returning to the house, I bless the floor of the log cabin that is my home. I light candles for intentions… Too sensitive to light (phototrophic) I am acutely aware that the wheel is turning her face towards the harsh white glare of summer.

A dangerous time.

Resurrection by Sara Wright

This morning the skin of the earth turns white and wild winds howl.

Yesterday, rain, fog and mist lifted the snow into sweet moisture – laden air.

I rest in peace.

Mycelial Madness by Sara Wright

For those of us who are dedicated to feminism and to the sanctity of nature here is one more way to understand the earth as our goddess. Her mysterious veil is the source of all life. Immanence is sacred.

The last winter I spent in New Mexico I walked to the river every morning in the pre-dawn hour. No matter how much the wind would howl later on, at this time of the day nothing stirred besides the birds. Because I traveled the same path every morning circling round one wetland listening to river songs I would find myself slipping into a light trance as my feet hit the hard unforgiving ground. Every bush, cottonwood, russian olive, juniper was familiar, each was a friend. Although this wetland had been trimmed and paths mowed (parching open ground), the majority of trees, plants and grasses had been left intact and the river was nearby. During these light trance states I sensed that the ground beneath my feet was pulsing with some kind of light; that the earth was trying to communicate with me.

At that time I didn’t know that I was walking over of miles of mycelium, because I didn’t know whether these networks extended throughout the desert although I assumed they did. But I felt or sensed something. I knew from trying to garden in NM that the surface of most of the ground seemed quite barren except for the piles of decaying cottonwood bark that I used as mulch, so where was the rest of the mycelium?

Reflection: Winter Light by Sara Wright

What does this little narrative have to do with feminism you ask? Why everything! It speaks to the journey of one woman from young adulthood into old age, a woman who learns along the way that Nature/ Earth/Immanence is also the Way of the Goddess, and that living a life of meaning (in a finite loving body) is the path the goddess set her upon at birth…

It is the day before thanksgiving. For too many years, this was a time of great sorrowing – a day on which a young motherless woman said goodbye to her grandmother… a grandmother she couldn’t afford to lose, and later, much later, a grandmother she couldn’t become….

Fireless Altars and Crone Encounters By Barbara Ardinger

We’ve just entered November, the beginning of winter, the season of darkness. Twenty-odd years ago, I led a group of students through the Wheel of the Year in a class I called Practicing the Presence of the Goddess. (I also wrote a book with the same title.

Who is the Goddess? by Sara Wright

I have been re-reading Rebirth of the Goddess reflecting upon my own journey over these past 40 years, remembering how her image appeared to me as a bird goddess the day I first worked with river clay… When I discovered that some of the images I sculpted of bird goddesses mirrored those in Marijia Gimbutas’s The Language of the Goddess I entered an unknown realm. All I understood at the time was that I was being called by some unknown force. I had no idea that this power existed not only without, but within, and that someday I would be able to name both Nature and my Body as the source of that power. And come to understand that they are One.