This past summer, my family and I lovingly carried my brother’s ashes to a favorite spot of his, in the woods at our grandparents’ Catskill farm. My mind was on the simple, beautiful ritual, each of us stating memories and scattering some of the ashes around the tree, and singing a few songs. It had slipped my mind that this tree grew at the entrance of the very meadow where, at age 11, I felt urgently compelled to create a ritual for myself, just at puberty, where I connected with the Grandmothers of the four directions. No one had taught me this, and I am still in wonder at what we carry with us, undoubtedly from prior lives. I feel that this poem was my self initiating myself into the world of the Goddess, and preparing for my own future.
In this poem, the Grandmothers are speaking to me, with a bit of disdain and fond teasing.
Continue reading “Return to the Grandmothers and 2 Other Poems by Annelinde Metzner”
The dark fairy Carabosse was in a snit. “Here I am,” she fumed, “the smartest, most literate, least mischievous fairy in any world, and no one will listen to me. I’m the best of all possible fairies in the best of all possible worlds. And do I receive my due respect? Why am I not Goddess of the Sun?”
“Hush, dear,” said Carabosse’s amanuensis. “There’s already a sun god. There can’t ever be a sun goddess. The sun shoots out masculine energy—that’s what the mortals say. The moon absorbs and reflects the masculine energy. The moon is the feminine planet.”
“Well, I’m tired of reflecting men’s power. I’m also tired of being ruled by the phases of the moon. I demand to be a sun goddess so I can rule the moon! Grimmella, what’s the moon phase today?”
Grimmella looked at her handy pocket calculator. “It’s eleven percent waning, Almost dark. Which might explain your mood.” As Carabosse sniffed and glared at her, she added, “You can’t be a sun goddess. It’s just not done!”
“Oh, Grimmella,” the dark fairy exclaimed, “don’t be so old-fashioned! Wake up! We’re done with all that reflected light business. I want to be the source of light. Besides, it’s a new century! Even for the mortals. And I’ve done so much for them—for us fairies, too—that I deserve a reward. I deserve to the Goddess of the Sun.” When Grimmella laid her pen down and frowned, the dark fairy went on with her rant. “Do you know who that hubristic Apollo really is?” Continue reading “How the Dark Fairy Carabosse Found the Light by Barbara Ardinger”