A Hinge in the Year: the White Solstice by H. Byron Ballard

Homer used “rosy-fingered dawn” to describe the rising of the sun, and here in the mountains of western North Carolina the dull gray of morning twilight gives way to a fresh bright pink. If the weather holds, this is the sight that will greet Pagans as we celebrate our next holy day on the Winter Solstice.

My daughter and I will rise in the darkness, put the kettle on the stove and bundle up to stand in the back yard with warm drinks in gloved hands. When the gray smoothes to pink, we will sing some songs and welcome the sun’s “return.”

Though our simple celebration is colored with the trappings of modern life we are following an ancient impetus and performing a ritual of thanksgiving that harkens back to the earliest human times. How often do we think about the life-giving properties of our nearest star? We wear sunscreen and dark glasses to protect us from the power of its rays and the gardeners among us may squirm uncomfortably when the rainy days of early spring delay planting.

But our ancestors knew the rhythms of the seasons because they lived close to the land. They waited for the strengthening sun to warm and dry the soil in the spring. They watched tender shoots grow thick in the heat of summer and observed the daylight lessen day by day after the celebrations of Midsummer. Harvests and animals were brought in and preserved against the dark and cold of winter. And after an enforced time of rest and conservation, the lengthening daylight following the midwinter holy days was a welcome sign of nature’s continuous nurturing cycle.

The burst of light at the Winter Solstice is reflected in so many religious observances at this holy time that we can easily recognize how our ancestors felt about the sun’s return. In the contemporary Pagan community, the celebration of the Winter Solstice is less intense than Samhain, less flashy than Beltane. It is generally an intimate holiday that features good food and song and bright hearth-fire. We honor our biological and intentional families and share tales of times past and plan the months to come.

In Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge is confronted by the same three spirits that challenge each of us at this time of the rolling year: the dreamlike past, the delicious present and the unknown yet-to-come. The Winter Solstice is a hinge in the year when we may, like the Roman Janus, look both forward and back. In the dark and long nights of winter, let us find some time to rest and reflect, to share a story and a song. The sun’s returning will bring the warmth of May and the glare of August but for now, it is the promise of the coming harvest that motivates us as we rise in the dark, wait through the twilight with our fragrant steaming mugs and sing a lullaby to the young sun.

Joyous Solstice!

Anglo-Saxon Yuletide by K. A. Laity

­­The Anglo-Saxons settled Britain in the early fifth century, giving their name to the land now known as England. Very little remains of the native culture of the Anglo-Saxons. We learn from the Venerable Bede, a seventh century Christian historian, that the months we now call December and January were considered “Giuli” or Yule by the Anglo-Saxons. According to the historian, his Anglo-Saxon ancestors celebrated the beginning of the year on December 25th, referred to as “Modranect”— that is, Mothers’ Night. This celebration most likely acknowledged the rebirth of Mother Earth in order to ensure fertility in the coming spring season. An Anglo-Saxon charm for crop fertility, recorded in the eleventh-century and known as “Aecerbot,” refers to the Earth as “Erce, [the] Earthen Mother” and contains the following praise poem for her:

Hale be you, earth,
mortals’ mother!
May you ever be growing
in god’s grasp,
filled with food,
useful for folk.

It could be that the poem refers to Nerthus, the earth goddess the Roman historian Tacitus identified as venerated by the continental Germanic tribes, but we will probably never be sure.
Many scholars have suggested that the mother goddess Friga (Frigg in Old Norse) played a central role in the Yuletide observances, although no records remain of specific celebrations for Mothers’ Night. Chief of the goddesses and the consort of Woden, Friga ruled over childbirth and marriage and inspired the naming of several English towns like Frobury and Fretherne, as well as the English word for the day of the week, Friday.

It is very likely too that the Yule celebrations also included honors for Freyja, who governed love and fertility. Both she and her twin brother Freyr were associated with the boar, the primary animal represented in Yuletide customs and indeed in Anglo-Saxon culture in general. Scholars first discovered the importance of the fierce wild boar through warrior poetry like the epic Beowulf. Beowulf’s men wore boars on their helmets both to protect their own heads—and to intimidate their opponents. But it is not only in literature that we find the boar motif. Twentieth-century archeological discoveries like that of Sutton Hoo (a dig containing a royal burial and many different artifacts) have revealed the truly widespread significance of this totemic animal, even into the Christian era. The boar continued to ornament brooches, bowls and jewelry as well as more military objects for centuries.

The boar’ significance as the center of the Yuletide celebration outlived not only the conversion to Christianity, but even the disappearance of the creature itself from England. By the late Middle Ages, the offering of the boar’s head had lost its religious significance, but it continued to be the centerpiece of the Christmas feast, and indeed the Yule procession. Along with songs honoring the traditional holly and ivy—often said to fight with each other for prominence in the hall—the songs to accompany the boar’s head still convey the joy its arrival would bring and the twelve days of merriment this first course promised, as this fifteenth-century song attests:

The second course, according to another contemporary song, was cranes, herons, bitterns, plovers, woodcocks and snipe. Then came the larks in a hot broth, almond soup—to say nothing of the sweet wine, good ale and brown bread—and then venison, capons, dove entrails, currant jelly…and the list continues. At Yuletide in Medieval England, no one in the hall was going to go hungry.

Art by Rochleigh Z. Wholfe

Caloria ~ Triple Goddess of Potluck ~ Found Goddesses by Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D.

As anyone who has read the Vedas, the Bible, the Quran, or the Book of Mormon, or the words of the Buddha, Mary Baker Eddy, or James Redfield well knows, there's not a lot of humor in religious or spiritual writing. It's all Highly Serious. But the Charge of the Goddess tells us, "All ­acts of love and pleasure are My rituals. Let there be…mirth and reverence within you." We've found the love and we've found the reverence. I think it's time to find the pleasure and the mirth. It's time to lighten up. It's time to play with our goddesses (and a few gods).

Of course, we who live in these postmodern times still honor the ancient pantheons. The traditional goddesses are important to us-we pray to Hestia for a peaceful home, to Athena for success at the office, to Aphrodite for love. But who among the old pantheons can help us when our computer crashes? Who will help us decide what to take to a potluck? Help us find proper healthcare? Drive safely in heavy city traffic or on the freeway?

In 1988, Morgan Grey and Julia Penelope, a Witch and a linguist living "in extreme circumstances" in Nebraska came to understand that the "underlying principles of language and magic are transformational." Faced with the realities of the modern world, they invented new Goddesses and wrote a book called Found Goddesses: Asphalta to Viscera; the book is, sadly, out of print. At the turn of the millennium, inspired by Grey and Penelope, I started Finding my own goddesses and in 2003 wrote Finding New Goddesses: Reclaiming Playfulness in Our Spiritual Lives; my book is also out of print but still (hooray!) available on Amazon.com. From Acme, Goddess of High Tech, to Zombonie, Goddess of Taxes, the book is a romp through the alphabet and a parody of all those books that describe all those Serious Old Goddesses. Finding New Goddesses is not to be taken seriously!

Although most of the goddesses described in this column will be taken from Finding New Goddesses, I suspect that I may also Find newer goddesses.

Caloria ~ Triple Goddess of Potluck

Potlucks are vitally important to Witches and other pagans. Going to a ritual? Take something for the potluck afterwards. Going to a drumming circle or a croning? The folks are sure to work up an appetite.

But what to take? How to accommodate vegetarians, carnivores, omnivores, and ecofeminists? This gnawing problem is now solved.

True to tradition, Caloria is a Triple Goddess. Low Caloria, who is dwarfish and simple, is our Virgin Vegetarian. Although Her favorite dish is a casserole of brown rice, tofu, and lima beans, She has recently admitted that She is beginning to appreciate such gourmet fare as wild mushroom couscous and anything made with pasta, asparagus, or aubergine.

High Caloria, our Bountiful Mother, is luscious and delicious. Her greatest delight is to serve Her children the yummy cheesecake baked by Her high priestess Sara Lee, or any savory dish whipped up by Her high priestess Julia Child. She also adds a tasty topping of pure love to any of the treats that arise from the ovens and barbecues of Her many priests, who include Wolfgang Puck, Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, Emeril, and all the good ol’ boys on the cooking channel. High Caloria especially enjoys the glorious desserts created by Chocolata, one of the Found Goddesses of Ecstasy.

Eco-Caloria is She who inspires Her grandchildren to eat off of china plates and drink out of glasses and china cups instead of using paper goods. Thus does She help us preserve the virgin forests and the Styrofoam mines.
When we know we’re going to a potluck, therefore, we begin by invoking the Goddess Caloria as follows:

Hail, Caloria, You who freeze and thaw and bake,
Show me, please, what's the proper food to take?

To learn what offering we should lay on the Sacred Potluck Table, we next enter the Goddess’s Sacred Precinct and approach Her Sacred Cave. As we open the Door to the Sacred Cave and the Inner Light comes­ on, we take up our Sacred Plastic Lidded Bowl and look within for inspiration. It’s easy to know when the Goddess makes Her Will known, for then we feel the chill of Her Presence.
An alternative is to visit Caloria’s Sacred Marketplace and silently but hopefully worship at the Holy Deli until one of the votaries of the Goddess asks if he or she can help us. The votaries may, in fact, make suggestions. Proper protocol suggests the exchange of coins for culinary offerings prepared at the Holy Deli.
At the potluck, correct protocol is for every potential eater to carefully examine and comment on each offering. Then we join hands around the groaning table and give thanks to the Goddess:

Hail Caloria, rich and wise—
Feed my soul, but not my thighs.

Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D. (www.barbaraardinger.com), is the author of Pagan Every Day: Finding the Extraordinary in Our Ordinary Lives (RedWheel/Weiser, 2006), a unique daybook of daily meditations, stories, and activities. Her earlier books are Finding New Goddesses, Quicksilver Moon, Goddess Meditations, and Practicing the Presence of the Goddess. Her day job is freelance editing for people who don't want to embarrass themselves in print. Barbara lives in southern California.

To purchase a signed copy of Finding New Goddesses, just send Barbara an email at bawriting@earthlink.net.

Gibbous by Holly Cross

Gibbous by Holly Cross 

The gibbous moon glows 
And my round tummy grows 
Like the face of the she-moon. 
The womb inside waxes and wanes with her; 
A great silver coin in a black silken purse.

The woman in the moon weeps for us.
She mourns for the lost daughters 
Cast across the brown belly of the earth. 
Scattered. Separated. Unaware of her. 

She rides across the glittered sky 
Pregnant, full of a longing, 
Waiting for the moment 
When just one of us will look up 
And realize not her power 
But our own.

Herb of the Season: Bay Laurel by Dawn "Belladonna" Thomas

Botanical:
The bay laurel tree is a small tree that grows to a height of 25 feet but in warmer climates has been known to grow to 60 feet.  The smooth bark may be green or have a reddish blue hue.  The evergreen leaves are alternate with short stalks about three to four inches in length.  The leaves are thick, smooth and shiny and are used in cooking.  The flowers are small, yellow and grow in small clusters.  It grows well in the shade of other trees.

Folklore and History:
Bay was used by the Delphic Priestesses.  These priestesses were intensely trained and initiated after years of studying and discipline.  They also had extensive dietary and spiritual preparation before they would chew on the leaves during the rituals.  This was thought to enhance the prophetic abilities and for invoking the Oracle at Delphi.  It is not recommended to try this practice.  It is considered to be dangerous. 

Bay has an ancient history as an herb used for weaving wreaths and crowns.  These were worn during celebrations to honor those who had achieved success in society, in athletics as well as scholarly pursuits.  It is thought that wreaths of bay laurel were used to crown the winners at the first Olympics.

Daphne was known for her virtue.  Apollo became entranced by her and pursued her. She tried to escape Apollo’s pursuit by changing herself into a bay laurel tree.  He declared the tree sacred and used leaves from the tree to form a wreath that he wore in her honor.

The Romans dedicated the bay laurel tree to Fides.  She is a goddess who provided them with honor and fidelity through her intercession.

Herbal uses:
The leaf and berry are used in salves for itching, sprains, bruises, skin irritations, and rheumatic pain.  The fruit and leaf are simmered until soft and made into a poultice with honey for chest colds.  Bay leaf and berry tea make a bath additive that helps the bladder, bowel, and female reproductive organs. 

Magical uses:
The incense and the leaf are said to induce a prophetic trance.  An herb of the sun, the bay brings light of summer into the darkest time of the year.  It is believed that bay laurel promotes divinatory powers.  It is thought that anyone studying the tarot can use bay to better understand the Sun card or the Strength card.  A leaf placed on a blank page may stimulate poetic inspiration.  Wishes can be written on bay leaves and then burned to make them come true.

It is a protection and purification herb and is worn as an amulet to ward off negativity and evil.  It can be hung to prevent ghosts from being mischievous.  A sprig can be used to sprinkle water during a purification ceremony.  Bay leaves mixed with sandalwood can be burned to remove curses and evil spells.  Carry a leaf or place it in the home to ward off illness­ and hexes.  A potted bay is said to protect a home during thunderstorms.  A tree planted near a home can protect the family from sickness.

Bay laurel is used to attract romance and love.  There are a number of ways one can approach this process.  The leaves of this herb may be offered in a fire as a sacrifice or the oil can be used to dress a candle which is then burned while meditating. 

Sources:
Beyerl, Paul. A Compendium of Herbal Magick. Custer, WA. Phoenix Publishing, Inc. 1998.

Cunningham, Scott. Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs. St. Paul, MN. Llewellyn Publications. 2000.

Grieves, M. A Modern Herbal. New York, NY. Dover Publications, Inc. 1971.
Hopman, Ellen Evert. A Druid’s Herbal for the Sacred Earth Year. Rochester, VT. Destiny Books.1995.

How Far Out of the Broom Closet by Flash Silvermoon

Part of my "outness" is just me being me. If that helps another to be themselves more then part of my job is done whether as a witch, a lesbian, a feminist. Whatever closet you inhabit, I suggest that you feel around for ways to be more comfortable, more you, whatever that is. Test those boundaries and expand them and bust out as much as is comfortable and then in time push a little further.

My job is being a Priestess and that for me is my full time job. This includes Divination, Astrology, Sacred Stones, Vibrational Healing, Animal Communication, teaching others to play music and on and on. I am so fortunate to love all that I do and not need to occupy a closet for any of these things.

Of course at times I have paid a price for my freedom and this was my choice to make. Many years ago I had a radio show on WRUF which for awhile I jokingly called “Dial-a- Witch” as I did free readings on the air. After awhile I could see that being a totally out witch did not help my career as a psychic /astrologer; some folks had a hard enough time justifying coming to me. At least once a year around this time the press would drag the witch out to ask the same sorry questions about Wicca and Devil worship etc. I started calling myself an Authority on Witchcraft to distance myself to all who might be wary. For those who knew the way to become an authority is to BE A WITCH they got the joke. So as OUT as I am there are times that I do reel it in for safety and economics...but not a whole hell of a lot.

Sadly our Pagan Culture is one of the few, while honoring our elders, it doesn't really make it a practice to care for them the way that the Native Americans and Africans do. They build it right into their traditions. As I age I am aware of this and wish to help make a change.

This really is a most Shamanic life that I lead and it is not for everyone but it is for me. If we were all living more on the barter and gifting system and all my needs were met I would be happy to do my work for free but as it is I trade a lot for things that I really need and we are all for the most part dealing with Patriarchal Bushinista Economics. Anyway rule number one, as they used to say back in the day, is survival. We all must make our peace with, and find our way to do just that. If at times we feel the pressure of the closet door cramping our behinds then find a way to dance and give that door a nudge so ya got more room to move. Ok I just jumped down off the soapbox and will leave that spot for others.

BB
Flash Silvermoon

It’s Damn Dark Out There by Mama Donna Henes, Urban Shaman

The week leading up to the Winter Solstice is the darkest of the year. True, the week following the solstice is just as dark, but the energy is different. After the solstice, the dark gets a tiny bit lighter each day as the world as we know it on the Northern Hemisphere turns toward spring. But as I write this, pre-solstice, we are spinning further and further into the dark.

The Winter Solstice is the shortest day, the longest night of the year. Since the summer solstice, the longest day and shortest night, six months before, the light has been steadily retreating each day. Tip toeing slowly, silently away. The decrease is so gradual that we barely notice the almost imperceptible shift, the subtle loss, until we have nearly reached the autumn equinox when the light of the day and the dark of the night are of the same duration. Equinox in Latin means “equal night.”

Come the fall, there is no denying the apparent disappearance of the sun. It is most definitely getting darker and darker. And the rays of light are becoming ever more indirect. They skim by overhead at an almost horizontal angle, their energy and warmth barely reaching us below. Their glow is weak and wan, a diluted wash. Insipid. Depressing. All season long, the sun continues on its wayward course, slithering ever further south. Further and further away from us. Until we are left standing here in the dark.

The Winter Solstice is as dark as it gets. The sun is now at its nadir, the furthest southern limit of its range, its terminus. And there it seems to want to stay for a while. At the solstice, the sun rises and sets at the identical time day after day. The length of the daylight hours remains the same. The sun is standing absolutely still. It has stopped retreating, and yet hasn’t begun to come back.
Solstice, in Latin, means just that — “the sun stands still.” For three days it remains motionless, riveted. Pausing, it hovers in pregnant hesitation before it gets back on track again, resting before it begins its annual return trip across the equator into the Northern Hemisphere for its homecoming. Back to us waiting here hoping.

Tromso, Norway, population 40,000, situated on the Arctic coast just two hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle, is the furthest north settlement of any size in the world. The winter sun sets there in November and doesn’t rise again until late January. This sunless period is called by the citizens, Mórketiden, the murky time, and is marked by dramatic increases of mental instability, physical illness, domestic violence, suicides, arrests, alcoholism, drug abuse and poor school performance. One resident reported, “Morketiden brings out the worst qualities in people: envy, jealousy, suspicion. People get tense, restless and fearful. They become preoccupied with thoughts of death and suicide. They lose the ability to concentrate and work slows down. People talk about the light constantly and long for the sun to come back.”

For us, too, it's dark. It's dismal. It's cold. It's bleak. And winter is only just beginning. It will be long months before we can expect to smell the advance of spring in the air again. But the consolation is that even though the cold season is just starting, the sun will soon turn its face toward us and begin its return approach. The light will return in its wake, increasing constantly so that by the vernal equinox the light of day is once again equal to the dark of night. And it keeps increasing until the summer solstice when again the sun stands still — this time for three days at the northern pinnacle of it's path.

But in the meantime it's damn dark out there. The days have shriveled to a skeleton flicker of light. The frozen nights are endless. These are dim, drab times. No flowers, no foliage. No insects, few birds. No animals out and about. The earth itself is congealed with cold. Dark death and Arctic gloom surrounds us. How do we know that the sun, too, won't die, its flame of life extinguished forever? How do we know that it won’t just go off and leave us, abandon us to the night?

*****************************************************
Donna Henes is an internationally renowned urban shaman,
award-winning author, popular speaker, and workshop leader
whose joyful celebrations of celestial events have introduced
ancient traditional rituals and contemporary ceremonies to
millions of people in more than 100 cities since 1972. She
has published four books, a CD, an acclaimed quarterly journal
and writes a column for UPI (United Press International) Religion
and Spirituality Forum. Mama Donna, as she is affectionately called,
maintains a ceremonial center, spirit shop, ritual practice and consultancy
in Exotic Brooklyn, NY where she works with individuals, groups,
institutions, municipalities and corporations to create meaningful
ceremonies for every imaginable occasion.

For information about upcoming events and services contact:

Mama Donna's Tea Garden & Healing Haven
PO Box 380403
Exotic Brooklyn, New York, NY 11238-0403
Phone: 718/857-1343
Email: CityShaman@aol.com
www.DonnaHenes.net
www.MamaDonnasSpiritShop.com/
www.TheQueenofMySelf.com

Read her blog at:
http://www.myspace.com/queenmamadonna
http://queenmamadonna.blogspot.com

Moon Schedule with Planting and Harvesting Days by Dawn "Belladonna" Thomas

Moon Schedule with Planting and Harvesting Days  

From Winter Solstice to Imbolc 

Full Moon – December 23^rd 8:15 p.m.

4^th Quarter – December 31^st 2:51 a.m.

New Moon – January 8^th 6:37 a.m.

2^nd Quarter – January 15^th 2:46 p.m.

Full Moon – January 8:35 a.m.

Moon Void of Course Schedule 

Date Starts Ends

Planting Days  

December 24^th

January 12^th, 13^th, 20^th, 29^th

Harvesting Days  

December 26^th, 27^th

January 4^th, 5^th, 6^th, 22^nd, 23^rd

February 1^st

On Origins by Elizabeth Phillips

I skip stones, sleeping in gaps between landings,
Losing her to the cold, quoting her in the sea.
Our long afternoon drones and buzzes with bees--

Be or not be, be here or there,
Believe, be loved, belong, become--
But I am none of these things.

Sheltered under her precipice,
I fear ground might slip from under me.
Tar tarnishes her smock, she creeps

Out of cracks in sidewalks, checking up on us,
Noting how far from her we move away.
She forms stones that soften into sand,
Measuring time with each expanse of her mouth,

An eon when she yawns. How can it be so?
I walked by piers, singing the grief of trees--
I am none of these things.

I saw myself in shards of her looking glass,
Scaled her knees, curled in her lap, still a child.
She says hush, hush, the roar of her tears cascading

Waterfalls crashing in her eyes, hollows of cliffs-- comfort me.
We are broken in places where wounds recede
Back from rims of caves, her eyebrows. We stumble

On the peaks of eggshells and crack
Under the weight of wounds that do not heal.
She erupts in the north, for it takes time to hatch,

Longer than we give it time. And so we wither like
A thousand winters, waving our names in the air like flags--
Human beings, we denote ourselves everywhere to conquer who we are.

On the ground where I am weeping,
She wipes my eyes when I turn away, and tells me
About the day I was born. My eyes open

And the green clears, and no longer numb, I feel her
Pain. One door locks when another opens.
I choose like that butterfly chose that flower,

And she is out there, an acorn away.
I gather her eyelashes in my arms like baby’s breath,
I say, someday we will remember the songs we sang

As fireflies, there is only so much light to shine,
But I live like a flame, waxing and waning,
Shifting in and out of the particularities of things.

And how does change come?
Through turning here-- or there?
In a shell, the propper names?

But, I am none of these things.
And so she says. I hear her whisper
A distant melody, an echoing that lingers within silences

Our Yule Log by Bendis

The Yule log is a remnant of the bonfires that the European pagans would set ablaze at the time of winter solstice. These bonfires symbolized the return of the Sun. The Yule log can be made of any wood. Each releases its own kind of magic:

• Aspen: invokes understanding of the grand design.­
• Birch: signifies new beginnings.
• Holly: inspires visions and reveals past lives.
• Oak: brings healing, strength, and wisdom.
• Pine: signifies prosperity and growth.
• Willow: invokes the Goddess to achieve desires.

On the night of Yule, carve a symbol of your hopes for the coming year into the log. Burn the log to release its power. Save a piece of this year's Yule log for kindling in next year's fire. You may also wish to decorate the log with greenery, flowers, ribbons and herbs for magickal intent. Some choices might be:

• Carnations: protection, courage, strength, healing, increases magical power, vitality
• Cedar: wealth, protection, purification, healing, promotes spirituality
• Holly: dreams, protection
• Juniper: Exorcism, protection, healing, love
• Mistletoe: a catalyst, fertility, health, success, protection, banishing evil
• Pine: healing, wealth, protection, purification, exorcism, exorcism, fertility, wealth
• Rosemary: health, love, protection, exorcism, purification, increase intellectual powers, peace, blessing, consecration, very powerful cleansing and purifying
• Roses: love, courage, luck, health, protection, beauty

Ribbons can be used according to their color magic correspondences. Each year my family gathers to decorate and burn the Yule Log. We have collected what we wish to use for days and we all have an assortment of colored ribbons, fresh sprigs of pine and holly, anything to make it merry! We have little slips of paper and once we have decorated our log, we each write down on those papers all of the things we wish to banish, let go of or remove from our lives; those things that are simply in the way or no longer useful. Then on more scraps of paper we write all of our wishes, all of our dreams, our hopes - what we want to manifest in the coming year. All of these tiny scraps of paper are then tucked in amongst the decorations to be offered to the fire. Then we turn on some good dance music, something that will induce trance and we all dance, keeping our focus on that which is yet to come, igniting the spark of creativity within us. When the music ends we gather around the Yule Log and together we toss it on the fire. My daughter has prepared a mix of powdered coffee creamer and glitter and all of us sprinkle or toss this onto the fire. It ignites into many sparkles of light. Shouting with glee we all stand transfixed as our log burns and as we see our dreams in the fire.

May your holidays be as blessed!!!

Running with Artemis by Mut Danu

“Free!  

In the green, in the gladwood  

leaping like a deer who fears no hunter.  

There I will dance with no men watching,  

There I will find wisdom written in the forest shadows.  

Is there any gift greater than feeling such joy?” 

- Song of a Maenad from ‘Bacchae’, by Euripides -

Trying to get closer to Artemis, it sometimes felt like chasing after the Goddess with my boots weighed down by mud. There she was, way ahead, beautiful, powerful, but I couldn’t see her clearly. So many obstacles in the way! Reading mythology, I discovered thousands of years of jumbled messages from many cultures; some of whom who loved this goddess so much that they wanted to add her to their local worship and local goddess. Then there were the others. Classical Greek writings were colored by the often misogynist culture of classical Greece; followed by deliberate misinterpretation and patriarchal thought in the Christian era. Really Seeing Her meant reading between the lines and a lot of intuition.  

This is what intuition says…I need to scrape the muck off my boots, or better yet thow them off and run barefoot, finding a way to run with Artemis…mother of the wild things, wild animals, wild you and wild me. How did the Amazons run with Artemis ? What was the sound of their songs and the rhythm of the drums as they praised her?

If only the Amazon chants, rites and arts had been carefully passed down to us, if they had survived fires, war and fashion, what a treasure it would be for those of us living right now! What survived were myths and legends, often written by others. Great Temples survived into recorded history, and now herstory. Though I mourn the loss of the first person stories, there is a note of hope --- the legends did make it to us, with pages missing yes, but we can piece them together and read between the lines. Scholars can re-evaluate old theories. We can intuit, go deep within our ancestral memories and intuition to find answers: we can communicate across time with our ancient mothers in the temples. 

Going way back before we had even given her a name, She was the Wild Mother, and in the Paleolithic and early Neolithic, everything was wild and we were right in the middle of it. There was no concept of “wild” or “civilized”. We had not really started domesticating animals, or plants and we human children were not separated from Her other children. Back then we knew that Mother gave all and she took all, she gave food in the form of animals and plants, and she took back. Hunting was not mass slaughter but the receiving of a gift from the Mother and from the animal spirit which after death, went back to live with the Mother. Ritual began as a re-enactment of the circular path of life-death-life. Life was circular, seasonal,like the Mother. 

Then things speeded up, the flow of Time began to go one way; in a straight line, of course… Once sacred creative arts like pottery and weaving began to be mass produced; commerce began, trading and migration followed. People and tribes and their domestic animals were on the march, discovering new countries, fighting for resources and pushing indigenous people out of the way. This all began over 5,000 years ago, and though our modern techniques are more destructive, and we are billions more numerous, the patriarchy really hasn’t invented any new techniques of conquest. (It just destroys more quickly.) 

Yet! Amidst all of the new world of clamor and confusion, Artemis continued to send her promise of abundance like milk overflowing from a mother’s breasts. It seems like the first accounts mentioning the cult of Artemis where those that speak of the Amazons bringing her cult from Macedonia and Thrace to Ephesius. The image that has survived of this aspect of the goddess is the Ephesian Artemis Polymastos, of Many Breasts. She is the all-providing and all nurturing power of nature, a milk- and- honey goddess. Her body was covered with breasts and carved relief of animals. Her feet came together in the pointed stance that seems like a call back to our ancient Great Goddess of the caves, whose pointed feet could be pushed into the soft earth. 

The Arcadians built temples to Artemis all over that part of ancient Greece. They saw Her in a different way, the young, independent Mistress of the Animals and it is this image that her name brings to mind for most of us today. This is where the patriarchal overlays begin to cover the image. Much of our mental constucts of Artemis have been formed by Homer in the Illiad, of Callimachus of Nonnus, and additional overlays were added by European court painters of the 18^th century who rendered giant wall and ceiling murals, as well as large scale secular art based on the rediscovered Greek and Roman myths. 

They really carried her with them all over the Mediterranean basin, our foremothers and fathers. The Great Goddess Artemis was worshipped from the shores of Anatolia (modern day Turkey) to the Iberian Coast (modern Spain), north to Thrace (Bulgaria), south to North Africa. Everywhere she went, her name reflected the people who worshipped her, so she became Diana, Artemis-Britomartis-Lady of the Nets, Artemis Ephesia, Artemis Nematona, Titanis Phoibe and so many others. 

Over the millenia, she was changed by cultures that had much more interest in an all-powerful Father god than a Mother goddess. Artemis thus was seen as a child of Zeus, her right to keep her virginity granted by Zeus, her passion the hunt rather than protection of the fauna, her figure “tall and manlike”. Her temple priests demanded blood sacrifices. She was great and feared, and people saw her in the context of their time and place, political demands and religious trends. 

And so goes the human experience of Goddess. The Great Goddess of the Paleolithic and Neolithic in image and mind was remodeled and subdued with the tidal wave of patriarchal culture, but she remained, always, Lady of the Wild Things, too powerful to disappear, too wild to be domesticated. It is this Wild Artemis, forever free, Goddess of the Amazons, Milk and Honey Mother who can teach us what it feels like to be a Wild Woman, or a Wild Man. 

We can think of Artemis as influencing only three spheres of our lives: the end, the middle and the beginning! Artemis was known for bringing life to a sacred ending and women especially called upon her to loose her arrows so they could enjoy a ‘swift death’. As midwife, newborn infants were under her care. What seems most interesting though is the possibility to know this goddess during the space between beginning and end. 

Wild, ferocious animals were tame when near Artemis. Nature is her element, and She is wild, so the animals sensed this belonging. We have wild natures, too. When we find ourselves caught in a constrictive job situation, when we revolt against a too tightly regimented lifestyle or expectations on our behavior, that is our wild, natural self beating against the bars of it’s cage, or chewing it’s leg to escape the trap. It may take a change of job, relationship, or lifestyle to bend the bars far enough to squeeze out. You may have to give up something valuable, but it is possible. It takes courage and quiet listening to your inner animal. Once you have set yourself free, your spirit can run, expand, explore and you will have the ability to tame any environment be it desert or urban jungle. 

There is a wildness in women that can and should be explored… have you heard of the Maenads?  

Discounted as “crazy, mad women”… well of course they were! Doesn’t forcing ourselves to be too civilized, for too long make us all crazy?! Long left in the realm of myth, the Maenads were real, live women who found that ‘democracy’ of classical Greek era life, was really only a good deal for free, white men. The women left. Either for short periods of time, or perhaps forever, the women left ‘civilization’ and went and lived in the wild places. Artemis was their Goddess, Dionysus their hermaphroditic God. Safe in the mountain forests, the women danced ecstatically, with the joy of true freedom. Rumor spread across the countryside, far and wide. May no man disturb these women for fear of being ripped to shreds! Groups of women banded together all over ancient Greece and were written about by authors of the time, sometimes favorably, often not. They were certainly left alone. 

Women need to tap into this ancient wisdom of our foremothers who worshipped Artemis. We need time to ourselves! Never in history have women been so isolated as today. In the past, even in living memory, women spent much more time together. In American history there were the sewing bees and quilting, cooking together and much more communal time to share our stories. In Europe, every town had a communal washing area, where women scrubbed the dirt from the clothes and worked out a lot of problems as well. Ever since the Industrial Age, when women went to work in factories and offices in droves, there has been a need to control women’s work. But being together in the workplace, doesn’t necessarily mean we are sharing anything positive. Being together outside the workplace is suspect. It makes husbands and boyfriends nervous. But, being together for fun is exactly what we need. A little freedom, and we too will begin dancing ecstatically. Let ‘em sweat. 

There were and there are Goddes- loving men who follow/ed Artemis as well. Men in ancient Greece couldn’t imagine that the women were doing anything but engaging in wanton sex outside of marriage… so they imagined up the ‘satyrs’. Likely as not, the women were not in the woods having orgies with satyrs, but just wanted to be LEFT ALONE. But, intuition says that there were also men living in the wild places. These were men who did not want to live as slaves, were not part of the democratically priviledged class or hermits who rejected civilization in favor of the wilderness. Feminist men living in our modern world may have a harder time of it that women. Like Dionysus, they are Sons of the Mother. They feel in touch with the Divine Feminine inside themselves. The dominant culture certainly does not support men having anything to do with the Divine Feminine. Traitors! … and Feminist women are not sure what to think about these men either. Do we trust them? 

We should. We should trust them and encourage them to seek the Goddess if that is where their hearts are leading them. It is when we are all running with the Goddess, wildly, freely that we will find joy. (Even if just for a few hours on the weekend !) When we are dancing barefoot and running with abandon, we can take some of that joyful energy and put it into our daily lives. 

Now stop running.

What you are seeking is here. 

Listen.  

Listen to your quickly beating heart, 

really listen. 

Artemis is whispering, 

“If you want to come with me then…

go beyond the working,  

and get to the Living.”

Mut Danu, HPS The Apple Branch, A Dianic Tradition

Winter Solstice 2007 

The Goddess Eye: "joyous, alive, woman-centered news for the post-patriarchal world"  

Every week, The Goddess Eye looks around the internet bringing you news of women and men who are working at manifesting the world that already exists in our hearts. To subscribe or visit the archives: email GoddessEye-subscribe@yahoogroups.com or visit http://groups.yahoo.com/group/GoddessEye

Email : mout_danu@yahoo.com

Shades of Grey: Transforming Pain Into Hope by Dorean Malandra-Dara

A couple of months ago my husband and I received news that we were going to have a child. We were both very elated. Nothing brightens up family life like news about children. I was making regular visits to my specialist to monitor my development. Progress slowed up significantly, and we became very concerned. At that point, I had dreamed of my own mother, who had told me everything would work out eventually. Just in time for Samhain, however, the good news turned sour with discourse on miscarriage and I was sent in for an outpatient dilation and curretage. After the surgery I didn't feel much of anything at all. I could move, walk and browse, but I felt as though every movement was unreal, separate, disconnected. Not so much doubt as dissociation had overshadowed my physical body. Before I knew it, I began to feel estranged from my own body, as though something had been taken from me. Something had indeed been taken from me. I felt like I was in store for an entirely new lesson about loss and death.

The lingering loss became physically painful, as though my body was plugged into an emotional interface and the output was conveyed through emotive language. It was a physical depression that relates to feelings of loneliness and emptiness. Eventually my emotions caught up with the physical depression and developed into a form of emotional suffering. An incredibly deep sadness welled up inside of me, and out of personal pride it bothered me. Every time I tried to fight the tears, the struggle only made me worse for wear. It was easy to tell myself that my tears were illogical but once started, ceasing my crying had been impossible. Not friend or kin could offer a successful consolation. I could not ignore what had happened either. There were no pictures to cling to, no memories, and no cause to blame. Here one day and gone the next. Although in its early stages, it was a bond that I immediately recognized. I knew in the depths of my soul that healing was not only a job for the physical body, but for the emotional body as well. A woman can seek friendly consolation or medical attention, have any number of therapists and specialists, but at the end of the day, a woman knows the needs of her own body better than anyone. This was a prime example of the most basic principle, "know thyself". Although it was painful, I knew I could do nothing more than listen to my heart.

At this point I couldn't find the desire or inspiration to do very much. I didn't want the company of friends most of the time. It even damaged my ability to find joy in things that I had previously enjoyed. I knew though, that this was a process and I had to find the time and a way to work through the sorrow. Watching the end of Fall pass me by, my flashes of past winters reminded me of how I used to mourn the dark phase of the year - where Gaia, the personification of Mother Earth grows cold and falls into silent repose inside of herself. This concept was not so far from me during this time. I was, in a sense, doing the same thing as I turned my focus inward on my belated mourning. Recently it had rained here, and I watched as drops of rain scattered across the windshield. As they did, I was reminded of all the tears I have shed. Like the rain that falls and fertilizes seeds of thought and creation, the rain has also helped me to resolve my sorrows by association. The tears we shed, like the rain, transforms our perspective, and produces an inner peace.

I have always perceived the Earth and Rain as personifications that express themselves to me in terms that are part human and part nature. The presence of my mother in the dream prior to the miscarriage was also significant. Ever since she died, she has become an iconic figure for me, an ancestral guide who appears in my dreams when I am in need of comfort and guidance. At the time of the dream I thought she meant that the problems I faced [at that time] would work themselves out immediately. Through my inner reflections on the personifications of earth and rain, I came to believe that through the lessons of sorrow and a new-found perspective behind Samhain, I would learn to transform the pain. An old adage declares that "time heals all wounds". In my realizations, my inner reflections had assumed a very natural position with respect to the healing process. I achieved a state of transformation, and began to view the world again with a renewed sense of hope for the future.

Solstice Moon by DancingStar

The Burning Bowl Ceremony by MarVeena

The burning bowl ceremony can be as elaborate, or simple, as you want to design it. The first thing I do is have each person write on a small piece of paper something or some quality that they want to manifest in the up coming month/year. Sometimes we will use runes or an angelic alphabet to write this out. Then we sign our magical/ medicine name. I like to add a pentacle as a seal. We then write on a separate piece of paper some thing or quality that they would like to give away in the upcoming month/year. This is their ‘give away’ prayer. For instance, “I give away my anger regarding my failed marriage.” “I give away poor concentration in school.” “I gave away my need for sweets.”

Again I use a magical script to write this out in. Some people will use special paper to write this on, like flash paper. Or you might use a color that resonates to a particular angelic realm or quality that you want to manifest. I usually use plain white 2 x 4 inch paper. You can add any symbols to the message you like, for example an astrological symbol, or a symbol that has meaning and power to you.

You need a fireproof container to burn them in. I always do this ceremony outside. Have a lid handy for your container and a fire stick lighter. Create an altar with all of the elements represented on it. I have a cast-iron container that I only use for ceremony.

I always create a ceremonial space invocation/evocation calling the powers, elements and aspects that I desire in my circle.

Then I ask them to witness the prayers that we want to birth in the circle. I have each person speak his or her dream out loud. We put it in the bowl and the fire priestess, or high priestess, lights it with the fire stick. Every priestess in the group will witness the whole prayer burning and visualize the fire spirits taking it out on the ethers for manifestation. We go all the way around the circle with our manifestation prayers. Then we start our ‘give away’ prayers the same way. We ask our ancestors since all ways and for always to witness what we are intending to give away in this ceremony. Then we light that prayer. I am from the old school which interprets that if the piece of paper burns right up the prayers will be answered, if not, there might be a challenge to the prayer. When the fire priestess has to keep putting the flame to it, I know that there is something blocking that person’s ability to manifest at that time or they are not ready to give away something.

After we all go around with our prayers, we thank all the powers, elements and all whom we invited in for their help. We open the circle. The burning bowl has been a powerful part of my monthly full moon circle. One 13-year-old girl manifested a puppy, and a horse among other things with this prayer tool. So she is quite thrilled with the opportunity there. It has been a great way for us to really focus on what we want to accomplish in the month ahead and banish any quality that might hamper us from doing it.

Blessings

MarVeena

The Holidays in the Kitchen by Bendis

I grew up in a home where most of the family activity happened in the kitchen. Such is the way when both parents love to cook. About the only two things we truly ever did together as family was cook and travel together. By travel I mean cross country kind of travel. Growing up in the military was the reason for many trips across this land of ours as well as those overseas. I can't say that the travel was all that enjoyable other than that they always seemed to have a great sense of adventure about them. They were, however, long and tedious and my brother and I fought a lot as children do when cram­ped for space and feeling bored.

So memories of that family togetherness are not evoked with the same emotion as those of being in the kitchen with my Mother and Father. Back in those days, the pay in the military wasn't all that great but I would be willing to bet that my Mother spent as much on food way back then as I did on my family when they were growing up. We ate well. Nothing ever came out of a package. My Mother did use frozen vegetables when fresh were not available but that was her only concession. Her belief system was that good health was a direct result of plenty of rest, lots of sunshine, and healthy food to eat. And in looking back, I would say she was "right on."

As a result of so much time spent in this wonderful kitchen - all of us cooking, my memories of the Holidays center around food. So I thought it would be appropriate for a sharing here of the food I remember having during the holiday season. There was of course a lot of other food - turkey, ham, the best stuffing in the world, cranberry relish and yummy Jello salads, and of course the potato soup!

Jolly Cheese Nips

1 cup shredded cheese, 1/4 cup butter or margarine, softened, 1/2 cup sifted flour 1/8 tsp. salt, paprika.

Combine cheese, butter, flour and salt and blend well. Pinch off about 1 tsp. dough and roll into balls. Arrange balls on a cookie sheet, sprinkle with paprika and bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes, or until browned. Cool and freeze. Reheat at 325 degrees for 5 to 10 minutes. (Also great with cayenne pepper added to the dough!)

Crab Meat Spread

2 cans white crab meat, mayonnaise to fully coat, one half medium onion finely chopped, Tabasco to taste, Cracked pepper, salt to taste

Mix together, chill in refrigerator. Serve with crackers.

Cheese Balls 2 packages cream cheese, 1 8 oz package of cheddar cheese shredded, 1 pack blue cheese, dash of Tabasco, finely chopped pecans.

Soften cream cheese. Mix all ingredients. Form into balls and roll in pecans. Wrap in waxed paper and refrigerate. Serve with crackers.

Gingerbread

Cream together: 2/3 cup molasses, 1/2 cup sour cream, 3/4 tsp. salt, 3 tsp. ginger,

Stir together: 2 cups flour, 1 1/4 cup sugar, 3/4 tsp baking soda.

Mix molasses mixture to flour mixture alternately blending into creamy mixture. Bake at 350 degrees until tooth pick comes out clean.

Danish Kleiner 3 eggs, 1 cup sugar, 1/2 tsp. salt, 4 tbsp. cream, 1/2 cup butter, 1 tsp. baking powder, 3 to 4 cups flour, 4 tsp. cardamom.

Beat eggs and sugar, add cream, melted butter and stir in enough flour to make batter stiff enough to roll out like cookies. Cut in diamond shape, make slit in center and pull one end through the slit. Cook in deep fat until light brown. Best ­to cook only 6 to 8 at a time, turn with a fork. Place on brown paper to cool when done. Sprinkle with granulated sugar.

Yorkshire Pudding 1 pint milk, 4 eggs separated, 1 tsp. salt, 1 tsp. baking powder, 2 cups flour.

Sift dry ingredients together. Mix milk and egg yolk to dry stuff. Beat egg whites until stiff and fold into other ingredients. Pour all into a pan in which 3 TBS. of meat fat have been placed.

Bake at 400 degrees 20 to 25 minutes or until done. Serve with roast beef and brown gravy.

Enjoy!!

Love, Bendis

Wassailing by Bendis

Many years ago I began a tradition with my coveners and families of reviving traditions of "seasons past." One of these is to honor the old custom of wassailing.. The word wassail is derived from the Anglo Saxon waes hael meaning "be whole" or "be of good health." To wassail a person was­ to drink to his or her health and prosperity in a ceremonial way.

At Yuletide a large bowl filled with a hot spiced ale drink conta­ining apples was passed around in much the same manner as a loving cup. If the bowl was too large to be passed around, individual cups were filled from it. The master of the house was first to drink, followed by the mistress, and so on through the rest of the family, and then the guests. Sometimes wassailing bowls were carried around, house to house, and songs were sung by those bringing the bowl. The songs were usually toasts to the health and prosperity of the inhabitants of the house as well as a request for a small nip of ale. The bowls were usually made of wood, and decorated with colored ribbons.

In the fruit growing districts of Britain, the apple orchards were wassailed during the Yule season, usually at Twelfth Night. The farmers, their families and their workers went to the orchar­d after dark bearing horns, guns (in more recent times) and a large pail of cider. The best tree in the orchard was chosen to represent all of the trees. Cider was poured around its roots, a piece of toast was laid in its fork and the lowest branches were pulled down and dipped in the cider pail, if possible. The tree was toasted, its health was drunk (this acknowledged it as a conscious entity, worthy of respect) and a special, traditional song was sung to it. This done, shots were fired, horns were blown, or lacking these, buckets were beaten upon. All this commotion was to drive away the evil spirits and to awaken the sleeping trees. This ceremony was done to protect the orchards from harm (from unfriendly spirits and other evil influences) and to encourage them to bear a plentiful crop in the season to come.

Each year we select a "special tree" and while our tree may not be the best tree in an apple orchard, it is a special tree. Our "Golden Tree" represents "possibility". As we wassail and toast the tree, we imagine the unlimited possibilities that we will harvest in the coming New Year.

The Rhymes of Apple Wassail

Here's to thee, old apple-tree, Whence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow! And whence thou mayst bear apples enow! Hats full! Caps full! Bushel-bushel-sacks full, And my pockets full too! Huzza! Wassail the trees, that they may bear You many a plum, and many a pear: For more or less fruits they will bring, As you do give them wassailing. Robert Herrick (1591-1674) "Ceremonies of Christmas Eve"

Blowe, blowe, bear well, Spring well in April, Every sprig and every spray Bear a bushel of apples against Next new year"s day Painswick in Gloucestershire

Old apple tree, we'll wassail thee, And hoping thou wilt bear. The Lady does know where we shall be To be merry anither year. To blow well and to bear well, And so merry let us be; Let ev'ry man drink up his cup And health to the apple tree.

Recipes for Wassail

Hot Cranberry Wassail
­ 2 1/2 qts. cranberry juice
1 qt. grape juice
2 cups water
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup rum
1/4 cup orange liqueur
orange slices

Heat juices, water and sugar to boil. Remove from heat. Stir in rum and liqueur and garnish with oranges. Serve hot to keep friends and relatives warm this holiday!

Hot Wassail
4 cups Unsweetened apple juice
3 cups Unsweetened pineapple juice
2 cups Cranberry juice cocktail
1/4 teaspoon Ground nutmeg
1 Cinnamon stick
3 Whole cloves
Lemon slices

Combine all the ingredients in a large kettle and simmer for 10 minutes. Serve hot. ­

Wassail
1 1/2 quarts boiling water
1/2 ounce tea
1 teaspoon whole cloves
4 to 5 sticks cinnamon
5 quarts cider
1 1/2 quarts orange juice
1 pint boiling water
1 cup sugar
1 pint grapefruit juice
1 pint cranberry juice
1 pint claret or similar wine

Pour 1 1/2 quarts boiling water over tea. Steep for 5-7 minutes; remove tea. Add cloves and cinnamon. Heat to boiling point and let simmer 10 minutes. Add cider and orange juice. Make a sugar syrup by combining sugar and 1 pint boiling water; add to cider mixture. Add grapefruit and cranberry juices and wine. Mix the day before and bring to boiling point, but do not boil. Cut off heat and let wassail cool. Repeat heating and cooling of wassail a couple more times. For gifts, cool wassail and pour in clean bottles with stoppers. Refrigerate. Heat before serving. Makes about 10 quarts.

Many Blessings for you and yours on this Winter Solstice, 2007 Bendis

­

Woman's Miraculous, Magnificent Body by Gayle Goldwin

The following was channeled from the Golden Circle of Ascended Feminine Masters, a group of illumined Beings dedicated to helping today's Woman reclaim True Feminine Power:

My beloved daughters, rejoice in the magnificence of your bodies, for Woman's body holds a Power no man can ever hope to know. Your beautiful, wondrous body is the means through which My Life-giving energy is brought into your world.

This Life Force Energy flows through you unceasingly, waxing and waning with the rhythm of your monthly cycles. It is the life force that supports the growing embryo within your womb. It is the energy that nourishes the babe nursing at your breast. It is the power that sustains all that lives on Earth.

Yet your brothers have taught you to denigrate your femininity, to be ashamed of your hormones and call your monthly flow a "curse." Allow Me now to refresh your memory of the Blessings you truly possess.

Your bodies generate Life Force Energy through your monthly hormonal cycles. Both hormones and Spirit run stronger in women than in men. You cannot separate the two. As your menstrual flow begins, additional Energy enters your bodies directly from Me. It is a recharging of your reproductive "batteries," so to speak, to ensure that you possess enough Life Force Energy to sustain not only yourself, but a second being in the event your lovemaking attracts a soul wishing to enter the world through you.

On the physical level, if no egg is fertilized, then this extra Energy is unneeded. It is often felt as a pressure calling for release. This is why most of you feel more sexual desire after ovulation has come and gone. On the physical level, you may feel horny, but on the spiritual level, your ever kindly and cooperative soul recognizes an opportunity to bless one of your brothers with the Life-sustaining Energy he needs to survive.

Men's bodies do not have the Power yours do. They can't generate the Life Force for themselves, much less impart it to others as you can. That's why they crave sex. If they don't receive a regular infusion of Life Force Energy—energy they literally cannot live without—they become increasingly physically weak.

Lacking your reproductive powers, your brothers can obtain this essential Energy in only two ways: either by receiving it from you during sex or by turning Within to connect directly with Spirit, as all are able, but few bother to do. A man abstaining from sexual activity must turn to Spirit, or he will weaken physically. This is also why homosexual men are often challenged by promiscuity. They crave what they need as a drowning man craves air, but it cannot be found where they seek it. They, too, must turn directly to Spirit to receive the Life Force Energy they require.

My daughters, when a woman is taught to deny her Feminine Power, as she is in all patriarchal societies, she will have many menstrual problems. Whatever beliefs your particular culture has imprinted upon you about your Womanhood will be out pictured in your reproductive functions. The pain of being denigrated as "dirty" may manifest as the pain of menstrual cramps. The fear of being humiliated by your flow bleeding through to your outer clothes may manifest as infertility or hemorrhaging. The anguish of being told that you're inferior or unworthy may return as PMS. The fear of growing old, and thus unattractive to men, may manifest as menopausal palpitations or hot flashes. The variations are as individual as the thoughts imprinted upon each of your minds.

Patriarchal societies denigrate women because they fear your inherent spiritual power and hate their dependency on the Life Force you impart. They oppress you to lessen their feelings of inferiority. They issue laws giving themselves financial and legal privileges in hopes of being "superior" to you, at least in that. They rewrite holy scriptures to "prove" your inferiority and demand your submission and obedience.

But pause for a moment to think, my daughters. Who but one insane with jealousy could declare the sweet sight of an infant nursing at her mother's breast to be "obscene" and ban it from public places? Who but one wishing to dehumanize another could refer to his sister as a derogatorily named body part? And what but a frightened ego could be so arrogant as to call what I made, "shameful?"

So dismiss all the nonsense you've ever heard about Woman's body being "dirty" or "sinful." Cleanse your mind of all their silly words telling you that your body is shameful. They are but words of hate spoken by men who envy your Power and despise their dependency upon you for that which they cannot exist without.

You are the means through which Life renews itself on Earth. You nurture and nourish both your babes and your brothers. To whom but the worthiest would I give that Power?

Your miraculous, Life-giving bodies are magnificent, just as I designed them to be. Use them to live your life to the fullest. Enjoy them. Nourish them and honor their needs. Be proud of your bodies and be proud of your selves, as I am proud of you.

©2007 Gayle Goldwin. All rights reserved. Channeled Messages From The High Mother was channeled from the Golden Circle of Ascended Feminine Masters. This group of illumined Beings guided the creation of WomanSpirit Oracles: Wisdom of the Ancients, Solutions for Today, a modern-day divinatory tool of Feminine Empowerment. The set includes a complete oracle card deck and wisdom book of clear delineations, guided meditations, empowering mantras, inspiring messages channeled from Ascended Feminine Masters and triumphal stories of history's most compelling women.

Get a FREE online Oracle Card reading http://www.womanspiritoracles.com/pages/reading/read_selection.php,
send FREE Oracle eCards http://www.womanspiritoracles.com/pages/greeting/greet_index.html or read other channeled Messages at http://www.WomanSpiritOracles.com WomanSpiritOracles.com