Category Archives: wicca

women in the bible

Just in case you’re curious why I’m all loving of the Wicca & Goddess faiths and am a Unitarian Universalist, this sums it up pretty neatly. How cool is it that my church sent this out on MySpace?

First, my own quick notes:

1. I’m not sure I agree that all organized religion has oppressed women, but all monotheistic religions seem to have this history.

2. Thoughts on the whole “suffering in childbirth thing”

OK. It hurts, but seriously, it is not unliveable, anaesthesia-necessitating pain. I had an exceptionally hard birth with no epidural and can very confidently say that these pain-relieving measures are unnecessary in a normal birth and the risk factors by far outweigh the benefits- again, for a normal birth.

The pain is definitely affected by the legacy of woman-negative religious teachings that are referred to later in this document· Fear is a huge part of the pain- we tense up and fight our bodies. (Get a midwife and a Doula! They’ll help enormously!) I propose that rather than to complain that religious fanatics have denied women anaesthetics, we instead recapture the normalcy and beauty of natural birth.

3. I feel a little need to qualify the whole Freedom from Religion stance here. I deeply respect this viewpoint, in no small part because of these examples to follow. It’s just weird though, because I’m pretty much all about re-creating religion in a woman-positive and life affirming way, with a healthy dose of intellectualism and skepticism coming along for the ride.

OK…. enjoy:) Continue reading

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april, rain(n)

it’s nearly the end of april
rain keeps calling: dig deep,
go within, and rediscover
that serpent coiled and sleeping
too soundly, a knot
at the base of my spine.

it’s got me on a kick
painting in binary code
blasting tori, screaming
all off key and laughing

(the names of our daughters
are pins in a map
to find this:

who are we now?

motherswomen)

where is my sex, in
banshee wails and curtains
of rain and the temperature
in wild flux?
cocooning in quilts that
smell of the dog and
baby’s bath and
our last sweat?

is it there, bled out of me
with the moon and just too tired?
or leaking out slowly with
a mother’s tears and milk?

are you there, still, in the painting of red and blue? these colors

you used to show me in tantric visions
when i was a gateway and
atheist lips called me goddess
while strong hands washed my feet

snakes used to writhe so hard they stung and bit
and now their slumber is a lullaby
of heartbeats and exhausted sighs
did we lull it to sleep
with our familiarity?

have i known you too long?
(and now you’ve seen inside me)
and emptied of secrets
and wearied of shared worries
can we find the madness
that pulled us in to it?

can we spark and spin
and wake the snakes wound
tight in sleep inside us?
can some art or artifice reimagine
and rework the passion
and heat that slumbers?

can i build new secrets
to draw you back
and shimmer again like
a careless thing still
smoking and glowing
in the shadows?

can you cry out
and wake it and can i
let go what sent the thing to
sleep and just watch

the fires rise again and twist?

More Kundalini musing…still blogging for RAINN, still chasing my tail, still writing poems about snakes and moons. (Morrison… Doors… Blake…) I invoked William Blake in ritual when we were calling our ancestors. Seemed strange to never have thought of calling to him in circle. Wonder what his mystic Christian soul thought of this, a funky witch in fake ivy and nose ring invoking his presence all uninvited?

________________

This post is a celebration of the Sexography project in support of RAINN– the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. RAINN provides information, education, outreach and other services. Among its programs, created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1.800.656.HOPE. Please consider a donation to RAINN. If you donate, please mention the Daisybones blog and note “GBBMC:08″ in the “donation in honor of” section (in addition to anyone you want to honor, including yourself.) This will allow project-related donations to be tracked, and every donation sent from my blog will be (to me) regarded as honoring my mother and all others who were kept silent. Thank you.

divine, the

I am reading Eat Pray Love. Only I am not. I am devouring, relishing, tasting, experiencing it.

I am Eating it, Praying it, Loving it.

I’ll write a response to it when I finish, I just have to! But not a review. Would you review the Bible? Well, I would… yes, I would, so it’s a poor metaphor. I’m having the intensity of reading experience I had reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Beneath the artistic awe and the total absorption in the story, there is part of me screaming and jumping up and down “I WANT TO WRITE JUST LIKE THIS. ONLY NOT, BECAUSE LIKE ME. WHICH IS SIMILAR. OR WILL BE. BUT STIIIILLLLL. I WANNA WRITE!!!!!!!” So I’m thinking a lot while reading about a book idea I conceived a few years ago that is very, very groovy. Oh wow. Idea.. maybe NaNoWriMo? Whew: scary. (And by the way, ladies- how in the name of Johnny Depp-see below- did you do this with toddlers in your home? I can only barely fucking write a blog post with Molly here.)

When God is mentioned in a traditional context or almost any male deity context*, I approach the concept with Athiest Mind.

If Goddess is referred to, with a specific femaleness, I respond with Deep Primal Cavewoman Awe Brain/Heart/Soul.

I just sort of noticed that today. I’m kind of stubbornly refusing to delve into the athiest brainiac chick vs. moon shreiking pagan witch mama, because it pretty much utterly fails to matter. If Persephone is a story that makes me imagine that some deep part of me resonates with this lovely ancient myth, who gives a rat’s ass if She is Real or she is a metaphor?

*Exceptions: mention Dionysos, and I respond much like I do to Maggie Gyllenhaal (click it. Seriously. Speaking of Cavew Woman.. grrroowwlll….)and Johnny Depp and full moons. Mention Ganesha, and my soul immediately drops to it’s aether knees, assumes the child’s pose and tears up in grateful reverence. Mention Hades and I think at once of a vision thing I had once with a very specific ritual I was supposed to do and have never done. I kind of think I should do the damn thing.

yoni!

One more burst of sexual energy for the Sexography GBBMCMMCGVBVC… whatever campaign :p I spent some of my birthday money on a frame for the new piece, and after the printing costs I’m going to donate what’s left to RAINN. It’s not a lot but it adds up. Throw in a few bucks with me? Mistress Daisy says give til it hurts feels good.

So, yeah. Behold: vagina art! Just like the good old art school days. You should have seen my Grandma trying to be polite about big, messy red Goddess paintings with giant boobs and bulgy vulvas.

::clicky::

The thing with creativity is, once you start that little wheel going, and I refer here in my own WiccaDu way to the chakra, that baby just starts churning of its own momentum.

And, being the rooty deep core of all yumminess that it is, dear and delicious muladhara is the center of both sex and creativity. And I seem to have awoken mine, and so it goes that as the baby naps I create Sacred Pussy Art and am crushed when Bu tells me we will have company tonight. He was so getting laid. Perhaps if he had known he would have declined his Beer, Steak, & Testosterone Night. *shrug*

_________________

This post is a celebration of the Sexography project in support of RAINN– the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. RAINN provides information, education, outreach and other services. Among its programs, created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1.800.656.HOPE. Please consider a donation to RAINN. If you donate, please mention the Daisybones blog and note “GBBMC:08″ in the “donation in honor of” section (in addition to anyone you want to honor, including yourself.) This will allow project-related donations to be tracked, and every donation sent from my blog will be (to me) regarded as honoring my mother and all others who were kept silent. Thank you.

mindfulness and stillness: it turns out i don’t really like

The meditation workshop was, shockingly, torturous. I thought a day of Buddhist mindfulness meditation would be like a tall, clear glass of water where my soul is a thirsty throat. Instead, I found it perfectly excruciating. My internal dialog was a constant barrage of “I suck at this,” and when I finally found some peace in there, it was when I stopped trying for body awareness and let myself flow with the eclectic intuitive techniques I use spontaneously when I meditate on my own. It’s vaguely like a hallucinogenic Tantric/Wiccan animated film with stream of consciousness poetry narration.

The insights I had were that my body is sorely, sadly neglected- my back and lungs are not even close to doing their jobs well. I can’t even approximate decent posture, and my breathing is pitifully erratic and shallow. I’ll never have a straight spine, but I can have a less burdened one. I also theorized that sitting meditation is artificial in the extreme; that the human body is patently unwilling to be still and quiet at the same time. I sat, still and reaching for an emptiness that would never come and longing for dance or Tai Chi or a sweaty, delicious fuck. The monk was sexy, I noticed eventually, from boredom.

It started to seem so unbelievably strange and affected and decadent almost to be human beings, sitting in a building and listening to the near-soundlessness of our own breathing. It struck me as pitiable and disturbing to be earth creatures with pulses and skin and bones and blood who have so throroughly and perfectly severed our own bodies that we have to struggle and be taught to exist peacefully “in” them.

I decided that guided meditations, or mantras and chants are far more suited to me as play for my tired brain. As for my body- sitting, which it does far more than could ever be considered healthy, is antithetical to a true celebration of physicality. Movement- the spiral dance my hips find by instinct when I let myself dance, or the pounding of my heels on pavement or the old mud path in the woods across from our property- is the key to finding home in my body. The monk can sit- he does it with grace and nobility- but I need to have moving hips and feet to find my connection to a body in time.

The day wasn’t a waste, though. I’m pleased with these insights, and the messages received from my crooked, chunky body. I’m happy I made time and followed through with a gift of good rich time for myself. I also ate a great cookie with lunch afterward.

I’m cross-posting this, with brief background information, to Wabi Sabi Mamas.

more vodou than wicca, amusingly

My Pagan Practice

Tradition Eclectic
Ecstatic Solemn
Magical Spiritual

Pagan Faith Practices Survey created by Otherworld Apothecary
Full Results:
http://www.otherworld-apothecary.com/quiz/results.php?score=___

I scored high on Reclaiming, which is cool, as my group is similar and the woman who mentored me is Reclaiming.

spell for heidi & family

hestiamercury.jpg

This spelldoodle ™ calls on Hestia, the hearth goddess of home, and Mercury the patron of travel to help Heidi with a trans-Atlantic move. Peace and blessings, sweatpea! When is the move?

Hestia is mah girl. She is the only Olympian who was never anthropomorphized. She’s always depicted as a flame. She lives in my Buck Stove- did you know? And  she is the sacred guardian of women whose names begin with H. I made that part up, but seriously, I love Her.

Heidi is mah girl, too. She is smarter than me- and I never, ever say that about people. But there it is. She also grows beautiful flowering plants and takes beautiful photos of them and makes really pretty needlepoint pieces and her little boy has a baby crush on Molly. Luckily for the wee Mr. C, the Birdy shares my love of the British:)