The Morrigan

Macha M. Nightmare at the Russian River, "washing the shroud" (2001)

I have a friend, Macha Nightmare, who is one of the founding members of the Reclaiming Collective in San Francisco, as well as the Covenant of the Goddess. Macha is an author of numerous books on Wicca, Earth-based spirituality, and activism. As a priestess, ritualist, and community organizer, she has been tirelessly dedicated to justice, the earth, and magical healing for many years. If I hadn't met Macha, I probably never would have made the "Masks of the Goddess" collection, because she was the one who thought to call me when she, Starhawk, Rose May Dance, and others were planning the 20th Spiral Dance, the event I initially created the masks for in 1999. The Spiral Dance is a powerful event to honor the turning of the year, the cycle of death and rebirth, and the beloved dead.

I myself organized a Spiral Dance in 2000 with the community of Tucson, and we were fortunate to be able to bring Macha to town to lead the Dance. Above San Francisco on the Russian River, is a famous resort ironically called "Bohemian Grove". For decades it hosted a retreat for corporate and military executives, annually attended by some of the most influential people in America. Bay Area political groups also demonstrate there annually, and in July of 2001, Macha staged a protest remembering certain tragedies of corporate exploitation. Macha wore the mask of "The Morrigan" as she stood in the river, washing a business suit saturated with "blood" which spread, a long red stain, slowly into the water.

The Morrigan was the Celtic Goddess of battle, of justice, and also, of lamentation. She washed the shrouds, and remembered those who were gone. Roman historians remembered that the Gauls (Celts) looked for her in the guise of a raven before they went into battle, certain that she would carry them into the west, into the Summer Lands, if they fought bravely.

Perhaps because I am angry at so much waste, so much injustice these days, or perhaps, because a black feather fell onto my windshield this morning, and I looked up to see a big raven croaking her mysterious way into distance.....I share this poem, and my fond remembrance of fierce Macha.

May we all drink from deep, deep waters.

THE CURSE OF THE MORRIGAN

You who bring suffering to children: 

May you look into the sweetest, most open eyes, and howl the loss of your own innocence. 

You who ridicule the poor, the grieving, the lost, the fallen, the inarticulate, the wounded children in grown-up bodies:

May you look into each face, and see a mirror. May all your cleverness fall into the abyss of your speechless grief, your secret hunger, may you look into that black hole with no name, and find....the most tender touch in the darkest night, the hand that reaches out. May you take that hand. May you walk all your circles home at last, and coming home, know where you are. 

You tree-killers, you wasters: 

May you breathe the bitter dust, may you thirst, may you walk hungry in the wastelands, the barren places you have made. And when you cannot walk one step further, may you see at your foot a single blade of grass, green, defiantly green. And may you be remade by its generosity. 

And those who are greedy in a time of famine: 

May you be emptied out, may your hearts break not in half, but wide open in a thousand places, and may the waters of the world pour from each crevice, washing you clean. 

Those who mistake power for love: 

May you know true loneliness. And when you think your loneliness will drive you mad, when you know you cannot bear it one more hour - May a line be cast to you, one shining, light woven strand of the Great Web glistening in the dark. And may you hold on for dear life. 

Those passive ones, those ones who force others to shape them, and then complain if it's not to your liking: 

May you find yourself in the hard place with your back against the wall. And may you rage, rage until you find your will. And may you learn to shape yourself. 

And you who delight in exploiting others, imagining that you are better than they are: 

May you wake up in a strange land as naked as the day you were born and thrice as raw. May you look into the eyes of any other soul, in your radiant need and terrible vulnerability. May you know your Self. And may you be blessed by that communion.

And may you love well, thrice and thrice and thrice,

and again and again and again:

may you find your face before you were born.

And may you drink from deep, deep waters.

(1999) 

 

Damanhur

http://www.thetemples.org/

I recently talked with a friend who had never heard of the extraordinary community, and "Temple of Humankind", of Damahur, in Italy. So, for any who may not be aware of this amazing accomplishment, now a famous ecovillage and non-denominational spiritual center as well, I make this post. It is such an amazing place, and such an amazing accomplishment, that I cannot even begin to describe it, so I offer here links to the community site, and the Temple site (above). For anyone who hasn't encountered Damanhur before, enjoy!

http://www.damanhur.org/
www.damanhur.org

"Damanhur, is an eco-society based on ethical and spiritual values, awarded by an agency of the United Nations as a model for a sustainable future. Founded in 1975, the Federation has about 1,000 citizens and extends over 500 hectares of territory throughout Valchiusella and the Alto Canavese area, at the foothills of the Piedmont Alps. Damanhur offers courses and events all year round, and it is possible to visit for short periods as well as longer stays for study, vacation or regeneration."

Bali Hai

Recently I had to go to California. Strangest thing - for no reason I can understand, I kept noticing that images, more like "fragrances" or sensations, of Bali kept occurring. I'd be driving, thinking about mundane matters, and suddenly have a powerful remembrance of Bali, including a kind of "atmospheric" memory. A sense of the moist air there, the intensity of color.......I haven't been to Bali for 10 years, although I often long to return. I have also been putting money away for a "round the world" trip to Asia, and eventually to Great Britain and Scotland ..........for five years now, but because of my mother have had to put it off.

Towards the end of my recent business trip, I was with my mother heading back to Arizona. She likes to listen to a radio station that features music from the '40's. I turned on the radio to hear "Bali Hai is calling.........". Then "Caledonia" set to big band (That's the Roman name for Scotland, and the name of my old boyfriend Kerry's bagpipe band). The best one came a few minutes later, with Bing Crosby singing "Far Away Places".

Don't tell me the Universal Mind Lattice doesn't have a sense of humor.

Wake Up - New Movie

"Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you."

Jelalu'ddin Rumi (1207 - 1273)

My friend Fahrusha is a fountain of information. Here is a trailor for a new documentory about extra sensory perception. The film is about Jonas Elrod, a New York based film maker who began "seeing things" inexplicably 10 years ago, and his personal quest to understand his experiences.

http://www.youtube.com/user/wakeupthefilm?feature=mhum#p/a/u/0/9qSGjKVY9Sw

http://wakeupthefilm.com/tag/angels/




It sounds fascinating, and I'm also looking forward to the premiere of the new Matt Damon movie, "Hereafter".

Aphrodite

A friend said that I never talk about love and I'm too grim; just to prove she's wrong, I pulled out this poem, and the mask of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, born from the ocean. See (name with held to protect the innocent)? No crop circles, solar flares, or environmental degredation! Just the Great Goddess Aphrodite, trying to come to terms with post-modernism.

Aphrodite in Brooklyn

Please allow me to take off my shoes,
this faux marble pose
and this modern, pragmatic mask.

Permit me my ruin.

Please, let us not consider this therapy
or revolution, do not ask me

to give you space.

Let us not discuss those who came before,

or those who might follow. Let us not talk of past lives.

This moment,
this moment is all I know.

I have fallen on hard times.

If you come to my temple, just
let me make for you an ocean.

Half seen in the darkness
your body is a Mystery
true, tangible, radiant,
lined with the rings of your life.
You are beautiful,
beautiful to be a man.

Darling, even in this era,
even now, I will not believe

that love is disposable,
that sex is safe
that lovers are trains
rolling past each other
to some certain station:

I remember,
I almost remember
my river source

My skin forms the word anew,
yes
enter me

as if
you were coming home.

(1999)

La Mariposa

LA MARIPOSA 

by Lauren Raine (1997)

Once upon a time, in a dusty village like any other village, a village with three good wells, fields of blue and yellow corn, a white church, and a cantina, there lived a woman who was neither young, nor old. She was brown of skin, and eye, and her hair was as brown as the sandy earth, and her clothes were brown and gray as well.

She was neither beautiful nor ugly, neither tall nor small, and she walked with a long habit of watching her feet. 

One day, she saw a tree alight with migrating butterflies. Their velvet wings fluttered in the wind of their grace, and one circled her, coming to rest upon her open hand. She thought that her heart would break for the power of its fragile beauty, and she held her breath for fear of frightening it.  La Mariposa was as orange and brilliant as the setting sun falling between indigo mountains, as iridescent, as black and violet as the most fragrant midnight. 

 At last the butterfly lifted from her hand to rejoin its nomad tribe, and its wings seemed like a whisper that called to her: "Come with us, come with us..."

The next morning they were gone. She held her hand out to the empty tree, as if to wave farewell, and saw that where the butterfly had rested, there remained a dusting of color, yellow, like pollen, the kiss of a butterfly wing. And she thought something had changed. 

She went to the well to draw water, and saw her face reflected there. She was not the same - there were now minute lines, hairline cracks, along the sides of her face, at the corners of her eyes. Later, she noticed little webs of light beneath the sturdy brown skin of her hands, barely visible except in the dim twilight. This was a frightening thing. She drew her skirts more closely around herself, pulled her scarf over her eyes. But as time went on, there was something that kept emerging, something that would not be denied. She was peeling open. 

At first, it simply itched, like a rash, like pulling nettles.  But as weeks went by, what had been easily born, what could be endured, became painful, became an agony. Try as she might, as tightly as she wrapped herself in her cocoon of shawls and skin and silence, as tightly as she wrapped herself within the comforting routines of her life, still, colors emerged from her hands. Colors spilt from her mouth. Colors and tears, deep waters that seeped from within, washing away the dust of her life. 

Soon, sleep became impossible. Standing by her window one day, shivering, she shook with fear. "Please help me", she cried, "I'm not the same". 

Then she noticed a beam of sunlight that fell across the floor of her little room like honey. Motes of dust gathered in the golden light, becoming a flurry of butterflies. Butterflies, dancing through an open window, a window opening into a sky as blue and as vast as forever. 

And La Mariposa opened her arms, took the gift of wings, and rose. 

When her neighbor came to walk with her that evening, she found only a dusty shawl and an old brown skirt upon the floor, the early stars glimmering through an unshuttered window.

Time is changing?

My friend Fahrusha (the name means "Butterfly" in Arabic) is a well known psychic in New York City. She has a fascinating blog, Fahrusha's Webblog that often deals with issues and controversies of the paranormal, consciousness, as well as contemporary issues and culture. In the midst of my recent flurry of "Butterfly" synchronicities, Fahrusha sent me this article about the sun affecting the decay of radioactive matter - in essence, certain scientists are saying that the rate of decay is speeding up. I know this post is far from being about art, but I was so stunned by reading I felt I should share it.

"In fact, some evidence of time dilation has been gleaned from close observation of the decay rate. If particles interacting with the matter are not the cause—and matter is being affected by a new force of nature-then time itself may be speeding up................Researchers have correlated the anomalies in the decay rate to a 33-day period. That time frame matches the 33-day rotation of the solar core. Such a match strains credulity as being a mere coincidence."

Sun Activity is Affecting Time?
by Terrence Aym on August 29th, 2010

Here are some other articles about this phenomenon, for anyone who might be interested:

Is the Sun Emitting a Mystery Particle, Ian O’Neill, Discovery News

The Sun Influences the Decay of Radioactive Elements,Tudor Vieru, Softpedia

Mysteriously, Solar Activity Found to Influence Behavior of Radioactive Materials On Earth, Rebecca Boyle, POSCI