March 11, 2016October 2, 2019 RTM EditorsLeave a comment

(Vernal equinox essay 1) What is Earth Based Ritual? by Sara Wright

When attempting to answer the query about how I live engage and express goddess feminism activism and spirituality I think about creating and celebrating rituals either alone or in the Read More …

March 10, 2016October 2, 2019 Mago Work Admin2 Comments

(Essay 2 Part 2) Why Do I Love Korean Historical Dramas? by Anna Tzanova, M.A.

Part 2 ENGAGING THE MIND It makes me cringe every time someone calls Korean drama, especially the historical genre, a soap opera. The fact that they are TV series Read More …

March 9, 2016October 2, 2019 Mago Work Admin1 Comment

(Poem) Go Wild If You Must by Phibby Venable

Go wild if you must, my dear, you are better at it than most Wren on a sled heading downhill All the slopes perceive you to be beautiful The way Read More …

March 7, 2016October 2, 2019 Mago Work AdminLeave a comment

(Essay) Growth & Guidance, Goddess-Style by Rachael Patterson

I began my path to the Goddess by, unbeknownst at the time, rejecting Christianity and diving deep into my wound. I began my path by destroying myself; by releasing the Read More …

March 3, 2016October 2, 2019 Mago Work AdminLeave a comment

(Art) Slide show with mirror 1979-1990 by Suzanne Santoro

Harbinger of International Women’s Day.

(Prose) Sequana and Blessed Water by Deanne Quarrie

Water is the daily necessity for earth’s creatures. When the Continental Celts were looking for a new homeland, they ventured west from the known river valleys of the great landmass we call Eurasia. Just beyond the great mountains, the Alps, they discovered sweet and abundant water, fertile soil, expansive woodlands, and the plentiful fish, game, berries, grasses, fungi and broad-leafed plants necessary to support their tribe.
(Essay 1) Book of Veles: Storied Instructions by Danica Borkovich Anderson

The Blood and Honey Icons card deck The Book of Veles, describing the origins of the Slavic, Baltic, Serbian, and Polish tribes is hotly debated, with many in academic fields refuting its authenticity. Written on planks of wood, the Book of Veles’ sacred data is a Slavic phenomenon that anchors an integrated transcendence of its peoples. Beneath all of the arguments against the Book of Veles’ existence is a powerful Slavic technology triggering radical shifts of consciousness and healing practices that recover a coherence of harmony. I know the mass forced march from South Slavic homes of three million people during the Balkan War is not a migration. Nor would a forced march be chronicled in the Book of Veles. The forced march of the South Slavs is a formidable shadow over their way of life for integrated transcendence concerning their oral tradition literature practices. Given the South Slavs’ relations with the Moist Mother Earth, the Book of Veles is a geocentric map of land and seascapes vital to the South Slavs since it represents their migration to a land of Blood and Honey. The blood is not the spilt blood of wars or genocide but the rivers, the waters that feed the land into honey: abundance. Like the Book of Veles, the land of blood and honey is an open-ended evolution borne from the ashes. Contrary to what we might expect, increasing the ties to their Slavic Moist Mother Earth is shown through the milk from the Ahmica-Vitez grandmother’s cows and the eggs from her chickens that feed the remaining Ahmica-Vitez war crimes survivors’ family members. And the increased communion with their cows and planting in the fields had the Ahmica-Vitez grandmother out of the house on the early morning of April 15, 1993, when the slaughter of her family was perpetrated. According to the Ahmica-Vitez women war crimes survivors, their land, grassy meadows, and crops attracted genocide, not the god of Veles. Interestingly, the Slavic and Baltic customs are preserved in the Book of Veles, particularly the story of the Russian father Bogumir, and mother, Slavuni, who owned many livestock and whose children married across the tribes. Bogumir and Slavuni’ s children represent the Slavic, Baltic, and Polish tribes as one family, a harmony with replenishing healing balance achieved. Despite the Goths’ and Huns’ terrible warfare at that time, the outcome produced people protecting and preserving the wisdom of Moist Mother Earth. Traces of guardianship and preservation are found in the still-practiced rituals among the Slavs. One of many Slavic female cultural practices is feeding snakes milk so the gardens flourish and protecting the domovi (home). For Baltic peoples, Velines, a Lithuanian equinox (around April), is full of feast celebrations for the dead, portraying the ancient links to the Dionysus and Bacchus rituals. Fascinatingly, the Spring equinox would have the Bird migrations coinciding with the feast in reverence to the Bird and Snake Goddess. But, for the Ahmica-Vitez women war crimes survivors, April and the spring equinox now herald mass murder. What is chilling is how the archaeomythology has the god Veles attracted to the open meadows, the same type of landscape in the village of Ahmica-Vitez. The Ahmica-Vitez war crimes survivors were bitter and hostile toward the Yugoslav War Crimes Tribunal for a few years after 2001. However, what was strangely absent was hatred, despite how deeply the Ahmica-Vitez mothers and grandmothers distrusted the criminal court and all humanitarian institutions and justice systems. The tribunal adjudicated and, upon the testimony, released the Croat war crimes criminals. If we look at the word origin of testimony comes from the Latin ‘testis’ and testament, where grabbing onto your testicles meant the truth. The migration toward justice was rendered invisible after a Muslim not from the Ahmica-Vitez village or around at the time of the slaughter of one hundred and fifty Muslims on April 15, 1993, testified that the three Croatian war criminals were not the ones who committed the massacre. His testimony made a mockery of the proceedings that were designed to bring justice and only set the cause back further, adding new reasons to hate and distrust. I did not know how to express the reality that our sons, fathers, brothers, uncles, and grandfathers, along with women, have allowed the massacres generation after generation. I did not speak of this to the Ahmica-Vitez women war crimes survivors. Fatima, an elder in Novi Travnik’s Kolo Sumejja, remarked after the release of the three Croatian war crimes criminals shortly after September 11, 2001, “Now they have the Muslims killing themselves; no one else did it.” Her anger was clear, as was her acceptance of life in the aftermath of the war with no expectation of justice. Fatima channeled anger into healing and harmony, not hatred. Nemana and her neighbor arrived early in the summer of 2005 to announce their desire to tell the story of a profound woman who once lived in Ahmica-Vitez. During the war, she fled from her home, where she was known to have great passion and love for her rich array of flowers and thriving vegetable patch. After the war, she trudged home back to Ahmica-Vitez. The small community had nothing, but this woman shared all she had. It became obvious that cancer had eaten through her body, but she was joyous to be home and living on the land again. She was the leading force in the Ahmica-Vitez war crimes survivorship toward thriving without hate. I was told that she found joy where most found war crimes, hardship, and lack. So infectious was her loving life and Ahmica-Vitez that Nemana and her neighbor remembered her vividly enough to replace their horrific memories of the faces of the dead and dying with this woman’s smiling face. Taking the notepad from my lap while I sat in Nemana’s kitchen, I agreed with the woman who told me that it was time to write this woman’s story to share with others who could know her, at least through …
(Poem) Last Fall: Cemetery at Lake Travis by Robin Scofield

One last hour of equinox shines in the still kneeling forest. Last rays feel for dark roots over lime-white rock, waver over red and yellow patches of overripe trash: coke cans, dry rinds, box springs. They touch blonde hair, alight on blonde moss and dance at last ruby refraction under black cloud and blue sheen. Rain swirls from the west. Earth tilts toward orange moon, sun poised between air and water: silence, then roar of motorboat, lines bleeding blue in green water: and the gold profound moment. Thunder in the west, ghosts on the hill, the breast of the mother who bred this place holds onto the last bits of scattered light.We saw buzzards gather by the road, caught whiff of rotting corpse in field, and the hawk, slowly circling, looking for life: looking for light in the leaves and late red flowers of autumn, until the longest night and the coldest daybreak song will come: In reams of night the rain of fire descends, and the thousand explosions shatter the church spires and tunnels and towers. After the black rain, the wolf kisses the dolphin. The son of light stands ready on the hill come down from the bat-winged cloud to redeem his mother with fire. The four faced god of wind lights on the back of a turtle, in the nest of a mockingbird in the numbers of a sunflower in our eyes the whirlpool galaxy nailed to a crux of heaving stars, what kingdom of heaven breeding light. Soon the green wind will bring new black birth. But not yet, now the gold sun, the gold leaves, the dark cloud and red sky, the sad charred corn: the daughter eats fruit in hell, the son is gathering seeds.
(Poem) Sicily by Mary Saracino

The Black Madonna of Tindari, Sicily, by Mary Saracino How was I to know I’d be coming home when first I tasted the salt sea air of your sun-stained shores? Isola Bella, something rattled my DNA, dislodging its memory awakening its forgotten longing. Isola Madre, something birthed voice erasing a long silence; that which had been lost suddenly reclaimed. In Erice, the homeward-seeking doves soar back to Africa each spring released by those who remember how true blood sings for its Mother. In Ragusa Ibla, St. George could not slay the Amazon hunters or their ebony strength. The dragon of memory loomed fiercer than his shining sword. In Tindari, the Dark One reigns still Her benevolent eyes welcome pilgrims of every hue seeking solace, affirmation in Her declaration: “I am black and beautiful.” In Trapani, Siracusa, Custonaci, Enna, Palermo — over hillsides littered with ruins, through valleys, bleeding with stark red poppies across mountains erupting beside turquoise seas swelling we remember our First Womb marked as we are by Her ancient imprint. Sicily’s salty air whispers a mournful dirge, a litany inviolable the eternal archive of names — women and men, young and old, native-born and foreigner living and dead — who see everything, hear always speak unfailingly releasing their long soulful sighs into the waiting watchful wind. [Previously published in: “Sicily,” She Is Everywhere! Volume 3: An anthology of writings in womanist/feminist spirituality, iUniverse March 2012, Mary Saracino and Mary Beth Moser, co-editors. Originally published at newversenews.com on April 30, 2006] https://www.magoism.net/2013/05/meet-mago-contributor-mary-saracino
(Poem) Nana Haiku by Virginie Colline

Sunny femmes fontaines the strength of Niki’s women the contagious dance
After the Crowning by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright After the Crowning Emerald and lime chartreuse lemon burgundy burnt umber leafy green breath transformer palms and needles raining light. magic bean spirals skyward star gazing ferns feather paths pearls at my feet wild lilies woodland valley brook scarlet roots hug weeping fruit trees conversing underground pollinated rose petals nourish moist earth each tear slips away bowed deep gratitude, a grieving moment a thousand bees hum as One. This cycle ends even as another has begun. May is such a tender month that ends on a poignant note – ‘the travelers’ (migrating birds) bring in each day with a symphony, bare branches are budding, bloodroot unfurling, arbutus trailing, violet hearts breaking ground, Solomons seal, three lobed trillium, ajuga spikes, stately Jack in the pulpits, bouquets of buttery button marsh marigolds, trilling gray tree frogs, tadpoles swarming in the pond, one green frog I name Hunter is visiting with the tadpoles and hunting on warm stones. All this precedes the Crowning, which comes at the end of May when every fruit tree cluster opens her blossoms to the bees, and I become one with all there is under a flowering rose crabapple just outside my door. Between intoxicating scent and bee hum… we are bound as one. Today light rain breaks the stillness rustling leaves as I stand at the door watching withering blossoms, mauve, and burgundy, pale pink and pearl white petals drift reluctantly to the ground. Yet under every fruit tree summer snow tears will nourish mycelial threads, worm rich soil and the fungal network below. Although this isn’t the end of spring, the crowning of the fruit trees has been accomplished, and I am never ready to let go. The next round has already begun with the rain that turns each deciduous leaf a deeper shade of emerald or lime. All deciduous tree limbs sway gracefully bending with butterfly leaves that bow to airy southern breezes. Hay Ferns create a graceful edging inviting me down a mossy path to listen to the soothing sound of water on stone. Maidenhair fern is still unfolding and mayapple blossoms come and go, five petaled flowers always hidden under scalloped umbrellas. Although some wildflowers like the trillium have gone by the forget me nots ajuga and columbine are just beginning, bleeding hearts arc and bow to the burgeoning green and my paths are thick with verdant almond leaves – wild lily of the valley is replacing the twinflowers along with pyrola bells and lady slippers and a thousand other ephemeral beauties. Later canada mayflowers and stars of bethlehem will grace the green. Lupine spires violet, blue, purple, pink and lavender become steeples in the field. Wild roses are still prickly canes. At the end of next month just as the solstice passes lemon lilies will mark one of the most endearing fragrances of the season. Milkweed balls not only bring in the butterflies but mark the last sweet fragrance when they appear in early July. After this there is a natural break for late July and August heat before fall wildflowers begin to bloom, pale blue and violet asters float through sprays of goldenrod, milkweed pods sail away in tiny parachutes, one seed makes a landing caught by a tree. Nature’s native plants move in perfect time with the seasonal changes. In another week I will take to the woods splitting my time between here and there. For the week of the Crowning and until the last petal drops, I am fully present to now, celebrating this jewel of field, stream and forest, my home. June is lady slipper month with delicate anemones still in bloom in shaded nooks, wild cucumber rounds, blue bead lilies, partridge berry trumpets. Too many to mention. Many woodland flowers will be pollinated by the same bumblebees that have been gracing fruit trees here. But not until the old – fashioned hydrangea blooms will they gather by the thousands to sing again in one collective hum bringing summer to an end. It fascinates me how nature plans for summer’s fierce light and heat – birds migrate, nest/give birth in the spring – all trees leaf out but native trees and shrubs and wildflowers bloom throughout the spring. Almost all have set seed by the solstice (with some exceptions). My cherry trees are already seeding up as are the buttery celandine. After the solstice the trees will shut down their photosynthesizing on hot summer afternoons… birds trees plants and other wildlife are still, resting – nature loves mornings and evenings – noonday she can do without – it’s the same with me! I am forever grateful that the forests hide rare wildflowers for those who cherish them. Gray frogs have been singing for two months; soon toads will be thrumming. In the lowlands hobblebush is birthing fruits that turn bittersweet or crimson. Some nesting warblers and other birds continue conversing with young; others like one titmouse is still lining a nest. Migration has peaked but this one is not a traveler. In the bogs the first orchids stick out fuzzy white and pale pink tongues. Pitcher plants seduce the unwary sending burgundy flowers into the air to attract their prey. Turtles dig deep in sand to lay their eggs. Viburnum clusters are blushing. There is so much to look forward to, and yet today I mourn one moon cycle that that passed by too soon… https://www.magoism.net/2014/12/meet-mago-contributor-sara-wright
(Poem) The Remembering by Dale Allen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWgsYQQnUtg&feature=youtu.be “I felt a long-lost part of me was being restored — that I was connecting to the deepest core of my being and finding power and strength beyond anything I had experienced. It bubbled up within me and turned my perception of our cultural mores upside-down. My foundational beliefs had been pried up just enough to allow me to access the vast and fecund psychic terrain beneath. I discovered the archetype of the Goddess.” The Remembering My heart is singing a song I have never heard, yet it is deeply familiar. The melody gambols like glistening sunlight on the river of my tears. Sweet delicate notes. I listen. The strength of the sound builds to symphonic rapture, lifts my spirit, tickles my feet to dancing and washes away my defeat. She courses through me, freeing me. Her voice becomes the music of my life. From the new book, “In Our Right Minds: On the Sacred Feminine, the Right Brain and Restoring Humanity’s Natural Balance” by Dale Allen https://www.magoism.net/2024/05/meet-mago-contributor-dale-allen
(Book Excerpt 2) Nun too Clever by Elaine Drew

[An excerpt from the the mystery novel Nun Too Clever, which looks at what life as a queen was really like for the fairytale maiden who landed the prince.] “You discovered a body, Your Excellency?” “Indeed I did.” “Where?” “At St. Wihtburh’s.” Had the bishop been saving this news to spring on me? Everyone knows that the abbey is under my protection. My mother was its founder. The thing that most unsettled me, though, is that a childhood friend is cloistered there. “What happened?” I asked. “I came across her in the stable. The nuns were at prayer—I had to take my own horse. They really don’t have enough servants there. So very disturbing.” “The lack of servants or the death, Your Excellency?” “Surely Your Royal Highness has been informed?” Was His Excellency gloating? He was one of those people who believes that information is power, and he wasn’t eager to lose his edge. I was too rattled to care. “Who?” I asked. “Her name was Elfwinne. A fairly recent arrival. From Mercia, they said.” I could breathe again. I hadn’t met the girl. Or thought I hadn’t, at the time. At least it wasn’t Athelflad. Death is ordinary enough, but not the way he described it. Stumbling across a body in a stable is unusual. It must have been an accident. The bishop agreed, although he couldn’t say for sure. Whatever the cause, short of murder, the matter could have waited to receive my attention. Nevertheless, it provided an excuse to get away from a tiresome evening. “Forgive me, Your Excellency. My lord,” I said, nodding to my two nearest table companions. “I must leave. St. Wihtburh’s—” “No need to burn your wits on my account,” said the old warrior. “It is my Christian duty,” I said, “to offer the sisters my support in view of this tragedy.” Was the girl’s death a tragedy? Probably not. The bishop knew this as well as I did. I hoped his vanity would shield him from realising I wanted to escape. It didn’t. He raised an eyebrow. He was offended. Before he could protest, I commanded a lad to saddle my horse. I cantered from the hall to gallop for the abbey. It was not a long ride, and I knew the route well, but hearing of a death had unnerved me. The fitful moonlight flickered on the woodland’s gnarly trees, bringing to life fearsome creatures. Ghouls writhe and monsters lurk in a forest at night. When I got to the abbey, shaken by my imagination, I wandered the grounds looking for Athelflad. I wanted my friend to fill me in on the sister’s death before I talked to the abbess. I’ve learned from sitting at the centre of power for the past ten years to get all the information I can get before I talk to anyone in authority. Stakeholders have more to lose and, therefore, more to hide. It took a while to find Athelflad. Candlelight in an outbuilding tipped me off. My friend was sitting at a writing table in the dilapidated little scriptorium, long neglected. The sisters found medicine more interesting than writing. Athelflad bent over a scrap of parchment scratching out letters. Had I been blindfolded, I could have recognised my friend by the subtle fragrance of incense that surrounded her. I knew she hadn’t come here to write; she wasn’t a writer. She came to the scriptorium and doodled when she wanted to be alone. Her face was drawn; her normal sparkle had dimmed like the December sun. The unsteady candlelight made it hard to read her expression. Without preliminary—we’d been friends too long for that—I asked her about the death. “It was shocking, Cynethrith. It was so unexpected.” Athelflad couldn’t quite collect her thoughts. “Tell me about the sister you lost.” “She was a gentlelady named Elfwinne. She had recently come to us. You might remember her from the old court. I heard she was a favourite before Egbert was crowned.” I remembered an Elfwinne, and not fondly. At first I didn’t believe that Athelflad was talking about the girl I had known, a malevolent little imp. The one I remembered had spent her days toadying to our previous queen, a poisoner who had dispatched her own husband with one of her concoctions. Accidentally, some thought. And it probably was, because the morning after her husband’s death the queen disappeared, Elfwinne in tow. It took years for Egbert and me to put the kingdom back together after King Beorhtric’s disastrous reign. “You say she was a gentlelady and a nun? That’s not the Elfwinne I remember.” “Don’t speak ill of the dead,” sniffed Athelflad, who never stops trying to make me a better person. The way she chided me this time, though, reminded me of a parent telling a child not to be too greedy at dinner. It was something said without thought. She toyed with her quill. Her mind was elsewhere. (To be continued) https://www.magoism.net/2013/07/meet-mago-contributor-elaine-drew/
(Prose) The Spirit of the Land by Sara Wright

I have been very ill for a week with a raging fever, blinding headaches so severe that for days on end I kept my face to the wall and the covers over my head to keep out the light, and yet even then no peace or possibility for uninterrupted sleep. This illness is intimately related to my body’s profound intolerance to sudden inexplicable NOISE. Hyper alert and rigid, poised for the next slam of door or cupboard, loud beeps at midnight, high pitched squeaks, unexplained clumsy thuds, ramming wood into a fire that is not lit until I am ready for bed at night, (and is therefore a totally useless form of heat in a freezing house) my body has been living on scream, and uninterrupted sleep has evaded me for two months. In heart pounding agony I begged for compromise. I yelled. Wept, sometimes uncontrollably. Towards the end, sleep deprivation created such a frightening internal state that I thought I was losing my mind. Initially I was convinced I could survive living with this insanity, but I was wrong. I suffer from both PTSD and a Generalized Anxiety Disorder both of which create an internal chaos when triggered by sudden inexplicable shattering sounds that are impossible to describe unless one suffers from them. This state of affairs first stole my energy and then swallowed my joy. I have become one of the walking dead. When this final physical flu “event” struck after weeks of daily headaches, heart pounding, dizziness, weakness, cascading weight loss, stumbling, falling, (just a few symptoms of sleep deprivation) a deep black despair penetrated every bone, sinew, muscle, paralyzing me. At that point my body made her final decision. “Get out, she screeched like a banshee – get out!” And mercifully, through an act of uncommon Grace, I will be getting out. Yesterday, after receiving news that my departure will occur soon, my body allowed herself to experience the depth of exhaustion she has been carrying for two months without being able to feel it. My poor body relaxed into this hard narrow bed that makes my spine ache – a military man’s bed. My eyes became heavy as I lay there (armed with protective professional ear protectors that I wear as long as I can stand them) and I felt myself drifting away as if on a great sea. Blessed sleep… Even the hideous clamor that shattered this moment of repose couldn’t kill the dream… I am with a generous and kind Being (without form and yet is also somehow there in some tangible way that I can see), who is singing the most beautiful poem to me as he is preparing some kind of Feast…I am following his words because I want desperately to remember the poem. It is cold and we are outdoors but I am warm and we are on the land that I love so much, land that borders a sea green red-willowed river. A sudden hideous BLAST awakens us, destroying the memory of most of the beautiful poem and song, but even as my two little dogs and I jump out of our skins involuntarily (now a daily/sometimes hourly norm) I am left with these final words from the poem: “For I am the Spirit of this Land, and you shall dine with me.” I kept repeating the words over and over in my head believing “Him” even as the rest of the day deteriorated into the usual chaos. Even today I feel as if I was touched by the Spirit of Place in a way that is beyond my comprehension. Working notes: I have always been a dreamer. Precognition, telepathy and the like are simple realities in my life as is the “knowing” that comes from understanding that this kind of dream speaks “truth” with a capital “T”. That I was given a gift by the Spirit of this Land is a given. To be touched by the force of Nature is to be gifted by a kind of Unconditional Love that “passes understanding.” What is particularly interesting to me as a feminist (eco – feminist) is that this Being is a male aspect of Nature. I am usually visited by the Feminine face of Nature in one of her myriad manifestations. In fact, with the exceptions of certain male deer, and most recently a beloved male bear I have never had a dream like this one. I am struck by this apparent anomaly. I think the most important lesson for me in this dream is to keep my heart open to Nature as a whole, S/HE who embraces both genders equally. It is my earnest prayer that I will be able to retain this opened mind. I am particularly grateful to one man who brought it to my attention that too often I lean towards the feminine and “forget” that men and women are truly equal in either human or divine guise. A second lesson is self – evident: Body, Soul and Spirit are One. To wound one is to wound them all. Perhaps, forever. (Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright.

(Special Post) To Contributors: Strengthening Our Roots by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

Dear Contributors, Do you know that Return to Mago (RTM) E*Magazine is entering its fifth year this fall? And, thanks to our collective effort, we are still growing! As of today, our contributors have grown to more than 130 in number and our readership is from about 140 countries around the world. We have some hundred email followers as well as Wordpress blog followers. We draw 3000-4000 clicks per month on average; that is no small accomplishment for a Goddess blog that is named after a yet-to-be heard word, Mago (the Great Goddess), and that began from scratch.
(Special Post) Discussion on Mother-Daughter Wound by Mago Circle Members

[Mago Circle members discussed and answered the question, “What do you think of this (the topic article below)? If you are a feminist, it is something that you would promote? If so, why? If not, why not?” The discussion took place on May 15, 2017 and shortly thereafter in The Mago Circle.] Topic Article: “For The Daughters Who Don’t Love Their Mothers – Screw Mother’s Day” by Sade Andria Zabala Everyone talks about a mother’s unconditional love. But what if it doesn’t exist? Daughters are socially expected to be close with their mothers. But are you one of the women who aren’t? Mother’s Day isn’t just for celebrating moms. It’s a day some of us dread because we are reminded we grew up (or are still) unloved, not good enough. (Read the whole article here.)
(Special Post 2) Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, or Spirituality? A Collective Writing

[Editor’s Note: This was first proposed in The Mago Circle, Facebook Group, on March 6, 2014. We have our voices together below and publish them in sequels. It is an ongoing project and we encourage our reader to join us! Submit yours today to Helen Hwang (magoism@gmail.com). Or visit and contact someone in Return to Mago’s Partner Organizations.] Harriet Ann Ellenberger I got involved with women’s liberation in the early 1970s, so involved that it became my life for many years. During those beginnings of what is now called “the second wave of feminism,” everything was new to us and everything was mushed together — the political, the economic, the intellectual, the emotional, the spiritual. I liked that a lot; it felt as if all the parts of myself were coming together. During that time, I learned something crucial the imagery and concepts of patriarchal religion justify and are embedded in the material structures of oppression. I don’t know which came first, institutionalized oppression (of everyone; I’m not speaking here only of women) or the religious expression of that oppression. All I’m certain of is that patriarchal religion permeates, for example, the Oxford English Dictionary, which I use all the time, in conjunction with Websters’ First New Intergalactic Wickedary of the English Language, conjured by Mary Daly in cahoots with Jane Caputi.

A PaGaian Wheel of the Year and Her Creativity by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an excerpt from Chapter 2 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. for larger image see: https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ Essentially a PaGaian Wheel of the Year celebrates Cosmogenesis – the unfolding of the Cosmos, none of which is separate from the unfolding of each unique place/region, and each unique being. This creativity of Cosmogenesis is celebrated through Earth-Sun relationship as it may be expressed and experienced within any region of our Planet. PaGaian ceremony expresses this with Triple Goddess Poetry understood to be metaphor for the creative dynamics unfolding the Cosmos. At the heart of the Earth-Sun relationship is the dance of light and dark, the waxing and waning of both these qualities, as Earth orbits around our Mother Sun. This dance, which results in the manifestation of form and its dissolution (as expressed in the seasons), happens because of Earth’s tilt in relationship with Sun: because this effects the intensity of regional receptivity to Sun’s energy over the period of the yearly orbit. This tilt was something that happened in the evolution of our planet in its earliest of days – some four and a half billion years ago,[i] and then stabilised over time: and the climatic zones were further formed when Antarctica separated from Australia and South America, giving birth to the Antarctica Circumpolar Current, changing the circulation of water around all the continents … just some thirty million years ago.[ii] Within the period since then, which also saw the advent of the earliest humans, Earth has gone through many climatic changes. It is likely that throughout those changes, the dance of light and dark in both hemispheres of the planet … one always the opposite of the other – has been fairly stable and predictable. The resultant effect on flora and fauna regionally however has varied enormously depending on many other factors of Earth’s ever-changing ecology: She is an alive Planet who continues to move and re-shape Herself. She is Herself subject to the cosmic dynamics of creativity – the forming and the dissolving and the re-emerging. The earliest of humans must have received all this, ‘observed’ it in a very participatory way: that is, not as a Western industrialized or dualistic mind would think of ‘observation’ today, but as kin with the events – identifying with their own experience of coming into being and passing away. There is evidence (as of this writing) to suggest that humans have expressed awareness of, and response to, the phenomenon of coming into being and passing away, as early as one hundred thousand years ago: ritual burial sites of that age have been found,[iii] and more recently a site of ongoing ritual activity as old as seventy thousand years has been found.[iv] The ceremonial celebration of the phenomenon of seasons probably came much later, particularly perhaps when humans began to settle down. These ceremonial celebrations of seasons apparently continued to reflect the awesomeness of existence as well as the marking of transitions of Sun back and forth across the horizon, which became an important method of telling the time for planting and harvesting and the movement of pastoral animals. It seems that the resultant effect of the dance of light and dark on regional flora and fauna, has been fairly stable in recent millennia, the period during which many current Earth-based religious practices and expression arose. In our times, that is changing again. Humans have been, and are, a major part of bringing that change about. Ever since we migrated around the planet, humans have brought change, as any creature would: but humans have gained advantage and distinguished themselves by toolmaking, and increasingly domesticating/harnessing more of Earth’s powers – fire being perhaps the first, and this also aided our migration. In recent times this harnessing/appropriating of Earth’s powers became more intense and at the same time our numbers dramatically increased: and many of us filled with hubris, acting without consciousness or care of our relational context. We are currently living in times when our planet is tangibly and visibly transforming: the seasons themselves as we have known them for millennia – as anyone’s ancestors knew them – appear to be changing in most if not all regions of our Planet. Much predictable Poetry – sacred language – for expressing the quality of the Seasonal Moments will change, as regional flora changes, as the movement of animals and birds and sea creatures changes, as economies change.[v]In Earth’s long story regional seasonal manifestation has changed before, but not so dramatically since the advent of much current Poetic expression for these transitions, as mixed as they are with layers of metaphor: that is, with layers of mythic eras, cultures and economies. We may learn and understand the traditional significance of much of the Poetry, the ceremony and symbol – the art – through which we could relate and converse with our place, as our ancestors may have done, but it will continue to evolve as all language must. In PaGaian Cosmology I have adapted the Wheel as a way of celebrating the Female Metaphor and also as a way of celebrating Cosmogenesis, the Creativity that is present really/actually in every moment, but for which the Seasonal Moments provide a pattern/Poetry over the period of a year – in time and place. The pattern that I unfold is a way in which the three different phases/characteristics interplay. In fact, the way in which they interplay seems infinite, the way they inter-relate is deeply complex. I think it is possible to find many ways to celebrate them. There is nothing concrete about the chosen story/Poetry, nor about each of the scripts presented here, just as there is nothing concrete about the Place of Being – it (She) is always relational, a Dynamic Interchange. Whilst being grounded in the “Real,” the Poetry chosen for expression is therefore at the same time, a potentially infinite expression, according to the heart and mind of the storyteller. NOTES: [i] See Appendix C, *(6), Glenys Livingstone, A Poiesis of the Creative …
(Essay) The Emergence celebrated at Spring Equinox by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

The Spring Equinox Moment occurs September 21-23 Southern Hemisphere, March 21-23 Northern Hemisphere. The full story of Spring Equinox is expressed in the full flower connected to the seed fresh from the earth; that is, it is a story of emergence from the dark, from a journey, perhaps long, perhaps short, through challenging places. The joy of the blossoming is rooted in the journey through the dark, and an acknowledgement of the dark’s fertile gift, as well as of great achievement in having made it, of having returned. Both Equinoxes, Spring and Autumn, celebrate this sacred balance of grief and joy, light and dark, and they are both celebrations of the mystery of the seed. The seed is essentially the deep Creativity within – that manifests in the Spring as flower, or green emerged One. the full story: the root and the flower As the new young light continues to grow at this time of Spring, it comes into balance with the dark at Spring Equinox, or ‘Eostar’ as it may be named; about to tip further into light when light will dominate the day. The trend at this Equinox is toward increasing hours of light: and thus it is about the power of being – life is stepping into it. Earth in this region is tilting further toward the Sun. Traditionally it may be storied as the joyful celebration of a Lost Beloved One, who may be represented by the Persephone story: She is a shamanic figure who is known for Her journey to the Underworld, and who at this time of Spring Equinox returns. Her Mother Demeter who has waited and longed for Her in deep grief, rejoices and so do all: warmth and growth return to the land. Persephone, the Beloved Daughter, the Seed, has navigated the darkness successfully, has enriched it with Her presence and also gained its riches. Eostar/Spring Equinox is the magic of the unexpected, yet long awaited, green emergence from under the ground, and then the flower: this emergence is especially profound as it is from a seed that has lain dormant for months or longer – much like the magic of desert blooms after long periods of drought. The name of “Eostar” comes from the Saxon Goddess Eostre/Ostara, the northern form of the Sumerian Astarte[i]. The Christian festival in the Spring, was named “Easter” as of the Middle Ages, appropriating Goddess/Earth tradition. The date of Easter, which is set for Northern Hemispheric seasons, is still based on the lunar/menstrual calendar; that is, the 1st Sunday after the first full Moon after Spring Equinox. In Australia where I am, “Easter” is celebrated in Autumn (!) by mainstream culture, so we have the spectacle of fluffy chickens, chocolate eggs and rabbits in the shops at that time. There are other names for “Eostar” in other places …the Welsh name for the Spring Equinox celebration is Eilir, meaning ‘regeneration’ or ‘spring’ – or ‘earth’[ii]. In my own PaGaian tradition, the Spring Equinox celebration is based on the Demeter and Persephone story, the version that is understand as pre-patriarchal, from Old Europe. In the oldest stories, Persephone has agency in Her descent: She descends to the underworld voluntarily as a courageous seeker of wisdom, and a compassionate receiver of the dead. She represents, and IS, the Seed of Life that never fades away. Spring Equinox is a celebration of Her return, Life’s continual return, and thus also our personal and collective emergences/returns.We may contemplate the collective emergence/returns especially in our times. I describe Persephone as a “hera”, which of old was a term for any courageous One. “Hera” was a pre-Hellenic name for the Goddess in general[iii]. “Hera” was the indigenous Queen Goddess of pre-Olympic Greece, before She was married off to Zeus. “Hero” was a term for the brave male Heracles who carried out tasks for his Goddess Hera: “The derivative form ‘heroine’ is therefore completely unnecessary”[iv]. “Hera” may be used as a term for any courageous individual: and participants in PaGaian Spring Equinox ceremony have named themselves this way. The pre-“Olympic” games of Greece were Hera’s games, held at Her Heraion/temple[v]. The winners were “heras” – gaining the status of being like Her[vi]. At the time of Spring Equinox, we may celebrate the Persephone, the Hera, the Courageous One, who steps with new wisdom, into power of being: the organic power that all beings must have, Gaian power, the power of the Cosmos. This Seasonal ceremony may be a rejoicing in how we have made it through great challenges and loss, faced our fears and our demise (in its various forms), had ‘close shaves’ – perhaps physically as well as psychicly and emotionally. It is a time to welcome back that which was lost, and step into the strength of being. Spring Equinox/Eostar is the time for enjoying the fruits of the descent, of the journey taken into the darkness: return is now certain, not tentative as it was in the Early Spring/Imbolc. Demeter, the Mother, receives the Persephones, Lost Beloved Ones, joyously. This may be understood as an individual experience, but also as a collective experience – as we emerge into a new Era as a species. Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme speak of the ending of the sixty-five million year geological Era – the Cenozoic Era – in our times, and our possible emergence into an Ecozoic Era. They describe the Ecozoic Era as a time when “the curvature of the universe, the curvature of the earth, and the curvature of the human are once more in their proper relation”[vii]. Joanna Macy speaks of the “Great Turning” of our times[viii]. Collectively we have been away from the Mother for some time and there is a lot of pain. At this time we may contemplate not only our own individual lost wanderings, but also that of the human species. We are part of a much bigger Return that is happening. The Beloved One may be understood as returning on a collective level: …
(Video) Autumn Equinox/Mabon Poetry by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

The Autumnal Equinox occurs each year in the range of March 20-23 in the Southern Hemisphere, and in the range of September 20 -23 in the Northern Hemisphere. Autumn Equinox is a point of sacred balance: it is the point of balance in the dark part of Earth’s annual cycle. Sun is equidistant between North and South as it was/is at Spring Equinox, but in this dark phase of the cycle, the trend is toward increasing dark. Henceforth the dark part of the day will exceed the light part: thus it is a Moment of certain descent … and a sacred Moment for feeling and contemplating the grief and power of loss, for ceremoniously joining personal and collective grief and loss with the larger Self in whom we are. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcZflKLkvP8 Below is the text of the video. It is based on the traditional poetry for PaGaian Autumn Equinox/Mabon ceremony[i]. This is the Moment of the Autumnal Equinox in our Hemisphere – the moment of balance of light and dark in the dark part of the cycle. The light and dark parts of the day in the South and in the North of our planet, are of equal length at this time. We feel for the balance in this moment – Earth as She is poised in relationship with the Sun … breathing in the light, swelling with it, letting our breath go to the dark, staying with it. In our part of Earth, the balance is tipping into the dark. We remember the coolness of it. This is the time when we give thanks for our harvests – all that we have gained. And we remember too the sorrows, losses involved. The story of Old tells us that Persephone, Beloved Daughter, is given the wheat from Her Mother – the Mystery, knowledge of life and death. She receives it graciously. But she sets forth into the darkness – both Mother and Daughter grieve that it is so. Demeter, the Mother, says: “You are offered the wheat in every moment … I let you go as Child, most loved of Mine: you descend to Wisdom, to Sovereignty. You will return as Mother, co-Creator with me. You are the Seed in the Fruit, becoming the Fruit in the Seed. Inner Wisdom guides your path.” We give thanks for our harvests – our lives they are blessed. We are Daughters and Sons of the Mother. Yet we take our Wisdom and all that we have gained, and remember the sorrows – the losses involved. We remember the grief of the Mother, of mothers and lovers everywhere, our grief. Persephone descends. The Beloved One is lost. Persephone goes forth into the darkness to become Queen of that world. She tends the sorrows. The Seed represents our Persephones, who tends the sorrows – we are the Persephones, who may tend the sorrows. We go out into the night with Her and plant our seeds. Persephone blesses us with her fertile promise: “You have waxed into the fullness of life, And waned into darkness; May you be renewed in tranquility and wisdom[ii].” These represent our hope. The Seed of life never fades away. She is always present. Blessed be the Mother of all life. Blessed be the life that comes from Her and returns to Her. We tie red threads on each other: we participate in the Vision of the Seed – of the continuity of Life, that continues beneath the visible. The Mother knowledge grows within us. Our hope is in the Sacred Balance of the Cosmos – the Thread of Life, the Seed that never fades away: it is the Balance of Grief and Joy, the Care that we may feel in our Hearts. NOTES: [i] Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology, p. 239-247. [ii] Charlene Spretrnak, Lost Goddesses of Early Greece, p. 116. REFERENCES: Livingstone, Glenys. PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. NE: iUniverse, 2005. Spretnak, Charlene. Lost Goddesses of Early Greece: a Collection of Pre-Hellenic Myths. Boston: Beacon Press, 1992/1978.
Lammas/Late Summer in PaGaian tradition By Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from Chapter 5 of the author’s book PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. Traditionally the dates for this Seasonal Moment are: Southern Hemisphere – Feb. 1st/2nd Northern Hemisphere – August 1st/2nd however the actual astronomical date varies. See archaeoastronomy.com for the actual moment. Lammas table/altar Lammas, as it is often called[1], is the meridian point of the first dark quarter of the year, between Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox; it is after the light phase has peaked and is complete, and as such, I choose it as a special celebration of the Crone/Old One. Within the Celtic tradition, it is the wake of Lugh, the Sun King, and it is the Crone that reaps him. But within earlier Goddess traditions, all the transformations were Hers[2]; and the community reflected on the reality that the Mother aspect of the Goddess, having come to fruition, from Lammas on would enter the Earth and slowly become transformed into the Old Woman-Hecate-Cailleach aspect …[3] I dedicate Lammas to the face of the Old One, just as Imbolc, its polar opposite on the Wheel in Old European tradition, is dedicated to the Virgin/Maiden face. The Old One, the Dark and Shining One, has been much maligned, so to celebrate Her can be more of a challenge in our present cultural context. Lammas may be an opportunity to re-aquaint ourselves with the Crone in her purity, to fall in love with Her again. I state the purpose of the seasonal gathering thus: This is the season of the waxing dark. The seed of darkness born at the Summer Solstice now grows … the dark part of the days grows visibly longer. Earth’s tilt is taking us back away from the Sun. This is the time when we celebrate dissolution; each unique self lets go, to the Darkness. It is the time of ending, when the grain, the fruit, is harvested. We meet to remember the Dark Sentience, the All-Nourishing Abyss, She from whom we arise, in whom we are immersed, and to whom we return. This is the time of the Crone, the Wise Dark One, who accepts and receives our harvest, who grinds the grain, who dismantles what has gone before. She is Hecate, Lillith, Medusa, Kali, Erishkagel,Chamunda, Coatlique – Divine Compassionate One, She Who Creates the Space to Be. We meet to accept Her transformative embrace, trusting Her knowing, which is beyond all knowledge. Lammas is the seasonal moment for recognizing that we dissolve into the “night” of the Larger Organism of whom we are part – Gaia. It is She who is immortal, from whom we arise, and into whom we dissolve. This celebration is a development of what was born in the transition of Summer Solstice; the dark sentient Source of Creativity is honoured. The autopoietic space in us recognizes Her, is comforted by Her, desires Her self-transcendence and self-dissolution; Lammas is an opportunity to be with our organism’s love of Larger Self – this Native Place. We have been taught to fear Her, but at this Seasonal Moment we may remember that She is the compassionate One, deeply committed to transformation, which is actually innate to us. Whereas at Imbolc/Early Spring, we shone forth as individual, multiforms of Her; at Lammas, we small individual selves remember that we are She and dissolve back into Her. We are the Promise of Lifeas was affirmed at Imbolc, but we are the Promise of Her- it is not ours to hold. We identify as the sacred Harvest at Lammas; our individual harvest isHer Harvest. We are the process itself – we are Gaia’s Process. Wedo not breathe (though of course we do), we borrow the breath, for a while. It is like a relay: we pick the breath up, create what we do during our time with it, and pass it on. The harvest we reap in our individual lives is important, andit is for us only short term; it belongs to the Cosmos in the long term. Lammas is a time for “making sacred” – as “sacrifice” may be understood; we may “make sacred” ourselves. As Imbolc was a time for dedication, so is Lammas. This is the wisdom of the phase of the Old One. She is the aspect that finds the “yes” to letting go, to loving the Larger Self, beyond all knowledge, and steps into the power of the Abyss; encouraged and nourished by the harvest, She will gradually move into the balance of Autumn Equinox/Mabon, the next Sesaonal Moment on the year’s cycle. References: Durdin-Robertson, Lawrence. The Year of the Goddess.Wellingborough: Aquarian Press, 1990. Gray, Susan. The Woman’s Book of Runes.New York: Barnes and Noble, 1999. Livingstone, Glenys. PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. NE: iUniverse, 2005. McLean, Adam. The Four Fire Festivals. Edinburgh: Megalithic Research Publications, 1979. Notes: [1]See note 3. [2]Susan Gray, The Woman’s Book of Runes,p. 18. This is also to say that the transformations are within each being, not elsewhere, that is the “sacrifice” is not carried out by another external to the self, as could be and have been interpreted from stories of Lugh or Jesus. [3]Lawrence Durdin-Robertson, The Year of the Goddess, p.143, quoting Adam McLean, Fire Festivals,p.20-22. Another indication of the earlier tradition beneath “Lughnasad” is the other name for it in Ireland of “Tailltean Games”. Taillte was said to be Lugh’s foster-mother, and it was her death that was being commemmorated (Mike Nichols, “The First Harvest”, Pagan Alliance Newsletter NSW Australia). The name “Tailtunasad” has been suggested for this Seasonal Moment, by Cheryl Straffon editor of Goddess Alive! I prefer the name of Lammas, although some think it is a Christian term: however some sources say that Lammas means “feast of the bread” which is how I have understood it, and surely such a feast pre-dates Christianity. It is my opinion that the incoming Christians preferred “Lammas” to “Lughnasad”: the term itself is not Christian in origin. The evolution of all these things is complex, and we may evolve them further with our careful thoughts and experience.
(Poem) Samhain by Annie Finch

In the season leaves should love, since it gives them leave to move through the wind, towards the ground they were watching while they hung, legend says there is a seam stitching darkness like a name. Now when dying grasses veil earth from the sky in one last pale wave, as autumn dies to bring winter back, and then the spring, we who die ourselves can peel back another kind of veil that hangs among us like thick smoke. Tonight at last I feel it shake. I feel the nights stretching away thousands long behind the days, till they reach the darkness where all of me is ancestor. I turn my hand and feel a touch move with me, and when I brush my young mind across another, I have met my mother’s mother. Sure as footsteps in my waiting self, I find her, and she brings arms that hold answers for me, intimate, waiting, bounty: “Carry me.” She leaves this trail through a shudder of the veil, and leaves, like amber where she stays, a gift for her perpetual gaze. From Eve (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2010) (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch
The Ceremonial Creative Cosmos by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an excerpt from Chapter 3 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. The Cosmos is a ceremony, a ritual. Dawn and dusk, seasons, supernovas – it is an ongoing Event of coming into being and passing away. The Cosmos is always in flux, and we exist as participants in this great ritual event, this “cosmic ceremony of seasonal and diurnal rhythms” which frame “epochal dramas of becoming,” as Charlene Spretnak describes it.[i] Swimme and Berry describe the universe as a dramatic reality, a Great Conversation of announcement and response.[ii]Ritual/ceremony[iii] may be the human conscious response to the announcements of the Universe – an act of conscious participation. Ceremony then may be understood as a microcosmos[iv] – a human-sized replication of the Drama, the Dynamic we find ourselves in. Swimme and Berry describe ritual as an ancient response humans have to the awesome experience of witnessing the coming to be and the passing away of things; they say that a “ritual mode of expression” is from its beginning “the manner in which humans respond to the universe, just as birds respond by flying or as fish respond by swimming.”[v] It is the way in which we as humans, as a species, may respond to this awesome experience of being and becoming, how we may hold the beauty and the terror. Humans have exhibited this tendency to ritualize since the earliest times of our unfolding: evidence so far reveals burial sites dating back one hundred thousand years, as mentioned in the previous chapter. We often went to huge effort in these matters, that is almost incomprehensible to the modern industrialised econocentric mind: the precise placing of huge stones in circles such as found at Stonehenge and the creation of complex sites such as Silbury Hill may be expressions of some priority, indicating that econocentric thinking – such as tool making, finding shelter and food, was not enough or not separate from the participation in Cosmic events. Ritual seems to have expressed, and still does actively express for some peoples, something essential to the human – a way of being integral with our Cosmic Place, which was not perceived as separate from material sustenance, the Source of existence: thus it was a way perhaps of sensing “meaning” as it might be termed these days – or “relationship.” Swimme and Berry note that the order of the Universe has been experienced especially in the seasonal sequence of dissolution and renewal; this most basic pattern has been an ultimate referent for existence.[vi] The seasonal pattern contains within it the most basic dynamics of the Cosmos – desire, fullfilment, loss, transformation, creation, growth, and more. The annual ceremonial celebration of the seasonal wheel – the Earth-Sun sacred site within which we tour – can be a pathway to the Centre of these dynamics, a way of making sense of the pattern, a way of sensing it. One enters the Universe’s story. The Seasonal Moments when marked and celebrated in the art form of ceremony may be sens-ible ‘gateways’ through the flesh of the world[vii] to the Centre – which is omnipresent Creativity. Humans do ritual everyday – we really can’t help ourselves. It is simply a question of what rituals we do, what story we are telling ourselves, what we are “spelling”[viii] ourselves with – individually and collectively. Ceremony is actually ‘doing,’ not just theorizing. We can talk about our personal and cultural disconnection endlessly, but we need to actually change our minds. Ceremony can be an enabling practice – a catalyst/practice for personal and cultural change. It is not just talking about eating the pear, it is eating the pear; it is not just talking about sitting on the cushion (meditating), it is sittingon the cushion. It is a cultural practice wherein we tell a story/stories about what we believe to be so most deeply, about who and what we are. Ceremony can be a place for practicing a new language, a new way of speaking, or spelling – a place for practicing “matristic storytelling”[ix] if you like: that is, for telling stories of the Mother, of Earth and Cosmos as if She were alive and sentient. We can “play like we know it,” so that we may come to know it.[x] Ceremony then is a form of social action. NOTES: [i] Spretnak, States of Grace, 145. [ii] Swimme and Berry, The Universe Story, 153. [iii] I will use either or both of these terms at different times: I generally prefer “ceremony” as Kathy Jones defines it in Priestess of Avalon, Priestess of the Goddess, 319. She says that ritual involves a repeated set of actions which may contain spiritual or “mundane” elements (such as a daily ritual of brushing one’s teeth), “whereas ceremony is always a spiritual practice and may or may not include ritual elements.” The PaGaian seasonal celebrations/events are thus most kin to “ceremony,” although I do not perceive any action as “mundane.” However, “ritual” is more commonly used to speak of how humans have conversed with cosmos/Earth. [iv] Spretnak, States of Grace, 145. [v] Swimme and Berry, The Universe Story, 152-153. [vi] Ibid. [vii] Abram speaks of “matter as flesh” in The Spell of the Sensuous, 66, citing Maurice Merleau-Ponty, The Invisible and the Invisible (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1968). [viii] Starhawk used this term on her email list in 2004 to describe the story-telling we might do to bring forth the changes we desire. [ix] A term used by Gloria Feman Orenstein in The Reflowering of the Goddess (New York: Pergamon Press, 1990), 147. [x] As my doctoral thesis supervisor Dr. Susan Murphy once described it to me in conversation REFERENCES: Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous. New York: Vintage Books, 1997. Jones, Kathy. Priestess of Avalon, Priestess of the Goddess. Glastonbury: Ariadne Publications, 2006. Orenstein, Gloria Feman. The Reflowering of the Goddess. New York: Pergamon Press, 1990. Spretnak, Charlene. States of Grace: The Recovery of Meaning in the Postmodern Age. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1993. Swimme, Brian and Berry, Thomas. The Universe Story: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era. New York: HarperCollins, 1992.

(Bell Essay 8) The Magoist Whale Bell: Decoding the Cetacean Code of Korean Temple Bells by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note: This and ensuing sequels are excerpts of a new development from the original essay sequels on Korean Temple Bells and Magoism that first published January 11, 2013 in this current magazine. See (Bell Essay 1) Ancient Korean Bells and Magoism by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang.] Singing Humpback Whales, wikimedia commons Whales as the Cosmic Music Maker That whales (Gorae in Korean) are foundational to the Korean temple bell remains subliminal to this day. How do we assess the cetacean code of the Korean temple bell? What is the relationship between these two seemingly unrelated objects? We are given the whale-shaped mallet of the bell to begin with. Intriguingly, two Buddhist temples are noted today for the wooden whale-carved mallet of their bells: Sudeok-sa in Yesan, South Chungcheong, and Seonam-sa in Suncheon, South Jeolla.[1] Other temple bells reportedly have the whale mallet as well, although not as much distinctly carved as the two. The Divine Bell of King Seongdeok the Great is known as such. What is the significance of the Korean temple bell that has a whale as its striker? However, the whale-shaped wooden mallet is only a visible symbol of Sillan cetacean veneration. The whale motif is not just physically present in the mallet but also signified in its name or title. Among many alternative names of the Korean temple bell are cetacean names; Janggyeong (長鯨 Eternal Whale), Gyeongjong (鯨鐘 Whale Bell), Hwagyeong (華鯨 Splendid Whale), and Geogyeong (巨鯨 Gigantic Whale). Here the character “gyeong 鯨” means a whale.[2] These whale names suggest that the bell itself is conceived as a whale. Korean temple bells are the code of Magoist cetaceanism. By the very nature of a temple bell that is to awaken all beings to put it bluntly, we can establish that the sound of a whale is elevated to the purpose of a temple bell. Or vice versa. The sound of a temple bell is identified as that of a whale. At the outset, suffice it to say that whales are admired and revered for their vocal behaviors so much so that they are represented in Sillan temple bells. The cetacean representation of the Korean temple bell comes unexpected to us. Why is the song of a whale not the song of a bird or another animal? And what does it mean that the Korean temple bell employs cetacean names? These are no small questions. Answering them requires digging into the deepest layer of what has gone under the surface about Magoist Korean whale culture. I have discussed elsewhere in detail about how Korean cetaceanism is steeped in linguistics, myths, place-names, and custom.[3] For the immensity and complexity of the topic, this essay leaves out the discussion of such salient features of whales as their pre-human origin, evolution from land to sea, sizes and trans-oceanic migratory journeys. Summarily, whales connect and bridge the human mind beyond anthropocentrism. Here we will focus on how cetacean veneration is encoded in the Korean temple bell, in particular the sound tube. Ancient Korean Magoists deemed whales as the cosmic music makers. The cetacean names of Korean temple bells redefine the bell as the acoustic instrument that conveys the music of whales. Note the plural in bells and whales. Korean temple bells are meant to be recognized as a chorus, like whales in the sea, to respond to the sonic property of all beings. In fact, the Korean temple bell is never an isolated single sound wave, to be discussed below. What is emitted from both is harmonized music. It is noted that the music of whales can travel hundreds of kilometers underwater.[4] That the song of whales travel as far as hundreds of kilometers underwater is juxtaposed with the sound of the Korean temple bells that travel far. The former is transmitted through water waves, while the latter is transmitted through air waves. Humpback Whales Whales compose music. Among cetacean species, known for their vocalizations are the blue whale, the fin whale, the humpback whale, the minke whale, and the killer whale.[5] In particular, such baleen whales as humpback whales and blue whales have been relatively well studied for their vocalizing behaviors. The range of humpback whales’ sound frequencies is known as follows: The range of frequencies that whales use are [sic] from 30 Hertz (Hz) to about 8,000 Hz, (8 kHZ). Humans can only hear part of the whales’s songs. We aren’t able to hear the lowest of the whale frequencies. Humans hear low frequency sounds starting at about 100 Hz.[6] In comparisons, the vocalizations of blue whales are known to range from 10 to 40 Hz at a fundamental frequency (the lowest frequency of a periodic waveform). It is also noted that blue whales off the coast of Sri Lanka make music of “four notes duration lasting about two minutes each, reminiscent of the well-known humpback whale songs.”[7] To be discussed below, the frequencies of the two most noted Korean temple bells range from 65 Hz to 103.02 Hz, which fall within the range of these whales’ vocalizations. A significant volume of scientific research has been harvested on the music of humpback whales. Katy and Roger Payne are, according to an article by Bill McQuay and Alison Richards, the first scientists who identified the calls of male humpback whales as songs.[8] They report that humpback whales do not merely sing but compose music. McQuay and Richards describe the song of humpback whales as follows: Surprisingly researchers have noted that at any given moment all males in a group will sing the same version of a song, even when separated over large distances, while whales in another region or hemisphere will sing a completely different song, but in unison with other whales in their area. These sounds are loud, deep and low-frequency (20Hz – 10 kHz). They can be heard many miles away and may go on for hours or even days. Individual songs can last anywhere from a few minutes up to a half hour at which point they may then be repeated again. …
(Mago Stronghold Essay 1) The Forgotten Primordial Paradise by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

Part I Multivalent Meaning of Mago Stronghold Mago Stronghold (麻姑城, Mago-seong) refers to the center of the world (axis mundi) in the Magoist Cosmogony. It is a metaphor for the Source/Origin/Womb of Life for terrestrial beings. Mago Stronghold represents the forgotten paradise of the Great Goddess in patriarchy. In patriarchal times, it has become a code to unlock the hidden S/HE Reality. As one’s life in the body and mind is the very proof for the first mother, “Mago,” from whom one comes, the existence of Mago Stronghold in toponym and meaning is the very token to prove vital for the primordial home of terrestrial beings, also called the Earth. The Mago Stronghold talk, upon being fully deciphered, merits the bird’s eye view of human history from the cosmogonic beginning of the Great Goddess to this day. Its message is, among others, we are NOT locked out from the blissful time of S/HE beginning. We are NOT disconnected from our ancestors and deities. And we are NOT substantively different from our non-human sojourns. All in WE are found in Mago Stronghold. I present my investigation of Mago Stronghold, rather than a new theory, as an alternative mode of perceiving reality. The Mago Stronghold talk answers the ultimate question of “who I am” as a person and why we are here in our life journey. It is meant to engender metamorphosis, the process of awakening and navigating in S/HE Reality, for both an individual and the collective. We realize that no one is bound to patriarchal reality except those who create it. WE are HERE/NOW. However, the full-fledged implication of Mago Stronghold can’t be unveiled without naming the systemic working of mental blocks and lifting the limit. Official (read patriarchal) historiography is not the place where we nest our conversation. Linear thinking can’t help us arrive at the Scene. Thinking within ethnocentric and nationalist grids is among the mental blocks. We are invited to explore a whole new/old/original way of seeing and knowing matters. You and I across cultures, nationalities, and geographies have a lot in common to talk and think about. Precisely, the Mago Stronghold talk bridges the gap among moderns. Its implication is NOT confined to Korea or East Asia. One may wonder how it is so? The concept of Mago Stronghold, remembered by East Asian Magoists, concerns the common origin of all beings on Earth. Discourse on the Great Goddess/Primordial Mother/Creatrix can’t be parochial by nature. It maps out the gynocentric consciousness of WE, which redefines national/cultural identities as consanguineous. The Mago Stronghold talk works at multi-dimensions crisscrossing and connecting the personal and the collective, the local and the universal, and the physical and the symbolic. Mago Stronghold found across Korea and China is no ordinary cultural or historical landmark. It is also equated with Mago Mountain or Triad Mountain. The extant toponym of Mago Stronghold is a door to the Other Realm of the Great Goddess. Precisely, it signifies the Primordial/Perennial Home for not only the Mago Clan (Mago and HER divine and human descendants) but also all terrestrial beings, according to the Magoist Cosmogony. “Mago Stronghold” is an eponym for such socio-natural-architectural variations as castles, citadels, mountain villages, fortresses, stone walls, earthen walls, and ultimately the Earth. It is etiological, explaining the gynocentric origin of the axis mundi and the sacred mountain reverence known in many ancient worlds. Macrocosmically, Mago Stronghold refers to the Earth, the Splendid Land of the Primordial Mother. Residing in the Big Dipper (Seven Stars),[1] Mago governs the solar system and chooses the Earth as HER Garden.[2] S/HE delegates HER divine and human offspring to cultivate sonic resonance in harmony with cosmic music. In that sense, Earth IS HER Civilization. Its literal meaning, the Stronghold of the Great Goddess, conveys that all Earth’s civilizations are born of the Great Goddess. The Mago Civilization of Earth is aligned with the Law of Nature established by the marvelous working of the Great Goddess. Nature reflects HER Majestic Work. When the Creatrix (Cosmogonic Matrix) is made unthinkable, if not erased, in the course of patriarchal mytho-history, Mago Stronghold stands as an enigmatic cultural icon. It comes to us as a code to decipher. Much is to be unveiled for HER Paradise to be reinstated in the collective mind of humanity. Euphemisms that are severed from the Magoist implication in the course of history are linked back to the original Magoist words. The Mago Stronghold Code enchants us to the holistic view of the Great Goddess, the WE consciousness in S/HE, that is tabooed in patriarchy. Reminding people of the common origin from the Primordial Mother, Mago Stronghold opens a new horizon of the gynocentric reality, WE/HERE/NOW. We have been part of the Grand Plan of the Great Goddess. When it comes to the female, official historiography, which is after all a product of the patriarchal dominant group, offers little to, if not obstructs, the researcher. The history it calls is nothing other than a self-aggrandizing distorted view of the past events, or rather an imposed false view of the past by patriarchal colonizers. Patriarchal history should be called pseudo-history. It concerns not truth but domination and self-expansion. The history of self-sharers/altruists/Magoists never dies for it is about re-membering of all in WE. What happened is never left unanimated, according to the Law of Nature. It can’t be erased, for truth is the language of Life. As such, the collective memory that ancient (read pre-patriarchal) Magoists were the bearers of the Magoist royal lineage has survived official East Asian (read Sinocentric) historiography. It is imbued in such socio-cultural data as lore, literature, art, and place-names, as well as the so-called apocryphal texts. My task here is to decode the meaning of Mago Stronghold, unearthing non-official data and reading them between the lines of written records. (To be continued) See Meet Mago Contributor Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D. [1] The Big Dipper (Seven Stars) is favored by Koreans. Triad Deity (Samsin), another name for Mago, is …
(Book Excerpt 5) The Mago Way by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note] The following is from Chapter One, “What Is Mago and Magoism and How Did I Study HER?” from The Mago Way: Re-discovering Mago, the Great Goddess from East Asia, Volume 1. Footnotes below would be different from the monograph version. PDF book of The Mago Way Volume 1 download is available for free here.] How My Education and Experience Helped Me Study Mago The topic of Mago came to me in time for writing my doctoral dissertation for the Women’s Studies in Religion program that I was enrolled in at Claremont Graduate University. My graduate education, which I crafted to be a feminist cross-cultural alchemical process of de-educating myself from the patriarchal mode of knowledge-making, led me to encounter the hitherto unheard-of Goddess of East Asia, Mago. I came to read the Budoji, the principal text of Magoism, in 2000 and did some basic research to find out that Mago was known among people in Korea and that S/HE was also found in Chinese and Japanese sources.

Month: March 2016

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