July 12, 2024June 30, 2024 Carolyn BoydLeave a comment

(Essay) A Cardinal Comes Calling by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Recently, a cardinal came to me and in only a few seconds and without words conveyed to me a simple message that brought comfort and solace, but also expressed how Read More …

July 11, 2024June 24, 2024 Mago WorkLeave a comment

(Book Excerpt 5) Rainbow Goddess: Celebrating Neurodiversity ed. by K. L. Aldred, P. Daly, T Albanna, and Trista Hendren

[Editor’s Note: This anthology was published by Girl God Books (2022).] “Neurodiversity Holds Keys to Unlock Patriarchal Prisons” by Trinity Shea Thomas Great news! Neurodiversity (ND) holds keys to unlock Read More …

July 10, 2024July 11, 2024 ANewvineLeave a comment

(Music) Spirit Walk by Alison Newvine

“The eagle within me Speaks of peace and courage The mountain within me Speaks of strength and solitude” ~ Dionne Kohler This drum and voice piece explores the myriad ways Read More …

July 8, 2024June 19, 2024 Mago WorkLeave a comment

Becoming Plant by Sara Wright

“I did not know to recognize you as individuals when I bought you, but I know to recognize you as individuals now…” Xochitl Alvizo This morning, I read an excellent essay Read More …

July 5, 2024June 27, 2024 Mago WorkLeave a comment

(Poem) what Lupa says by Susan Hawthorne

air is sweet in this forest as we followearth’s ridge toward an Etruscanhollow Diana runningalongside me shrine of Demeter dug deep in soilscraped from earth’s heartsmells of two millenniaunderworld protection Read More …

July 4, 2024May 12, 2024 Mago Work1 Comment

(Art Essay) Mirroring Stars: These Bird Woman Icons Embody Time and Direction by Claire Dorey

[Author’s Note: Follows thought processes in “Seshat Mistress of the Yoniverse,” “The Language of Stars and This Broken Wing.”] I do not like what they have done to the swan, Read More …

July 3, 2024June 25, 2024 Mago Work1 Comment

Floating by Dale Allen

Floating on my back in my home waters of Long Island Sound. Arms outstretched to each side. Complete Utter Relaxation. My Dad, Dan Morgan, used to do this. And then, Read More …

July 2, 2024June 19, 2024 Mago Work3 Comments

(Poem) 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 Read More …

July 1, 2024April 19, 2024 RTMeditorsKG1 Comment

I am/We are/She is, the Ancient One, the Transformation of the Ages by Glenys Livingstone

Each morning as part of my Triple Goddess Breath Meditation, at the conclusion of my morning exercise/yoga routine, I remember: I am the Ancient One. I always say this with Read More …

(Tribute) My Father becomes a Beaver by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright The year my father died I fell in love with beavers. All summer I watched them at dawn and dusk gnaw down the poplars, drag them to the plume, observing keenly how the trees slid so easily into the stream… as the kits grew, little furry heads accompanied their parents carrying whittled sticks in their mouths to help shore up their ever expanding lodge. I always sat quietly so some evenings around dusk the kits would swim right up to me. Occasionally one would slap a leathery flat tail before diving deep. When the ‘call’ came on All Hallows Eve my father sounded sad and resigned. He was being operated on for colon cancer that week. The shock of finding out so suddenly choked me up with grief so intense I could barely respond. He had told no one he had cancer. We hung up. A trip to NY and to*** the hospital was distressing. I saw my dad twice. The first time he barely acknowledged me; that night he looked into my eyes and called me “his girl,” words he had never used to describe me, his daughter, during our entire life – time together. Two days later, after returning to Maine, I awakened from a dream with the words, “your father has become a beaver” just as the phone rang. My father had died minutes before. A second frantic trip to NY was cut short. My mother had decreed there would be no funeral. If anyone needed to have a memorial of some kind it was my father who had spent his entire life doing his best to care about his family and other people. He was an extrovert that tried too hard to please. Although, sometimes overly kind in public, privately he had a problem with explosive rage. As a child I was terrified of him – I never knew when mindless chaos would erupt and it destroyed any sense of safety I might have had being with him (I so desperately needed to feel safe. I had been an unwanted child; almost aborted it turns out). Yet in retrospect, I remembered that my dad was the one who held my head while I was throwing up, carried me in his arms when I fell asleep after a long car trip. My father took me to the hospital, the circus, read to us at night, helped his children climb the circular stairs of the Statue of Liberty, bought me my first prayer book when I chose to become Episcopalian, told me that when he prayed it was always to Mary… It didn’t help that my mother and her family kept her children away from my father’s Italian family. We grew up with cousins, aunts and uncles we barely knew. My mother despised Catholics and Italians and made no secret of it (why did she marry one?). My little brother and I knew enough not to cross her, and sadly, aligned ourselves with our mother although secretly we never shared her beliefs. When my brother killed himself (‘myself’ – I wrote this word first by mistake – gives the reader an idea of how close we were) it was my father who went to see his dead son, who made every necessary arrangement. I stood by him. Helping. My father burned the Navajo Hogan my brother died in, in my parents driveway. I can still remember the smell of burning skins… My mother drove me out of the house at midnight. The morning after I returned home a pure white dove appeared on the ground along with the other mourning doves I routinely fed outside the window. A white dove? I had never seen one before. I had the uncanny sense that my father was trying to communicate with me through that bird, perhaps an aspect of Mary? The dove stayed only one day, leaving me if possible, more bereft when s/he left… When I spoke to my uncle Alex, my dad’s only surviving brother, he told me another even more incredible story. He was eating pasta one night when he bit into something hard. When he pulled the object out of his mouth it was a tiny white stone dove. We had been in the process of planning a Memorial service for my dad just before this happened. The seemingly miraculous presence of the dove sealed the rightness of what we were doing, although personally I had never had doubts and either had my aunt and uncle. As soon as my father was cremated and his ashes returned, my mother pawned them off on one of my sons who promptly gave them to me. No one wanted them. The Memorial service would be held in two months time. I called my mother to invite her. She screamed “you selfish girl” and I hung up. My father adored his two grandchildren. When I contacted my sons and they informed me they would not attend the Memorial service either I was sickened. I knew from personal experience the dark power of my mother’s ability to influence young people in a negative way. My children, who loved their grandfather deeply, were making a horrible mistake that they would come to regret for the rest of their lives if they ever woke up, and I knew it. Meanwhile, I placed the ashes on a table where shafts of light lit up the plain brown box almost all day long…My father loved the sun. The little prayer book that he had given me found its way to the top of the box. I kept it open to a passage that I poured over and over during my two- month vigil … “ in my father’s house there are many mansions…” I cleared a place within a copse of cedars for my dad’s ashes, dug a hole before it became impossible to do so…It was still November…I spent thanksgiving alone except for the beavers who I had been visiting all along until the week before …
(Prose) Goddess in a Twig by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright In 2024, science seems to be catching up with reality. “A rapid succession of peer-reviewed studies and reports all point to a single unambiguous conclusion: that Canada’s unqualified claims of ‘sustainable forest management’ belie a reality of widespread forest degradation”. Almost 36 million acres of forests have been clear cut in Quebec and Ontario alone. Canada still has six percent of old growth forests left but clear cuts almost exclusively. Maine has one tenth of a percent of old forests remaining but says it maintains a few limits on clear cuts (the research is ambiguous and around me we have mostly clear-cut mountains, so I am deeply suspicious). Why should we care? A new crop of trees will be moving north into Canada along with the rest of the migrants (birds, animals, understory/woodland plants) because of a warming climate and loss of habitat. Too many people. The Old Ones that could pass on the genes, the wisdom of the forest, have totally disappeared in Maine. In Canada these old seed trees are the first to be clear cut because they fetch the best prices. Who will help the seedlings develop new roots on bare pesticided/herbicided ground? Earth’s underground crocheted net unravels its life force as I write. If this isn’t enough last year 40 million acres of forests burned in Canada. Clear cutting creates a perfect storm for burning hotter, longer, more frightening fires. Suddenly I am grateful for mounds (of what I hope) is melting snow. The wind was a howling banshee. Almost manic. It was impossible to be outside for long even though the sky was azure blue. My dogs still needed a walk, and so we climbed our hill. Above me silver shards swept by overhead. The trees might be thrashing wildly but those pewter tips caught my attention. Poplar pussy willows bursting under a cobalt sky. Oh, the poplars are flowering! Bare trees bending bony fingers into the wind, waving me into Now. Wonder struck. For a moment I am fully Present. I stared upwards until I couldn’t – trying to follow silvery tips. Freed from the specters of future tree slaughter or wild – fires burning out of control. Shivering pewter puffs. I strained to see the details of just one chestnut hooded twig, imagining the feel of one soft gray flower… What made me look down? In front of me a stubby branch was laying on the ground. I snatched it up with a hunger I didn’t realize I had. Oh, this had been the first year that I hadn’t found pussy willows since I was a child… ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ I said to the twig as I thanked the poplar that sucked lead from polluted ground. Up and down the road I went searching for another, but no, just this one. I looked again. That when I saw the Goddess. The Old Ones were dying but new life was bursting out of a budded poplar. She Lives. The trees had spoken; they knew I loved them. Together we might be powerless to change the trajectory humans are on, but joy is still mine to hold they said. _______________________________________________ I can’t resist adding a bit of natural history. I can’t be the only woman who loves pussy willows! Poplars are one of the trees in the willow family, and although the branches are thick and their flowers robust, like their cousins, the tufts still burst from chestnut hoods. I stroked the soft gray flower tenderly, noting the shine on the sleek protective hood. I suspected this catkin was male because male catkins emerge earlier than females and are generally fluffier. Male and female flowers appear on separate trees. Because all pussy willows emerge in late winter/early spring when it can still be quite cold, these flowers need help staying warm. Pussy willow fur helps trap heat for developing pollen (in the case of a male catkin) or ovules (in the case of a female catkin). I looked up again imagining the catkins unfolding into dangling flowers that will soon provide food for the first bees, butterflies, bears and bugs! Why? Because it’s spring. The Goddess Rises Again. https://www.magoism.net/2014/12/meet-mago-contributor-sara-wright
Bioculinary Healing of the Kolo Informed Trauma by Danica Borkovich Anderson

Social Epigenetic-oral memory questions- Ask yourself, when was the last time you danced? Laughed? What does your daily life reveal? On my global journeys exploring Kolo Informed Trauma, I’ve witnessed how deeply cultural practices and daily oral memory rituals—from folk dances to bioculinary traditions—shape our lives and are etched into the memories of future generations. South Slavic women war survivors often shared ancestral wisdom: “How you live daily, grow food, eat, and celebrate will be lived out by your descendants.” What they articulated echoes what scientists now recognize as social epigenetic memory. These traditions, particularly communal eating and shared celebrations, are rooted in our nervous system’s evolutionary design, as illuminated by Polyvagal Theory (Stephen W. Porges, 2023). The ventral vagus complex (VVC), integral to social engagement and stress modulation, houses key cranial nerves responsible for facial expression, vocalization, and behaviors that foster connection. If it’s been a while since you sat at a table to enjoy a meal, remember: your habits ripple through generations. Bioculinary practices further illustrate this connection. In Slavic cultures, fermentation—used to preserve vegetables like cabbage or create beverages—symbolically and biologically bridges life and sustenance. These practices influence not just our gut microbiome but also the neural pathways of taste, speech, and memory, enriching oral traditions. My Kolo Informed Trauma (KIT) defines trauma as intensified learning, not a mental illness, and emphasizes understanding the interplay between our nervous system and gut microbiome in healing trauma. Bioculinary practices engage both the brain and what I call the “first brain”the gut microbiome—because it directs our behavior and informs the brain. Consider Aspergillus oryzae, the mold behind staples like soy sauce and sake. Its evolution from a harmful mold (Aspergillus flavus) to a cornerstone of Asian bioculinary culture reflects the profound interplay of human ingenuity and microbial domestication. Genetic changes made it safe for consumption while enhancing its fermentation capabilities, showcasing how our relationship with microorganisms has shaped both biology and culture. Through Kolo Informed Trauma, I’ve learned that these traditions are more than rituals—they are a blueprint for human connection, healing, and continuity, bridging the biological and cultural for generations to come. Women, as primary caregivers and the sole source of human life, carry this blueprint forward. Every single person born, ever lived, and in the future is born of a woman. Violence, wars, natural disasters—from famine to earthquakes—impact not only women but all of us and all of life. Yet women and their children are often treated as strategic civilian casualties, considered collateral damage in a capitalist economy driven by greed and profit. The resulting poverty, health crises, and lack of inclusivity in governmental and humanitarian aid systems fail to address women’s needs—critical sites of social epigenetic memory that foster homeostasis, the body’s ability to maintain stability and balance in response to external changes, for individuals and communities alike. References Bioculinary – https://knowablemagazine.org/content/article/food-environment/2024/evolution-of-koji-mold-soy-sauce-sake?utm_placement=newsletter South Slavic Women’s Transgenerational Trauma Healing Through Oral Memory Practices Women War Crimes and War Survivors, https://rowman.com/ISBN/9781666937923/South-Slavic-Women%E2%80%99s-Transgenerational-Trauma-Healing-Through-Oral-Memory-Practices-Women-War-Crimes-and-War-Survivors https://www.magoism.net/2013/06/meet-mago-contributor-danica-borkovich-anderson/
(Poem 2) pears (still so terrified) by Kerryn Coombs-Valeontis

(still so terrified of pears) stretched with birthing its sacrifice of tenderness – summer’s cervix dilated with chart- reuse-grained generosity curved into cooling evenings fruition, delivered at the splendour of the leaves surrender with the fullness of time
(Short Story) Women’s Magic by Kaalii Cargill

Older than the oldest story, a dream rode on the back of the wind, seeking a dreamer. Born in another land – in another time – the dream was in no hurry. It sought a dreamer who carried a particular mix of grief and longing, vulnerability and courage. Millennia passed. The dream travelled from the Old World to the New, carrying an echo of magic and mystery. # In a city in the New World, a modern city with skyscrapers and suburbs, parks and jogging tracks, a man lay sleeping. Jonathon Wiley, a self-declared agnostic, was not expecting dispensation or grace. Life had dealt with him harshly, and he took solace where he could. Sleep, he had found, was the greatest balm of all. The Moon rose over the rooftops of the city, and the dream floated gently down into Jonathon’s sleep. Jonathon stirred, throwing off the bedclothes. He called aloud for Sandra, and she disappeared around yet another corner . . . . . . He found himself walking in a long, winding tunnel. It was so cold his breath hovered in puffs of cloud, and his testes retracted into the warmth of his body. Someone was playing music sweet enough to charm wild beasts, coax tress and rocks to dance, stop the flow of rivers. Jonathon looked in wonder as a man appeared, playing a lyre. Behind him came a woman, dark and beautiful, achingly like his Sandra. The music faltered. The man turned, reaching for the woman. Jonathon watched in horror as the woman began to fade, like an old photograph too long in the light. She stretched her hands towards the man, but a stronger force pulled her away, back to the place between the worlds. With a cry, the man threw himself after her. The lyre sang a single, mournful note as it fell. Still caught in the dream, Jonathon wept. He cried for the man’s loss – and for his own – and for the music that had plucked at his heart with exquisite, unbearable longing. Most of all, he wept because the woman’s face had been Sandra’s, fine-boned like an angel’s. The dream faded, and Jonathon stirred uneasily in his sleep, arms searching for something. His hands closed on emptiness. A chant echoed across his garden. “Everything She touches changes. She changes everything She touches.” The chanting reached into the treetops, disturbing the leafy play of possums, interrupting the dreamless sleep of doves. “Everything She touches changes. She changes everything She touches.” Women’s voices, strong and clear, filled the night, stealing into the quiet, well-appointed houses on Jonathon’s street. Carried on the breeze, the chanting blew in through Jonathon’s window, pulling him all the way back from the in-between place where he was following Sandra’s long, black hair and gamine smile. He did not want to wake; awake, Sandra was dead. He opened his eyes. It was still dark, although moonlight played across his face like warm fingers. Jonathon stood and moved to the window, unsure whether the voices were coming from outside, or were an echo of his dream. There below, in the garden across the fence, black-robed figures walked slowly through the trees. Jonathon blinked and rubbed his eyes. The Moon shone full and bright on the black hoods covering the heads of the women below. Jonathon knew they were women because of their voices. He had no idea who they were, or who lived in the house nestled at the back of the huge garden next door. He used to be curious about neighbours and other things, but that had been when Sandra was there. With a heavy sigh, Jonathon thought that Sandra would probably have befriended whoever lived in the old house and been down there howling at the Moon, or whatever the women were doing in the garden. He opened the balcony door and stepped out into the night. Below him, the black-robed women entered a cleared space between the trees, forming a circle around a single candle in the centre. They faced outwards, towards the shadows of the trees. Jonathon shivered, a prickling on his skin as if her were being watched. He stepped back inside, and reached for a blanket; it suddenly seemed important to cover his nakedness. Below, the chanting stopped, leaving a resonance in the air. The night waited. Jonathon, compelled by something he couldn’t quite name, walked downstairs and out the back door. Heat pulsed through his body, and he felt a stirring of arousal, the first in a long time. His head spun as if he had been drinking red wine all night, but he hadn’t touched alcohol since . . . . . . “Slow down, Jon. It’s so wet!” Sandra’s voice was tight, a residue of their talk over dinner; a special dinner for their anniversary – expensive food, too much wine, and the inevitable conversation about children. “Do you want to drive?” asked Jonathon through clenched teeth. “I’m just asking you to be careful,” said Sandra in the reasonable way she spoke to toddlers, old people, and recalcitrant men. “I’m always careful,” said Jonathon, as the car ahead began to slide across the road. Jonathon braked. With a stomach-rolling lurch, their car skidded sideways, slipping and sliding on the wet road. Hands locked on the steering wheel, Jonathon tried to manage the skid. Just when he thought he had it under control, the car jumped sideways and snaked towards a light pole. Sandra screamed. Jonathon’s senses returned to a strange silence. For a moment he thought he was waking from a night of drinking and partying, but then he remembered. In the passenger seat, Sandra was very still. As always, the flashback left Jonathon sweating and shaking. He forced himself to breathe and to open his eyes. He found himself half-way across the back yard clad only in a blanket. “Bloody sleep walking now!” he muttered as he turned back towards the house. Then the chanting started again. “Everything …
(Poem) I Bow by Arlene Bailey

Art, Gnosis by SheWhoIsArt.com https://www.magoism.net/2020/04/meet-mago-contributor-arlene-bailey/
(Essay) Integrating the Co-essential Darkness by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

We live in times wherein beings the world over are witnessing global transformation. Such a scale of planetary change has happened before, but humans are integral to this one – not only as witnesses and participants, but also as primary agent/cause. These times have apparently been expressed and foretold by different religious traditions: in the Celtic tradition, as the Age of Cailleach – the Old Woman whose song heralds changing tides; in Hindu tradition, as the Age of Kali – the awesome Goddess whose capacities embrace the process of destroying for the purposes of Creativity … it is her passion for Being, for birthing the New. She, like many of Her Dark Sisters around the globe, embodies the truth (an ultimate Truth) that this life is built on the passing or transformation of all that went before: that we are here by the grace of the Space, and the knowledge of the eons that is passed on.
(Art) Tree Goddesses by Janie Rezner

Sculpture by Janie Rezner Read Meet Mago Contributor Janie Rezner.
Brighid and the Oystercatcher by Jude Lally

Brighid of the Isles by Jill Smith Throughout tales of Brighid, of Goddess and Saint, the Oystercatcher is often on the periphery. The top image by Lewis-based author and writer Jill Smith, shows Brighid and the islands that make up the Outer Hebrides. While not a literal translation, the Hebrides, are known as the Isles of Brighid. St. Bride by George Lomsky. She holds an oystercatcher, showing the white of its wings and back forming a cross. The Hebridean isles of Eigg and Rum in the distance In Ireland the oystercatcher is known as Giolla Brighde, a servant of St Brigid. It is said that the bird returns to Irish shores (joining those who have overwintered) in great numbers on St Brigid’s Day, and so is seen as a harbinger of the coming of light and warmth as the days stretch out. Celtic Twilight The Victorian era was responsible for the ‘Celtic Twilight’ a great resurgence and romanticization of Celtic spirituality which fed into many different schools including from literature. Writer William Sharp writing under the name of Fiona McLeod, brought a new aspect to Brighid’s story, placing a young Brighid growing up on the Isle of Iona. We could easily dismiss this rewriting as it has happened in relatively recently, yet with each retelling, it incorporates new views and values providing a new perspective, and in this way, Brighid crosses yet another threshold. Mary of the Gael To the folks of the Highlands and the Western Isles of Scotland Brighid was ‘Mary of the Gael’. This use of the name ‘Mary’ meant she was referred to as the ‘Second Mary’. Folks of the Western Isles practiced what some term Celtic Christianity, which brought together aspects of an older pagan view merged with honoring of an early Christianity. Isle of Iona Fostermother of Christ The story of Brighid on Iona is that both she and her father (Durvach) leave Ireland and arrive on the shores of the Isle of Iona (off the West Coast of Scotland). On arrival, they meet with the Arch-Druid who acknowledges Brighid’s pivotal role in playing out an ancient prophecy as he announces: He advises Durvach to ‘treat Bride as though she were thy spirit, but leave her much alone, and let her learn of the sun and the wind. In the fullness of time, the prophecy shall be fulfilled.’ So Brighid grows up on the Isle of Iona often watching the Druids perform rituals on the small hill of Dun-i. One starlight night Bride is walking along the white sandy beach on the North of the Island. It’s the 24th of December and the first Christmas Eve. The night is calm, and the water reflecting the light of the moon and stars dances and shifts, ringed in dark circles as if caught in a net. Bride walks the shoreline singing to herself. St Bride being carried by angels to Bethlehem by John Duncan. As she looks up into the night sky she notices one bright shining star. She thinks it’s such a perfect night she’d like to sleep on the shore, but it is December and cold. As she reached the top of the shore she sits down among the sand hills. She pulls her mantle around her, her cloak of Scottish tweed that she wove herself. She watches and listens to the little oystercatcher under the moon with his black and white plumage and red feet. This little bird was the Saint’s servant. Then suddenly they heard a mighty roar – laughter and joy and the clapping of hands. A falling star shot through the night sky and then 2 angels appeared at her side. They offered her their hands in a white glow more glittering than snow ‘Bride’ they said. ‘Fear not at all, tonight in Bethlehem is born, the son of man, and ‘ere the morn, they mantle blue shall be his shawl’. And as excited as she was, she’s a little overcome by everything and starts to faint, but the angels catch her. When she opens her eyes she’s high up in the sky looking down on all the islands of the Hebrides set in the Atlantic. She feels the soft beating of the angel’s wings, one holding her feet, the other holding a pillow under her head. Leaving Iona far below, as she travels through the white clouds and the starlit sky the little oystercatcher, the servant of Bride, runs up and down the shore crying that she has left him, crying ‘Gille-gille-gille-gille B-r-i-d-e!, Gille-gille-gille-gille B-r-i-d-e!” Click on the image above to hear the call of the Oystercatcher https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwhIe6kKKSY&t=31s Midwife of Birth and Death Another story that features the oystercatcher is in Brighid’s role as midwife. While Brighid was a figure much honored by midwives who tended to new life coming into the world in assisting mothers (and also animal mothers) Brighid is also a midwife to those souls leaving the world and returning home. In the chant listed above, ‘Pirililou’ mimics the call of the oystercatcher. It was a chant sung in the first days after death to facilitate the soul’s journey home. It was sung at the edge of the shore facing west, the direction of the otherworld. This song is sung by Sister Fiontullach of the Ceilie de Order. This chant which mimics the call of the oystercatcher suggests its role as a helper to Brighid as a midwife and the ritual of the passage of souls from this world. I live near the shore of the River Leven (coming from Loch Lomond) and joining the River Clyde and we have a healthy population of Oystercatchers. As I catch a glimpse of their red legs, and their ‘Gille-gille-gille-gille B-r-i-d-e!’ calls reach my ears, I am graced by the stories of Brighid, which always feels a comfort in itself, and an embrace of being wrapped tightly in her mantle. Links Brighid of the Isles (top image) by Jill Smith – Click for her webiste Website of the Ceilie De …

(Special Post 4) Multi-Linguistic Resemblances of “Mago” by Mago Circle Members

[This is a summary of a discussion that took place around 2014 in The Mago Circle, Facebook group.]Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: I am writing an entry on “Mago” for the Glossary of my book, The Mago Way: Re-discovering Mago, the Great Goddess from East Asia:Mago (麻姑): East Asian word for the Great Goddess. Read “Ma” as in “Mama” and “Go” as in “to go.” The logographic characters are pronounced/romanized as Mago in Korean, Magu in Chinese, and Mako in Japanese. When it is used in historical contexts, “Mago” refers to the Great Goddess AND HER cultural matrix, Magoism (Magoist shamans/priestesses/rulers and/or the bygone mytho-history of Old Magoist Korea). S/HE represents Ultimate Reality as One Undividable Unity. The Great Goddess embodies the Creatrix, the cosmic sonic system of Life. Through HER, we enter the view of the whole, the consciousness of WE/HERE/NOW. Also known to have originated from the Big Dipper (Seven Stars) in lore—part of the Big Bear constellation—the Guardian of the Polaris, S/HE is the Guardian of the solar system. S/HE causes the stabilization of the solar system. In that sense, S/HE is the Sun Deity or Heavenly Deity. Self-emerged with Mago Stronghold (Earth) and two moons of the Earth through the sonic movement of Pal-ryeo (Eight Tones), the Great Goddess oversees the cosmic music of Yul-ryeo (Rhythms and Tones), another term for the sonic movement of the universe. Mago gives birth to two daughters (Gung-hui) and (So-hui) parthenogenetically. Thus, they form the Mago Triad (Samsin). S/HE delegates HER two daughters to oversee the cosmic music of Oeum-chiljo (Five Pitches and Seven Tunes). Gung-hui and So-hui respectively give birth to four daughters parthenogenetically. The Primordial Mago Clan forms the Nine Magos, the archetype of Gurang (Nine Goddesses). Mago delegates eight (grand)daughters to oversee the cosmic music of Pal-ryeo (Eight Tones). S/HE causes the self-evolution of the Earth through which all terrestrial beings are brought into existence. In that sense, S/HE is the Earth Deity. As Samsin Halmi (Triad Grand-Mother), S/HE controls the birth and illness of children. Mago allows the Early Mago Clan in the paradise of Mago Stronghold to procreate progenies and entrusts them to take in charge of the terrestrial acoustic equilibrium. Revered as the Cosmogonist, Progenitor, and Ultimate Sovereign, Mago delegates the Mago Descent, the entirety of the divine, human ancestors, and humans, to oversee the acoustic harmony of the Earth in tune with the cosmic music. Hereupon, the paradisiacal Home of Mago Stronghold is established. S/HE is called by many names. Among them are Samsin (Triad Deity), Cheonsin (Heavenly Deity), Halmi (Grandmother/Goddess), Nogo (Ancient Goddess), and Seongo (Immortal Goddess). Also referred to as Mugeuk Nomo (Non-Polarized First Mother) or Musaeng-nomo (Non-birthed First Mother) in Daoism. Mago appears resembling many Goddesses from around the world by way of such mythemes as the triad, parthenogenesis, cosmic music, animal companions, and the cosmogonist. “Mago” is linguistically identical or similar with “Mago” in Italian and Portuguese, “Magus/Magi” in Latin, “Magos” in Greek, “Maka” in Mycenaean Greek, “Magus” in Old Persian, and “Ma Guanyin” in East Asian languages, to name a few. Brian Kirbis: Funny, despite my fondness for language, I never made the connection. Though I have explored the lineage potential between naga and Nuwa 女娲. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: What did you find the linkage between naga and Nuwa, Brian? There is sometimes linguistic linkage relevant and other times mythological linkage… Brian Kirbis: Linguistic, iconographic, and mythological links are all available to us within a broad cross-cultural frame. My own analytic tendency is to see such mirror-image male-female representations as matrilineal and patrilineal essences which, in Chinese energy theory, reside in the kidneys (ancestral qi).Consider the Adam and Eve myth, for instance, with the figures on either side of the tree (spine, cosmic pivot, Milky Way), within which is contained the serpentine energy. There is ample information extant on such Tree of Life symbolism, all of which illustrates the inner energy body. The nagini-naga / Nuwa-Fuxi conjoint images in India and China absorb the serpent iconography into the human – an internalization of Kundalini energy.As you know, my area of interest is in the underlying cultural complex of tea-growing peoples located in Southwest China and upland Southeast Asia, an area replete with serpent mythology. Brian Kirbis: Comparison of Indian and Chinese representations of the Naga-Nagini and Fuxi & Nuwa. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Yes, indeed, there is similarity between the two. Interesting! Thanks for sharing them. Lizzy Bluebell: Brian Kirbis – fascinating – any idea what kind of tool each is holding in the sculpture? I see a chevron or M to the right of the Nagini’s head; (M and MA are fairly universal root symbols for Mother; Latin M encodes breasts, mounds, mountains, paps, tophets, etc. plus a general historical dispute over the importance of hills versus valleys.)I also note the inversion of right/left positions in the Nu Wa image.In terms of your statement – “The nagini-naga / Nuwa-Fuxi conjoint images in India and China absorb the serpent iconography into the human – an internalization of Kundalini energy.” — My thought: Have you ever considered it otherwise – that humanity has actually EXTERNALIZED chi energy into the form of the snake as a means of expressing it in non-vocal (sonic) symbolism which also manifests form via means of visualization as opposed to sonic/vocalizations or cymatics which creates form via RESONANCE.Helen – note that the tails are knotted – very important symbolic notion of ‘tying things’ as in the Shen Ring and Ankh – a masonic motif – related to measuring and containing within an Ouroborus SYSTEM which is closed, not cyclic or spiraling vis a vis Nature’s Way. It is the CLOSED CIRCLE as Plato’s “perfect form” which traps us in the flaws of re-peating and re-petitioning any ‘his-story’ we follow which does NOT HONOUR AND REVERE MAGO or hold her values close to HEART, as HEARD, in the HERD.Your original post (O/P thereafter) is fascinating and revealing and provides much to discuss on the topic of Zoroaster/Zarathustra and the Persian/Arabic/Semitic invention of Algebra and Astrology. […]
(Special Post 6) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing sequels are a revised version of the discussion that has taken place in The Mago Circle, Facebook group, since September 24, 2017 to the present. Themes are introduced and interwoven in a somewhat random manner, as different discussants lead the discussion. The topic of the number nine is key to Magoism, primarily manifested as Nine Magos or the Nine Mago Creatrix. Mago Academy hosts a virtual and actual event, Nine Day Mago Celebration, annually.] Helen Hwang Without knowing nine numerology, it is NOT possible for us to understand the depth of Magoism, an anciently originated tradition of Old Korea/East Asia that venerated the Creatrix. “Giants” are the hallmark for the Goma, the people of Danguk (nine-state confederacy led by Goma, the Magoist Shaman queen). Those giants are not described as a singular people. They come in “81 brothers,” as mentioned below. We know what “brothers” mean, it is 81 sisters! Changing or translating a female-connoted term to the male proves its agent to be patriarchal. And Chiyou or Chiu (in Korean) is the ruler of Nine Ris (Guri), another name for Nine Hans (Guhan). Check this out: “Chiyou (蚩尤) was a tribal leader of the Nine Li tribe (九黎) in ancient China.[1] He is best known as a king who lost against the future Yellow Emperor during the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors era in Chinese mythology.[1][2][3] For the Hmong people, Chiyou[4] was a sagacious mythical king.[5] He has a particularly complex and controversial ancestry, as he may fall under Dongyi[1]Miao[5] or even Man,[5] depending on the source and view. Today, Chiyou is honored and worshipped as the God of War and one of the three legendary founding fathers of China.” “According to the Song dynasty history book Lushi, Chiyou’s surname was Jiang (姜), and he was a descendant of Yandi.[6]According to legend, Chiyou had a bronze head with a metal forehead.[1] He had 4 eyes and 6 arms, wielding terrible sharp weapons in every hand.[7] In some sources, Chiyou had certain features associated with various mythological bovines: his head was that of a bull with two horns, although the body was that of a human.[7] He is said to have been unbelievably fierce, and to have had 81 brothers.[7] Historical sources often described him as ‘cruel and greedy’,[6] as well as ‘tyrannical’.[8] Some sources have asserted that the figure 81 should rather be associated with 81 clans in his kingdom.[5] Chiyou knows the constellations and the ancients spells for calling upon the weather. For example, he called upon a fog to surround Huangdi and his soldiers during the Battle of Zhuolu. TRIBE Chiyou is regarded as a leader of the Nine Li tribe (九黎, RPAWhite Hmong: Cuaj Li Ntuj) by nearly all sources.[1] However, his exact ethnic affiliations are quite complex, with multiple sources reporting him as belonging to various tribes, in addition to a number of diverse peoples supposed to have directly descended from him.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiyou Helen Hye-Sook Hwang Below is from my article, “Goma, The Shaman Ruler Of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea, And Her Mythology,” included in Goddesses in Myth, History and Culture (Mago Books, 2018). Goma is also credited for designating queens of the bear clan to state rulers. Another account of the Goma myth reads, “She looked after numerous spiritual persons and wise persons. Accepting women of the bear clan, Hanung made them rulers (后). Goma chose queens of the bear clan to make them nine state rulers. Note that Danguk is a nine state confedearcy. That Danguk’s nine states were headed by the queens of the bear clan is, among others, corroborated by Chinese mythological accounts. Chinese myth informs that Chiu, Huangdi’s opponent in an epic war, was aided by “a tribe of giants from the far north.”[1] In Chinese mythology, Gonggong and her minister, Xiangliu, symbolized as a dragon with nine heads in the body of a snake, are depicted as an enemy of Emperor Yu of Xia (ruled c. 2200–2100 BCE). Such a story is aligned with Sinocentrism inscribed in Chinese mythology that antagonizes pre-Chinese history of Old Magoist Korea/East Asia. In Chinese mythology, Gonggong (龔工) is described as a sea monster whose minister Xiangliu (相栁 Mutual Willow) is told to have been defeated by Yu, the Great.[2] Assuming the character hu (后 xia in Chinese pronunciation) to mean a male ruler’s wife, androcentric scholars have translated the above account as “Hanung received his queen from the bear clan. And he instituted the rite of matrimony.” This proves to be a modern androcentric bias in that hu originally means a “ruler.” This is the case of the logographic character whose original meaning has changed from “a female ruler” to “a male ruler” and to “the wife of ruler” over time. Ancient Chinese texts betray ample evidence. For example, Xiahou (夏后 Ruler of Xia) and Houyi (后羿 Ruler of Yi) respectively refer to a male ruler. Xiahou refers to Yu of Xia. Other ancient Chinese texts include the Classic of Poetry (詩經商頌玄鳥), the Zuozhuan (左傳) and the Book of Document (書經).[3] [1] C. Scott Littleton, ed. Mythology: The Illustrated Anthology of World Myth & Storytelling (San Diego: Thunder Bay Press, 2002), 414. Cited in Hwang, Finding Mago, 239 in note 494. [2] Lihui Yang, Deming An and Jessica Anderson Turner, Handbook of Chinese Mythology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 214-5. [3] Goma, “Goma, The Shaman Ruler Of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea, And Her Mythology” Goddesses in Myth, History and Culture (Mago Books, 2018), 272. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang I am realizing that even ancient Chinese people depicted Chiyou as female. When her image is cropped from the whole frame, it is hard to tell. But see her in the attached image of the whole frame. In comparison with Chinese heroes (supposedly including Yellow Emperor) on the left side, she and her ally are depicted as a figure in a curvy body line. Of course, Chiyou was pejoratively depicted as she was an opponent to the future Chinese emperor, […]
(Special Post Isis 2) Why the Color of Isis Matters by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s note: The discussion took place in Mago Circle during the month of July, 2013. Our heartfelt thanks go to the members who participated in this discussion with openness and courage.] Part 2 The Color Talk in Goddesses Kahena Dorothea Athena was also whitened which is sad. However the statues were worshiped by many women to whom they brought comfort. And their origins were later remembered by the abundance of Black Virgins that became important in Italy and other parts of Europe. I don’t see Dark Goddesses as shadows but as having depths of Creativity and Knowledge. My main Goddess is Kirke and the bast relief I have of her is a chocolate brown. Diane Horton The worship of Isis broadened from Egypt to all the countries bordering the Mediterranean, as well as the Middle East and the isles called now the British Isles. She and Her worship were virtually everywhere in the westernly known world of the time! She IS the Goddess of 10,000 Names! And as such she was adapted to each culture’s vision of Her. She was the basis of all the” Black Madonnas”. I do not think of this as Isis/Auset representing the “dark” Goddess as something somehow bad or to be dealt with, but rather that ancient darkness represents infinite potential, eternal creativity/fertility, the beginning and ending of all things, and the always deepening knowledge of magick. Max Dashu However, there is a politics of representation that we all need to be aware of, that pushes original African iconography down and away, and fronts Europeanized images. There is no possibility of “colorblindness” in such a system; a restoration of the original must be actively striven toward. This is incumbent on all of us not of (recent) African descent. Otherwise we perpetuate the injurious status quo, instead of overturning it. Harita Meenee I agree with those who say that race is largely a social construct. Its roots seem to lie in colonialism and the slave trade. I would also like to add that racism is used to oppress people of different nationalities and colors. Ηere in Greece the IMF neo-liberal policies are destroying our economy (and lives); they go hand in hand with a vicious racist campaign against immigrants, along with the rise of a neo-Nazi party. This is part of an effort to redirect people’s anger away from the government and bankers, towards those who are poor and foreign and often have a different color or religion. Fortunately, many grassroots activists are responding to this by building a strong anti-racist, antifascist movement. You can see our Facebook page below. It’s in Greek but the photos are quite revealing. If anyone is interested in learning more about the situation here, please message me and I’ll try to find some articles in English for you. https://www.facebook.co/19JanuaryATHENSvsFASCISM?fref=ts 19 Γεναρη – ΑΘΗΝΑ ΠΟΛΗ Αντιφασιστικη Μπροστά στη κλιμάκωση της φασιστικής απειλής και της ρατσιστικής βίας, στη εμφάν…See More Naa Ayele Kumari Let me put this in the context of something you might understand. This is a goddess group that honors the feminine and the power it represents. People in this group understand the oppression and misrepresentation of women. We understand the implications of misogynistic patriarchal thinking. We understand the implications of stealing the information, rites, and traditions from goddess centered cultures and rephrasing them into male dominated themes… especially those that then went on to oppress women today. This is the same thing that has happened as it related to race and our cultures. It infuriates us when a man may say… why do we have to focus on the goddess? Let us just accept that we are all human and no special consideration should be given to anyone because of their gender. Or, this is just a distraction or social construct and it really doesn’t matter. We understand the blatant disregard and ignorance of those statements. Yet, the same is true for race and people of other races. Your attitude and casual disregard perpetuates a lie that you are comfortable with and don’t wish to move from that comfort zone. It means you don’t have to be accountable for the injustices or oppression it continues to perpetuate in the larger culture toward people who do not look like you. As far as I am concerned, I truly believe that the dark goddess for many with white skin IS their shadow… It is the part of themselves that they deny and fear. That you may have come from black people may scare you… even when the science proves it. That deep down… you fear what you don’t understand. To even confront it is frightening… something that you would rather ignore and deny… Yet… here we are. Black, Yellow, Red… people.. women… who have been oppressed for thousands of year because of this… and are asking… to be seen in their true likeness… not as you wish them to be… or fear them to be. Naa Ayele Kumari Thank you Max Dashu, I so appreciate your scholarship and dedication to the truth where ever you find it… and Helen Hwang for staying open to it as well. [Someone withdrew the threads.] Rick Williams No, you can’t passively aggressively slither your way out of this, reread your own statements and that last post contradicts most of your ascertains. I can’t believe that you honestly say fire away at you like you’re some sort of martyr and VICTIM of being misunderstood, not at all, I understand you very well. I don’t think you understand yourSELF. That’s the real tragedy. Rick Williams “The Lips of Wisdom are Closed except to the Ears of Understanding.” It is in quotes, and it’s part of Ancient Wisdom, of Tehuti, DJehuti, or Hermes Trimegitus… The Great Scribe of KMT.. they have alot of pretty pictures of him all over KMT(Egypt).. still have no idea what you are saying have the time. Max Dashu Thank you Naa Ayele for taking the time to make the extremely apt analogy of women’s oppression to clarify the politics of race oppression […]

(Essay) The Wheel of the Year and Climate Change by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from Chapter 2 of the author’s book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ The Wheel of the Year in a PaGaian cosmology essentially celebrates Cosmogenesis – the unfolding of the Cosmos, in which Earth’s extant Creativity participates directly, as does each unique being. The Creativity of Cosmogenesis is expressed through Earth-Sun relationship as it may manifest and be experienced within any region of our Planet. In PaGaian tradition this is expressed with Triple Goddess Poetry, which is 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 it does in the Seasons, happens because of Earth’s tilt in relationship with Sun: and that is because this tilt 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, 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[i]. 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 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[ii], and more recently a site of ongoing ritual activity as old as seventy thousand years has been found[iii]. 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. https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ 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 our 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[iv]. 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. At the moment the dance of dark and light remains predictable, but much else is in a process of transformation. As we observe and sense our Place, our Habitat, as our ancestors also did, we can, and may yet still make Poetry of the dance of dark and light, of this quality of relationship with Sun, and how it may be manifesting in a particular region and its significance for the inhabitants: we may still find Poetic expression with which to celebrate the sacred journey that we make everyday around Mother Sun, our Source of life and energy. It has been characteristic of humans for at least several tens of thousands of years, to create ceremony and symbol by which we could relate with the creative dynamics of our place, and perhaps it was initially a method of coming to terms with these dynamics – with the apparently uniquely human awareness of coming into being and passing away[v]. Our need for …
(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
Imbolc: Through Goddess Eyes by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Photo by Carolyn Lee Boyd In times past, Creation’s Winter cupped me in her icy hand of sanctuary Gathered in, I sucked dormant life, and slumbered Till Earth’s rebirthing groans awakened my new body Now, older and full of life’s weeping and wondering awe At all that has happened in my decades on Earth I must shake myself into consciousness My seed’s opaque, blinding hull disintegrates and Bodyless, at last I can see through Goddess eyes I ache as my blood paints each flower petal I spin the whirlwind that cannot stop creating abundance I push the seasons through the year that mortals believe revolve of their own accord. Through Goddess eyes I can see me, I inhabit Winter’s hand as my own. I make the cold to slow creation of outside of me To gather the seed into fertile stillness within. That burgeons in my own time. https://www.magoism.net/2016/08/meet-mago-contributor-carolyn-lee-boyd/
(Prose & Photography) Equinox Reflection by Sara Wright

Photography by Sara Wright I gaze out my bedroom window and hear yet another golden apple hit the ground. The vines that hug the cabin and climb up the screens are heavy with unripe grapes and the light that is filtered through the trees in front of the brook is luminous – lime green tipped in gold – My too sensitive eyes are blessedly well protected by this canopy of late summer leaves. The maples on the hill are losing chlorophyll and are painting the hollow with splashes of bittersweet orange and red. The dead spruces by the brook will probably collapse this winter providing Black bears with even more precious ants and larvae to eat in early spring. I only hope that some bears will survive the fall slaughter to return to this black bear sanctuary; in particular two beloved young ones… Mushrooms abound, amanitas, boletes morels, puff balls, the latter two finding their way into my salads. The forest around my house is in an active state of becoming with downed limbs and sprouting fungi becoming next year’s soil. The forest floor smells so sweet that all I can imagine is laying myself down on a bed of mosses to sleep and dream. The garden looks as tired as I am; lily fronds droop, yellowing leaves betraying the season at hand. Bright green pods provide a startling contrast to fading scarlet bee balm. Wild asters are abundant and goldenrod covers the fields with a bright yellow garment. Every wild bush has sprays of berries. My crabapple trees are bowed, each twig heavy with winter fruit. Most of the birds have absconded to the fields that are ripe with the seeds of wild grasses. The mourning doves are an exception – they gather together each dawn waiting patiently for me to fill the feeder. In the evening I am serenaded by soft cooing. One chicken hawk hides in the pine, lying in wait for the unwary…Just a few hummingbirds remain…whirring wings and twittering alert me to continued presence as they settle into the cherry tree to sleep, slipping into a light torpor with these cool September nights… Spiders are spinning their egg cases, even as they prepare to die. I can still find toads hopping around the house during the warmest hours of the day. Although the grass is long I will not mow it for fear of killing these most precious and threatened of species. I am heavily invested in seeing these toads burrow in to see another spring. My little frogs sit on their lily pads seeking the warmth of a dimming afternoon sun. Soon they too will slumber below fallen leaves or mud. I am surrounded by such beauty, and so much harvest bounty that even though I am exhausted I take deep pleasure out of each passing day of this glorious month of September, the month of my birth. Unlike many folks, for me, moving into the dark of the year feels like a blessing. Another leave -taking is almost upon me, and I am having trouble letting go of this small oasis that I have tended with such care for more than thirty years… I don’t know what this winter will bring to my modest cabin whose foundation is crumbling under too much moisture and too many years of heavy snow. In the spring extensive excavation will begin. A new foundation must be poured and this work will destroy the gardens I have loved, the mossy grounds around the south end of the house that I have nurtured for so long. In this season of letting go I must find a way to lay down my fears, and release that which I am powerless to change. Somehow… I have no idea what I will return to except that I have made it clear that none of my beloved trees be harmed. I am grateful that Nature is mirroring back to me so poignantly that letting go is the way through: That this dying can provide a bedrock foundation for another spring birth. As a Daughter of the Earth I lean into ancient wisdom, praying that this exhausted mind and body will be able to follow suit. (Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright.
Artful Ceremonial Expression by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This article is an edited excerpt from Chapter 7 of the author’s book PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. I always wore a special headpiece for the Seasonal ceremonies when I facilitated them over the years, and I feel that any participant may do so, not just the main celebrant. My ceremonial headpiece with its changing and continuous Seasonal decoration took on increasing significance over the years; it became a personal central representation of the year-long ceremonial art process of creating, destroying and re-creating. For the research period of my doctoral studies particularly, when I was documenting the process, I realised that this headpiece came to represent for me the essence of “She” – as Changing One, yet ever as Presence – as I was coming to know Her. In my journal for the Mabon/Autumn Equinox process notes one year I wrote: As I pace the circle with the Mabon headpiece in the centre, I see “Her” as She has been through the Seasons … the black and gold of Samhain, the deep red, white and evergreen of Winter, the white and blue of Imbolc, the flowers of Eostar, the rainbow ribbons of Beltane, the roses of Summer, the seed pods and wheat of Lammas, and now the Autumn leaves. I see in my mind’s eye, and feel, Her changes. I am learning … The Mother knowledge grows within me. The headpiece, the wreath, the altar, the house decorations, all participate in the ceremony: they are part of the learning, the method, the relationship – similar to how one might bring flowers and gifts of significance to a loved one at special moments. Then further, the removal and re-creation of the decorations are part of the learning – an active witness to transformation through time.
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.

(Budoji Essay 4) The Magoist Cosmogony by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

Part 4: Magoist Origin of Immortals “I maintain that Immortals originally refers to Mago’s descendants in Mago Castle, the Primordial Paradise. They are the primordial clan community of the Mago Species, comprised of the divine, demigods, and humans.” [This is a translation and interpretation of the Budoji (Epic of the Emblem City), principal text of Magoism. Read the translation of Chapter 1 of the Budoji.] Magoist Origin of Immortals: All in the Mago Species are given the original nature of immortality or transcendence. Readers are advised to set aside the literal meaning in the English language of the words immortals or transcendents. Immortals is a translation of the East Asian term seon (仙, xian in Chinese). I choose the translation immortals over transcendents not because it is a better translation but because it is the most commonly used term by Western Daoist translators.[i] Although it is known as a Daoist term, I hold that it is pre-Daoist, namely Magoist, in origin. Primarily, it refers to the Mago Species (Mago and Her descendants) who dwelt in Mago Castle, the primordial home, to be discussed in detail in later chapters. Likewise, historical figures known as Immortals are Magoist rather than Daoist.
(Photo Essay 4) ‘Gaeyang Halmi, the Sea Goddess of Korea’ by Helen Hwang

Part IV: Revival of the Gurang (Nine Maidens) Gaeyang Halmi There is more to reveal. As I write this part of the photo essay, I have encountered new information, previously made available online by individuals and organizations. It is reported that the “Suseong-dang” (水聖堂, Sea Saint Shrine) was once called the “Gurang-sa” (九娘祠, Nine Maidens Shine), of which I never heard before.[i] That Suseong-dang is a fake name blew my mind! Note the difference of gender between “the Nine Maidens Shrine” and “the Sea Saint Shrine”! The female-connoted term was stolen just like that! “Gurang-sa,” a female-referenced term as the character “rang” means a maiden, had to go due to its overt female representation. It is not without grounds that I was taken aback to see its present logography, “the Sea Saint Shrine,” on the information board.[ii] I almost heard a voice warning me, “This is not the place that you think it is!” That voice attempted to force me to leave the place without further investigation. However, I intuitively took a mental note, “Something is not correct here.” And I was right! Its name change sheds a consistent light on the meddling of patriarchal distortion/deception done to the tradition of Gaeyang Halmi. Readers are reminded of the lost painting of Gaeyang Halmi, which was replaced by that of the Sea God explicated in Part 2 of this photo essay (also Part 3). Like “the Sea God,” “the Suseong-dang” constitutes no reality. It is not only a conceptual deception but also a theft of the intangible cultural heritage, righteously committed by faceless patriarchal men disappeared into the lapse of time. It is clear that systematic erasure of the Female/Goddess has been in operation. Female power embodied whether in the name of the shrine or in the iconography was stripped away. However, it is proven once again that the Female is immortal because it constitutes the root of patriarchy. People smuggled the forbidden knowledge of the Female to later generations through oral stories. Thus, we find the folklore of the Female subversive.
(Essay 1) The Magoist Calendar: Mago Time inscribed in Sonic Numerology by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Author’s Note: This is my latest research that has led me to restore the 13-month, 28-day Mago Calendar, which will be included at the end of its sequels. See Mago Almanac: 13 Month 28 Day Calendar (Book A), published in 2017.] Magoist Calendar is the inter-cosmic genealogical chart of the Creatrix in which all is found kindred. It unfolds the one standard unified time, which I call the Cosmic Mother’s Time or the Mago Time, wherein all beings in Our Universe from microcosmic quarts to macrocosmic celestial bodies are perceived in continuum. The Cosmic Mother’s Time is an inclusive time in which everyone is re-membered and celebrated. It is revelatory for its numinous nature, which some may call a mystery. The Mago Time is happening

Month: July 2024

(Essay) A Cardinal Comes Calling by Carolyn Lee Boyd

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(Book Excerpt 5) Rainbow Goddess: Celebrating Neurodiversity ed. by K. L. Aldred, P. Daly, T Albanna, and Trista Hendren

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(Music) Spirit Walk by Alison Newvine

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Becoming Plant by Sara Wright

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(Poem) what Lupa says by Susan Hawthorne

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(Art Essay) Mirroring Stars: These Bird Woman Icons Embody Time and Direction by Claire Dorey

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Floating by Dale Allen

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(Poem) Sicily by Mary Saracino

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I am/We are/She is, the Ancient One, the Transformation of the Ages by Glenys Livingstone

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Mago Almanac Year 9 Monthly Wheels

S/HE: IJGS V4 N1-2 2025 (B/W Paperback)

Mago Almanac Year 8 (for 2025)

Program Booklets

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