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(NSN Highlight) Creatrix Studies Lifetime Education Certificate Program

[Editor’s Note: Nine Sister Networks (NSN) is the Return to Mago E-Magazine’s project undertaken to lead the movement of Matriversal Feminism, formerly called Goddess Feminist Activist Spirituality.] Mago Academy offers Read More …

(Poetry) Making Light of Darkness by Yuan Changming

in a world always half in darkness your body may be soaked deep in a nightmare, rotting but your heart can roam like a synchronous satellite in Her space, leaving the long night far behind as long as your heart flies fast and high enough, you will live forever in light (Meet Mago Contributor) Yuan Changming.
(Tribute 1) Barbara Mor, “Relentless Love”: Letters 1988-2002 from a Writer’s Best Friend by Jack Dempsey

…& who is jesus what else does he do can he sing can he plant corn i saw a picture of him once on the dome of the sky looking down dark & fierce at the green earth & who is jesus what else can he do can he scrub floors can he make the bread they say he suffered 9 hours of pain for the world tell that to any mother what man son of what father king of what desert saver of what flesh can he mold pots can he make the rain come can he find his way home naked after being raped can he wail like janus can he burn in fire after 2000 years of dying can he laugh & hand Death a beer can he smash the last mirror can he know me who is this jesus what is he: next to any woman’s blood-red truth no wound in a man is big enough to birth a world to return an earth so now here is our old mama in the junkyard… (from “A Song A Song For Tralala,” 1975-1997) Through a grapevine of serious and hence little-known writers, I have only just heard of the passing (January 24, 2015) of the best friend we ever had—Barbara Mor. Before the barest bones of Barbara’s life, how we became close, and some of the soul-sustaining things she wrote to me over many years, I want to emphasize that Barbara Mor taught us with her life and work that what we do matters, in the midst of a civilization-gone-mad whose overwhelming mission has been the suicidal turning of living things into controlled and commodified corpses. Between the lines of all she wrote I find a warning and a hope. If we do not work at the root of the problem we only make it worse. If we don’t look full-bore into the hatred of life at that root of “traditional tradition,” we can’t see, or feel, or think, or remember what we’ve truly been and really are (that is what it intends), and so find a way to change our course—which is still possible. What dooms us now is certainly not nature and our human share of its evolution, but our artificially-instilled sadomasochistic addiction to the stupid, corrupt and vengeful ideas of nature and human being that history itself (His-Story: that lie of the text-obsessed charlatans) has foisted on us. On that basis, I’m sure that Barbara—in all her volcanic anger, born of her loving will to help us heal ourselves and the Earth—would agree with another kinsman of ours, Terence McKenna, who observed that the prehistoric tribal shaman had become the modern artist, taking us back to recover the way forward, combining scientist and seer, explorer and healer, activist and artist; and, that “if the artist cannot find the way [to our healthy further evolution], then the way cannot be found.” While some facts here about Barbara’s life come from published sources and from her letters, these are vetted directly by her only son. Born October 3rd, 1936 in a southern Californian San Diego that she called “once beautiful,” Barbara described her grandparents’ heritage as Black Irish/Welsh with touches of French and German. According to her 1995 interview with Charles Cantalupo, her mother “was a jazz pianist before she got married”: “My mother sat me down and taught me how to play the piano when I was four.” In the 1940s, they also shared “going to the movies—the great musicals, right?—and getting the sheet music and coming back and playing it….Sitting on the bench, playing the music, I met the first poetry to come into my life.” They also shared many trips to the San Diego Zoo, where “very young” Barbara felt so close to the animals that she “sensed…the feeling of being tattooed with pictures of the beasts,” and they began to fill “all the critical dreams throughout my life…a leakage between the beast, the image of the beast, and something that becomes my body….[My] luck, my destiny, this feeling of mysticism.” But, when Barbara was seven, her parents divorced: when she turned 12, her mother died, and she lived with her father and step-mother through her teens, until she finished high school. After a marriage that lasted only about one year (with no children), Barbara struck out for new horizons. She was writing seriously already, because in September 1955 (just before she turned 19) she met film star James Dean, who saw enough promise to tell her “It’s important to me that you keep writing.” After some time in the Santa Cruz mountains and L.A., Barbara was living in “Beatnik” Baja by 1960 “with a Beat artist.” Here—courtesy of Cantalupo’s interview (Poetry, Mysticism, and Feminism from the Nave to the Chops: Harlow-Essex, Spectacular Diseases print ed., 1995)—we can listen to Barbara talk about the growth of her young-life spirit and imagination. Their roots we saw in the presence of powerful wild animals, whose beings wrote themselves into her, dreams and body, though she knew them only through a rail of theatrical iron bars. The other great felt presence and guide had been her mother’s jazz and all the sensory richness of learning to make a piano sing out, increasing her range for managing multiple rhythms and wedding them to consummate language. As in “Gershwin, Hart, Cole Porter: gorgeous stuff.” “I got that jingle in my head, and I grew up with this lyric pop music as the first paradigm in my mind. And that has given me an inferiority complex.” Barbara now the Baja Beatnik found that she had to outgrow the superficial “light and cute” aspects of her pop culture’s training (told by a first college professor, “Don’t ever try to do anything too serious”). But, by now there was “literate” rock and roll to help her on, “Bob Dylan, The Beatles,” from whom she got “that Dionysian, mystical power.” The poetry of academic journals had begun to pale for her: That’s the way I am a …
(Art) Gaia #9 Incandesence by Deborah Jane Milton, Ph.D.

S/He Who Keeps the Fire Too long relegated to the shadows, woman’s fire now ignites heads, hearts and hands to live the power of love. (Meet Mago Contributor) Deborah Jane Milton, Ph.D.
(Essay 2) Finding Our Agency and Awareness in the Seeds of Self by Deepak Shimkhada and Lachele Schilling

[Editor’s Note: This is first published in She Rises: What… Goddess Feminism, Activism and Spirituality? Volume 3 as an article entitled, “Finding Our Agency and Awareness in the Seeds of Self” co-authord by Deepak Shimkhada, Ph.D. and Lachele Schilling, Ph.D.] Human Follies Goddess Kali standing in the battlefield amidst human skulls signifying millions of Raktavijas she has killed. It’s a modern painting by an unknown artist in public domain. https://anandashramblogg.wordpress.com/page/23/ As was mentioned, and according to the laws of physics, nothing can really be created or destroyed. The inclination in human beings to destroy what we fear, to erase it, to tramp it down, is a losing battle. The United States has one of the largest militaries in the world, following China and India, but has the largest budget. Overall, in 2017, for example, global military spending totaled 1.7 trillion dollars, and the States makes up 610 billion of that, or 39%. Humans tend to respond to violence with more violence, and so for instance a terrorist organization is met with bigger bombs and a war. But are we just adding rajas to rajas and flailing further into imbalance? Buddhist Nhat Thich Hanh offers a metaphor of composting. One can look at evil or violence or hate as the rubbish of the world. The only way to get “rid” of trash is to transform it, to compost it into our gardens so that it becomes a productive and nutritious food for seeds to grow into sustenance and beauty. What does this mean in terms of how we treat people who seem to be causing havoc in our world? Some are convinced that violence not only results from greed for wealth and power but out of desperation and hopelessness in a world of unequal distribution. Humans must listen and understand the root of the problem. What is the message of rebellion and unrest? Regardless of the root, though, we need to add the elements that are not already present and in excess in order to return to balance. Otherwise, we will utterly destroy ourselves. Blood as Seed The Devi Mahatmya is a Hindu text that extolls the glories of the goddess Durga. One of many exploits of Durga, one that is memorable, is a battle with Raktavija, a formidable general of demon Mahishasura. During the course of the epic-battle between the goddess and the armies of Mahishasura, many brave and powerful demon warriors are killed by her. Mahishasura orders his best fighter with a special ability. That is no other than Raktavija, one who is born of blood seed. As the name suggests, Raktavija (blood seed) holds his power in his blood. In the story, the setting is a vast open space. At one corner of the battlefield stands alone Goddess Durga, mounted on her ferocious lion. She is young and beautiful. Endowed with rajas energy, the radiant heroine holds weapons of destruction in each of her eight hands. She challenges the demons standing on the other side of the battlefield. The massive army of Mahishasura led by Raktavija carries heavy weapons of all sorts—mostly spiked clubs and battle axes. By shouting loudly and brandishing their weapons, they show a readiness to fight. Raktavija orders his warriors to attack Durga, and they run toward her making a loud noisy attle cry. Durga, however, waits until they arrive within striking distance and charges her weapons at them. Her attack is precise and fatal. She doesn’t miss a single attacker, and she keeps charging at them as the angry lion runs ripping anyone that is in his path while carrying Durga on his back. Limbs or heads mutilated, the demons fall on the ground by the hundreds. Seeing such a devastating loss of his warriors, Raktavija becomes angry and runs toward Durga with a sharp axe in both his hands determined to kill her. However, before he strikes her, the Goddess makes a sudden lunge at him and chops his head off with the strike of her powerful sword. As his severed head falls on the ground, blood splatters everywhere. To Durga’s astonishment, ten Raktavijas spring up, each fully equipped with more weapons. Durga immediately cuts off their heads. Most surprisingly, as their severed heads fall on the ground, tenfold of Raktavijas spring up ready to fight with her. Raktavija keep multiplying by the tenfold. In her frenzy, Durga continues killing them all without realizing that she is only making possible the production of a million Raktavijas in a short time. When she pauses to observe the chaos she has perpetuated, she finds herself surrounded by more than a million Raktavijas. The goddess is overwhelmed by the scene, an outcome of her own action, at least in part, even though she only wanted to stop the violence of the demons. She feels hopeless and desperate. Her energy, her frequencies generate an alter-ego, Kali—the Dark Goddess. Durga, unable to stop herself, severs the heads of the Raktavija one last time. But as the blood begins to spill, Kali catches it with her tongue, licking the blood dripping from the head before it can fall as blood seeds to the ground. She composted the violence into her body. She became intimate with it, oriented herself to the potential violence in a new way, a way that might transform it. Her strategy ended Raktavija’s saga because his blood was stopped by making contact with the earth that fertilized his seed. According to another Hindu myth, the world, after its dissolution, was created with seeds. Here is a charming narrative according to which Brahma, at the behest of Shiva, mixed earth with water and kept it in a golden pot and floated it down the river. When it came to a stop, Shiva shot an arrow to break the pot open. Out flowed amrita, the water of immortality, and the seeds of creation, filling the earth with beings and non-beings. The pot, therefore, became the symbol of the womb, containing the water of life and the …
(Tribute 3) Barbara Mor, “Relentless Love”: Letters 1988-2002 from a Writer’s Best Friend by Jack Dempsey

Meanwhile on May 3rd, 1992, Barbara dug into what little she had to send the expensive Tibetan-style card below. She spent the money just to congratulate me on acceptance to Brown Graduate School, she knew I still grieved for my father—and, because I’d told her that my dearest friend, my younger sister, had just survived a harrowing full-scale bone-marrow transplant saving her from cancer, and had come home against all odds to rejoin her one little daughter. I include this because it shows Barbara’s caring and generosity no matter how deep-in she was herself, living on pennies with new works struggling to get done. It also revealed that she too had already battled cancer: Dear Jack, You and your family have gone through such great upheavals, pain grief anxiety—and now the next turn of the wheel lurches JOY and SUCCESS into your lives and the embrace of your hearts. As our world turns—! and rocks and burns—my daughter as I wrote you was in midst of northern California earthquakes last weekend. I hope the terrible upheavals open our hearts and make us more real. I was also in the hospital for cancer surgery (twice in one year), with my daughter still an infant. Your description of your sister and her return to her little girl was beautiful, one of the best moments life can know. I’m very happy for them. And for you, accepted at Brown: of course! This just might be our decade. We’ve earned it! Congratulations, Barbara In October, Barbara sent two pages whose pairing might have exploded the envelope: this “How To Be An Artist” flyer first below, and a merciless gaze of a same-titled poem “for the New Mexico Art Resources Directory.” I don’t know if she formally published the latter. It is a staggering song of empathy, and rage (not excluding her own conditions despite all effort and achievement) at “souled-out mediocrities” and “the murder of all our possibilities by stupid knives and signatures of money.” Given Barbara’s own next romp of words (below), I do not think she’d have disavowed the first group of playful ideas above. But that poem sent with it was a searing look straight into the eye of a Minotaur, an indictment and a warning: an unblinking measure of what one might well expect should one dare to live to create from an unfettered soul, and a measure of Barbara’s own courage in working ever “onward” full-aware of her teachers’ ghastly ends. In proof of that, Barbara’s next letter (December 8th, 1992) was long and especially rich with talk of her latest works, connections and practical struggles—plus, as you’ll see, more significant indications of how and why her poetic style was to evolve in the coming years. She typed its first page on the back of a flyer for a new CD called Oikos (Greek for “household”), Songs for the Living Planet, produced by Lone Wolf Circles and Friends. Barbara took much trouble at a copy-machine to lay out the CD’s cover, contents and quotations from participants on one page: it was inscribed “For Barbara, giving voice to to the muse, embodying the Goddess. Rave on! Rave on! With respect and love, Lone Wolf,” and included many artists from herself and Jenny Bird to Stone Biscuit “and the womyn’s group Joyful Noise,” with “both mystical and danceable music celebrating the traditions of Native America, Africa and the Middle East—a deep ecology soundtrack, a rhythmic pan-tribal prayer to sacred mother Earth.” Barbara included its manifesto, too: [Oikos] describes the crucial relationship between organisms and their environment. Virtually everyone knows that life on Earth is dying, through personal observation or exposure to even the most superficial media. What’s more, we know who is doing the most to kill it. In spite of our denial, we sense our own culpability, virtual accomplices as a result of consumptive lifestyles and an unwillingness to take a stand. Intellectual understanding, however, is not enough. The radical personal and political changes necessary require below the neck response—emotional, visceral, and spiritual. Instinctively, we know that we are the Earth, dancing cells of a living, breathing planet-body. Instinctively we know that as we do this to the Earth, we do [it] to ourselves, and that the fate of humanity is…[end of clipping]…. And here were the words printed inside from Barbara, “a visionary prophet and volcanic poet”: A joyous dance of resistance! It is one minute till midnight for the life of the Earth, demanding our relentless love and most vigorous response. Get involved with whatever skills you have, drawing on the power of the wilderness within you. Participate! Do something unplanned! Stay up late! Get dirty! Take chances! Replant the playground! Tear up some concrete! Re-create the wild, as you celebrate it! Perhaps the serpent of life’s flowing energy will begin to rise again, all luminous and of the Earth, and the children of the Great Mother will rise up with it, and the universe will be our home again as before. This flight is not an escape, but a return. Oikos invokes the rhythmic return to our true, wilder selves as sentient extensions of the sacred Earth: Gaia. We return home as both lovers and defenders. From many different dispersed places we all arrive now at one place: between birth and death, what is truly worth living for. The answer is in place. That place is Earth. Before Barbara’s full letter that carried all this, two of her references to clarify. The TMA or Thomas Morton Allliance was a 1970s-90s group of New England pagan activists including Gae Sidhe, Franque Dufner and Flora Green, and published a first-rate journal called The Merrymount Messenger founded long before I knew Morton. In that year of 1992, working in parallel with Oikos and talking back to the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ New World invasion, we put out a merry-men’s sardonic booklet called Glory Here with a piece of mine called “Suffering Fools” (a title used again in later work), and Barbara engaged with all of it. We all looked up to her, and never stopped laughing to deal with her …
(Essay 3) Red Poppies Among the Ruins by Mary Saracino

[Author’s Note: Originally published in TRIVIA: Voices of Feminism, Issue 6, September 2007, www.triviavoices.net.] Red Poppies Tharros, Sardinia in 2004, photo by MarySaracino The Kurgan legacy survives to this day. Too often humankind worships the warrior culture, the power and might of dominium. From sports icons to corporate raiders and political strategists we laud and celebrate the principle of conquest. Our history books teach war, not peace. We learn of military campaigns, famous battles, esteemed generals with their prowess of might and destruction. The progress of civilization is measured in lives lost, blood shed, peoples oppressed. The more ancient legacy of peaceful coexistence is silenced. How did it come to be that 7,000 years of violence could wipe away 50,000 years of accord, erase it from our collective memory? Where are the history book chapters about peaceful resolution to conflict? About cultures co-existing in harmony? Where are the tales of societies like that of early Tharros? Or of the Nurgahi of Sardegna, people whose day-to-day living made no room for slavery, social stratification, or inequality between men and women? History chronicles the exploits of the conquerors even as it silences the subaltern ways of the conquered. In June 2004, in Rome, en route from Sardegna to my life in America, I walked the city streets, mere days after then President George W. Bush had visited the city. Everywhere, hanging from windows on buildings large and small, from wrought-iron apartment balconies, the facades of public office buildings, the stone arches of church entryways, I saw rainbow-colored banners waving in the smoggy breeze. In white letters, against a prism field of hope (bright rows of violet, blue, green, yellow, orange and red) blazed the word: Pace. Peace. A clarion call for sanity in an insane, out of control world. A prayer for harmony, for humanity, for grace. The Pace flags mirrored the hopes of people seeking to create a different resolution, establish a new pathway, disinherit humanity’s 7,000-year-old Kurgan legacy. On city walls throughout Rome, red and black graffiti screamed its paint-stained resounding truth: war harms the warriors as well as the warred against. Unambiguous, stark images leapt from stone walls and the sooty sides of buildings; war, and warmongers, were not welcome. Stop Global War; Bushladen; Bush Go Home; Bush Terrorista, No War for Oil; No Justice No Peace; No Bush, No War. I stood on street corners, reading these spray-painted messages, my heart pounding with urgency. The memory lives, I heard myself say. In Sardegna, I had waded through a field of knee-high grasses to reach ancient tombs and gaze upon graffiti of another kind: ochre-red carvings, symbols etched into rock tombs 1000s of years before. The spears of thistles pierced my socks, lingered like acupuncture needles, touching the essential points of Qi, conjuring vitality, coaxing life back to essential balance. Eco-activists tell us the Earth is out of balance and I agree. But the human spirit is awry as well. We cannot begin to save Mother Earth, and all her rich bio-diversity, until we save our own souls. Can humanity turn away from the cycle of victim and oppressor? Can we re-invite the ethos of justice with compassion, non-hierarchical social structure, and equality among all peoples to take root once more? In remembering and honoring our ancient past, can we begin to sow the Dark Mother’s aspiration of peace and well-being for all Her children? Among the ruins at Tharros and the cave-tombs of Montessu, I began to remember: the dream within the dream is as real and as tangible as breath. There was an age, before this violent one, in which the peoples of the Earth fashioned metal into useful tools and jewelry, not weaponry. There was a time before this one when men and women resolved conflicts without bloodshed, where humans lived in harmony with animals and plants. On that granite and basalt island in the Mediterranean, I beheld a four- thousand- year-old olive tree whose limbs embraced the sky, whose thick roots burrowed into the deep belly of the Mother and I remembered that there was a time, before dogma reigned, when Spirit was not separate from Body, when eyes shone with certainty and ears rang with sustaining lore. Rippling streams coursed through the parched land, giving sustenance. The waters of the turquoise sea lapped the shoreline, caressing beaches under the push and pull of the moon tide. Stones spoke to the wind, the sea, and to every willing listener. In Sardegna, beneath layers of sediment, eons of submission, the stony lips of ruins loosened, howling their stories among the tasseled grasses. Slowly, steadily, memories erupted with insistent defiance. Once, long, long ago, we humans could read the stars and portent the future. Once, long, long ago, we could witness the seasons, accept our place within the larger, all-encompassing circle, and reflect the Divine back to our receptive faces. Something deeper resides beneath the silence and the half-truths we contemporary humans tell ourselves, seeking to comfort our overwhelming sense of powerlessness, our disconnection from self and others. That’s the way it’s always been, we lie. People are violent by nature, we fool ourselves, hoping to feel less burdened by the responsibility to change our lives. Knowing better, our hearts shudder: how can this be true? Conflict is part of life, of course, for human harmony does not preclude disagreement or the need for mediation. But war and its twin, the violent subjugation of other peoples, is the anomaly—not peace. Violence is the mutant strain, the dismembered spirit. Peace is our birthright, our better choice. Peace begets transformation and transformation is the desire of each and every soul. Under the Sardegna sun, on a cloudless day, I sat among the ruins and listened to the songs of stones, the stories of poppies, those blood red tongues of memory. I know in my bones that there is hope for the human race. The ruins ask us to embrace the mystery, seek a different way, remember a time …
(Art Essay) The Lover by Sanna Pöyhönen

The concept of Lover was triggered by a dilemma women face in the modern work environment. Everyone knows the slogan ‘Nice girls don’t get the corner office’ but women also know that they have to be emotionally highly intelligent and capable to survive in the corporate game. Competitive women easily get a reputation of being difficult, but a nice woman with a selfless attitude doesn’t get promoted. Do this or do that – it will be a problem for her. The Lover is a divine muse who doesn’t shame her niceness, but makes it a superpower. She can see the best version of each of us, and kisses all frogs into princes. Initially, my idea was that the woman and frog are making love, but later I realised that the woman could also be giving birth to the frog. She is both a lover and a mother. Her love is like overwhelming acceptance and true Seeing, which helps a person to transform. Only recently I learned that in ancient Egypt there was a frog-headed goddess of fertility and childbirth called Heqet. She was associated with the flooding of the Nile, which symbolised fertility, and played a role in the creation of life and resurrection of the deceased. I especially liked the detail that she also was the goddess of pottery! In Finnish mythology, the frog symbolizes birth, transition, and recreation. It was considered to be a guardian spirit, especially of women. I truly wish that people who have the gift of loving would be more rewarded in our society. We need more nurses, teachers, caregivers – and lovers also in the corporate environment. If only competition is rewarded, none of us can reach our highest potential. —— The Lover is from my art series called the Great Ladies ( https://sannapoyhonen.com/?page_id=9447 ) It was originally shadow work to recover from burnout, and turned out to be a truly magical project for me. I keep finding ancient goddesses and archetypes that resemble my ladies. There’s thirteen of them at the moment. I usually start the work by ink painting and proceed to ceramic sculptures. Casted statues and prints from the paintings are available for sale. https://www.magoism.net/2025/09/meet-mago-contributor-sanna-poyhonen/
(Seasonal essay) Spring Equinox Southern Hemisphere September 2013 by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

As the new young light continues to grow after the transition of Early Spring/Imbolc, it comes into balance with the dark, at the Seasonal Moment of Spring Equinox or Eostar as it may be known.[1] This is one of two points in the year when the Sun is equidistant between North and South, creating a balance of dark and light, with the trend at Spring Equinox being toward longer hours of light as the Sun in my region moves further South on the horizon: Earth’s tilt creating this effect. I summarize the Poetics of this Moment as “stepping into the Joy and Power of Being”. At my place, Spring and Autumn Equinoxes are both celebrated in the tradition of the Demeter-Persephone Mysteries, and Spring is the joyful celebration of Persephone’s return from the underworld – Her return and re-union with her Mother who has waited and longed for Her: it may be understood generically as the Return of the Beloved One. Persephone, who is the Seed, emerges, unfolding all the beauty and potency that is within Her, manifesting it – Herself – virulently. As is said in the ceremony: “The Beloved One, the Lost One, returns with new Wisdom from the depths.”[2] Persephone, the Beloved Daughter – the Seed – has navigated the darkness successfully, has enriched it with Her presence and also gained its riches. Spring Equinox ceremony may celebrate the magic of the unexpected, yet long awaited, green emergence from under the ground or in the bare branch, and then the flower: that may have lain dormant for months or longer – much like the magic of desert blooms after long periods of drought. The story that our ceremony is based on is the version that we understand as pre-patriarchal, from Old Europe. It is the well researched version told by Charlene Spretnak, and now by others in some varied form, wherein Persephone voluntarily descends to the underworld – she is not forced.[3] In this “story of Old” Persephone is a courageous seeker of wisdom, a compassionate receiver of the dead, a shaman, a redeemer. She is the Seed of Life that never fades away: She carries within Her the sacred red thread of life which continues beneath the visible, and is renewed in the darkness. Spring Equinox may be a celebration of Her return, Life’s continual return, and also our own personal emergences/returns. We may contemplate the collective emergence/return also … perhaps a Return to the Mother – especially as it may be manifesting in our times, perhaps in the very midst of compost. In the ceremony and on the PaGaian Wheel of the Year,[4] the Return of the Beloved One is identified as “Heraic”: since the word hera pre-dates the masculine form hero (who as Heracles was carrying out the bidding of his Goddess, Hera), Charlene Spretnak makes a case for using the term for any individual who acts courageously.[5] The ‘Olympic’ games were originally Hera’s races, with exclusively female runners: the winners were heraic it could be said. Spring Equinox emergence is a grand opportunity to re-store Hera to Her pre-Olympian integrity:[6] that of indigenous Queen Goddess, ‘origin of all things,’[7] Parthenos[8] – before She was married off to Zeus. Invoking and naming the “Courageous One who has Journeyed and who Journeys” as the “Sacred Heraic Self” as is invited in the Spring Equinox ceremony, at once re-stores the participant’s native en-titlement, and appropriately re-contextualizes and re-members the trials of the lost journey of a patriarchal woman or man, who has been Returning.
(Prose)The Goddess As All of Creation by Deanne Quarrie

The Goddess is the “All of Creation.” She is the Creatress and the Created. She is the life force of all there is. She is one, whole, and complete. Before Her, nothing was. She arose from the Great Void, the source of all potential, giving birth to Herself before anything else had ever been born. She separated the sky and the water and She danced. In the ecstasy of Her Dance She conceived of all there is. In every culture, in every part of the world, the Goddess has been revered as the Birth Giver of all Life. From the very beginning of time, in our earliest primitive state, we sought to explain the unexplainable by drawing from what we knew. The female of every species brought forth life; therefore, the Creatrix also had to be Birth Giving Mother and the Great Mother was given Her identity. She has been loved, feared, respected, honored, and glorified in every way imaginable throughout thousands of years of human development. She has been given a “face” for every conceivable aspect of Her nature. She has taken the form of animals, humans, and elemental energies. She has been given associations with plants, colors, sounds, stones, music, and more. For every aspect and every view, She has a face.

(Special Post 7) Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality?

[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. Special thanks to Trista Hendren, founder and author of The Girl God, who passionately and painstakingly promotes the message of each contributor via Facebook’s memes. Without Trista’s devotion to the advocacy, this collective effort would not have continued. 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.] Kaalii Cargill: Life emerges from the Feminine: Woman, Nature, Goddess. When we value the life-giving power of the Feminine we are less likely to kill other human beings who have been held in a mother’s arms.
(Special Post) BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE FOR EL PASO ARTIST MARIO COLÍN by Donna Snyder

Born in Juárez in 1959, Mario Colín lived his entire life in the Five Points area of Central El Paso, where he attended Houston Elementary and Austin High School. From the age of fifteen, he worked as a construction worker, building silos and other large construction projects across the U.S.A., at some point hitch hiking from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic shores. In his late twenties, he began to focus all his attention and energy on art, which had been an interest since early childhood, working as a muralist and portrait painter. Much of his art is of a religious nature, although he also painted secular art, portraits, and historical scenes. Colín painted his first mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe in collaboration with deceased artist Chuck Zavala in 1987 at Esparza’s Grocery, a small store in Central El Paso. It has now become a shrine, with community members building a stone arch and bringing flowers and candles, and has been pronounced a religious site by the parish church. Since that first mural, Colín has painted over 40 pieces of public art, many of which have become landmarks. Many of those murals are in that same Central El Paso neighborhood, on or near Piedras, including the House of Pizza, Los Alamos Grocery, The Elbo Room bar, the former Sanitary Plumbing at Piedras and Fort Boulevard. Colín twice painted a 25 foot mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe, at Alameda and Zaragoza, across from the Ysleta mission. The first version, painted in 1997, became decayed, but was a popular landmark. That mural has appeared in periodicals, art books, calendars, many newspaper articles, and in photographs exhibited in the El Paso Art Museum and galleries. In 2004, Señor José Villalobos donated and members of the community contributed money to pay laborers to replaster the wall of the century-old adobe building where it is located, and Colín repainted the entire mural for donations from passers-by and community members. Colín’s work has also been featured on the International History Channel and Canal 44, XHUI TV, in a Ford television commercial, and numerous times in the El Paso Times and the defunct El Paso Herald-Post, as well as in periodicals such as Texas Monthly, Dallas Morning News, Texas Observer, Austin American Statesman, Stanton Street magazine; literary journals such as Mezcla and GypsyMag.com; in documentaries including Walls that Speak: El Paso’s Murals, directed by Jim Klaes; in art books such as Colors on Desert Walls: The Murals of El Paso and Texas 24:7, and in various editions of Chicano Studies: Survey and Analysis, a text book used throughout the country.
(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 […]

(Poetry & Photo Essay) Pongal by Susan Hawthorne

I am a secularist rather than a ritualist, but I can’t help but be drawn into the celebrations that people make when they honour the passing of the seasons. Even as a child I felt the disconnect between Christmas and the hot dusty days of summer. When Christians invaded and colonised Australia they brought their holidays but did not consider changing the dates to match the seasons. I was in India recently, invited as a speaker at the Hindu Lit For Life Festival in Chennai where I had lived ten years ago. The last day of the festival was the first day of Pongal. A friend, feminist economist Devaki Jain, who had grown up in Chennai eighty years earlier invited me to join her in a car ride to see Pongal celebrations in the streets. This is a Tamil festival dating back at least a thousand years, a sun festival, welcoming the next six months of the sun’s journey, also a harvest festival. During this time many women produce beautiful drawings, known as kolam. In my book Cow I wrote a poem about kolam which I think says more than I can explain here. what she says about kolam where they are drawn and when is all important early morning is auspicious it sets the shape of the day the hard ground is cleaned points of white grain sprinkled she works quickly she knows her design for the day runs the powdered grain from point to point it is a mandala a yantra a sign so the forces of the universe align themselves with her intentions Back to Pongal. The festival goes for four days. On the first day, which is called Bhogi, people are on the streets with the fruits of harvest, piles of tumeric and stacks of sugar cane tied in bunches. My friend, Devaki, bought flowers to take back to her room in the hotel. The second day, called Thai Pongal, I was invited to a harvest lunch at the house of my friend Mangai who is a playwright, theatre director and human rights activist. The word ‘pongal’ means ‘boiling over’ or’ overflow’ and I saw this in the cooking of the sweetened rice dish into which each of the twelve people present poured some water and milk as it almost overflowed the pot. This sweet rice dish was added to the collection of other dishes on the table. I cannot tell you what they were, but the meal was delicious. After lunch everyone relaxed, someone sang, we talked and caught up on news. The third day, is called Maatu Pongal, and cattle are at the centre of celebrations on that day. I don’t know if this line up of cattle had anything to do with the day’s celebration but there they were tied up alongside a very busy main road. These were not cows and I did not see any cows with decorated horns and flowers on their heads. on that day as I have on other occasions. On the fourth day, Kaanum Pongal, things begin to wind down. One of my co-speakers at the festival said she would be visiting family members on that day. The kolams are drawn again, sugar cane is consumed and people go back to their daily lives. What I liked about being in Tamil Nadu during the Pongal festival is that it felt absolutely right. The time of the year, the connection with harvest, so I did not feel the discomfort I so often feel in the midst of the out-of-season commercialised holidays as they are celebrated in Australia. Susan Hawthorne’s book Cow is available worldwide from distributors in USA, Canada, UK, from all the usual online retailers or from Spinifex Press. http://www.spinifexpress.com.au/Bookstore/book/id=215/ © Susan Hawthorne, 2019 (Meet Mago Contributor) Susan Hawthorne.
(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
(Prose) Halcyon for the Season by Deanne Quarrie

A bird for this season is the Kingfisher, also known as the Halcyon. The Kingfisher is associated in Greek myth with the Winter Solstice. There were fourteen “halcyon days” in every year, seven of which fell before the winter solstice, seven after; peaceful days when the sea was smooth as a pond and the hen-halcyon built a floating nest and hatched out her young. She also had another habit, that of carrying her dead mate on her back over the sea and mourning him with a plaintive cry. Pliny reported that the halcyon was rarely seen and then only at the winter and summer solstices and at the setting of the Pleiades. She was therefore, a manifestation of the Moon-Goddess who was worshiped at the two solstices as the Goddess of Life in Death and Death in Life and, when the Pleiades set, she sent the sacred king his summons for death. Kingfishers are typically stocky, short-legged birds with large heads and large, heron-like beaks. They feed primarily on fish, hovering over the water or watching intently from perches and they plunge headlong into the water to catch their prey. Their name, Alcedinidae, stems from classical Greek mythology. Alcyone, Daughter of the Wind, was so distraught when her husband perished in a shipwreck that she threw herself into the sea. Both were then transformed into kingfishers and roamed the waves together. When they nested on the open sea, the winds remained calm and the weather balmy. Still another Alcyone, Queen of Sailing, was the mystical leader of the seven Pleiades. The heliacal rising of the Pleiades in May marked the beginning of the navigational year and their setting marked the end. Alcyone, as Sea Goddess protected sailors from rocks and rough weather. The bird, halcyon continued for centuries to be credited with the magical power of allaying storms. Shakespeare refers to this legend in this passage from Hamlet: Some say that ever ‘gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow’d and so gracious is the time. Hamlet, I, i 157 When I was a young mother, and my children were little, we lived in a house that had a creek in the back yard. There were small trees along the far bank of this creek and every day, a kingfisher would sit in the branches overlooking the creek. Sometimes he sat there very quietly for a very long time. Suddenly he would dive from his perch straight into the creek. Every time he did he came out and up into the air with a fish. It gave me great pleasure to watch him from my kitchen window. I love birds. I love learning about their habits because it teaches me ways of being that are closer to nature. I love drawing birds as well. When I was a young and more able, I was an avid bird watcher, out with my friends hoping for a sight never seen before. I love the story of the kingfisher and her connection to the Halcyon Days of the Winter Solstice. It is for most of us the busiest time of year. Whether it is for the Solstice or Christmas (often both) we are in a frenzy to get things done, making sure everything is just right and perfect. I celebrate the Winter Solstice. As a priestess, my days right now are very busy creating ritual. It is at the Solstice that many passage rites are happening with the women I work with. And of course, I celebrate with my family with our magical Yule Log each year. But I try to honor those seven days before and the seven days after by trying to have the frantic moments before the Halcyon Days begin and then even when busy, hold the peace and calm of that beautiful smooth sea in my mind. Peace and love and joy surrounding the Winter Solstice make it perfect. May the Peace of a Halcyon Sea be yours in this Solstice Season. Do hold the image of that little kingfisher in mind! Meet Mago Contributor, Deanne Quarrie
Lammas – the Sacred Consuming by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Lammas, the first seasonal transition after Summer Solstice, may be summarised as the Season that marks and celebrates the Sacred Consuming, the Harvest of Life. Many indigenous cultures recognised the grain itself as Mother … Corn Mother being one of those images – She who feeds the community, the world, with Her own body: the Corn, the grain, the food, the bread, is Her body. She the Corn Mother, or any other grain Mother, was/is the original sacrifice … no need for extraordinary heroics: it is the nature of Her being. She is sacrificed, consumed, to make the people whole with Her body (as the word “sacrifice” means “to make whole”). She gives Herself in Her fullness to feed the people …. the original Communion. In cultures that preceded agriculture or were perhaps pastoral – hunted or bred animals for food – this cross-quarter day may not have been celebrated, or perhaps it may have been marked in some other way. Yet even in our times when many are not in relationship with the harvest of food directly, we may still be in relationship with our place: Sun and Earth and Moon still do their dance wherever you are, and are indeed the Ground of one’s being here … a good reason to pay attention and homage, and maybe as a result, and in the process, get the essence of one’s life in order. One does not need to go anywhere to make this pilgrimage … simply Place one’s self. The seasonal transition of Lammas may offer that in particular, being a “moment of grace” – as Thomas Berry has named the seasonal transitions, when the dark part of the day begins to grow longer, as the cloak of darkness slowly envelopes the days again: it is timely to reflect on the Dark Cosmos in Whom we are, from Whom we arise and to Whom we return – and upon that moment when like Corn Mother we give ourselves over. This reflection is good, will serve a person and all – to live fully, as well as simply to be who we are: this dark realm of manifesting is the core of who we are. And what difference might such reflection make to our world – personal and collective – to live in this relationship with where we are, and thus who we are. We all are the grain that is harvested and all are Her harvest … perhaps one may use a different metaphor: the truth that may be reflected upon at this seasonal moment after the peaking of Sun’s light at Summer Solstice and the wind down into Autumn, is that everything passes, all fades away … even our Sun shall pass. All is consumed. So What are we part of? (I write it with a capital because surely it is a sacred entity) And how might we participate creatively? We are Food – whether we like it or not … Lammas is a good time to get with the Creative plot, though many find it the most difficult, or focus on more exoteric celebration. May we be interesting food[i]. We are holy Communion, like Corn Mother. Meet Mago Contributor Glenys Livingstone NOTES: [i] This is an expression of cosmologist Brian Swimme in Canticle to the Cosmos DVD series.
(Art & Poem) Spring Equinox by Sudie Rakusin & Annie Finch

A SEED FOR SPRING EQUINOX . . . till I feel the earth around the place my head has lain under winter’s touch, and it crumbles. Slanted weight of clouds. Reaching with my head and shoulders past the open crust dried by spring wind. Sun. Tucking through the ground that has planted cold inside me, made its waiting be my food. Now I watch the watching dark my light’s long-grown dark makes known. Art and poem are included in Celebrating Seasons of the Goddess (Mago Books, 2017). (Meet Mago Contributor) Sudie Rakusin (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch
(Art & Poem) Candelmas/Imbolc by Sudie Rakusin & Annie Finch

IMBOLC DANCE From the east she has gathered like wishes. She has woven a night into dawn. We are quickening ivy. We grow where her warmth melts out over the ice. Now spiral south bends into flame to push the morning over doors. The light swings wide, green with the pulse of seasons, and we let her in We are quickening ivy. We grow The light swings wide, green with the pulse till the west is rocked by darkness pulled from where the fire rises. Shortened time’s reflecting water rakes her through the thickened cold. Hands cover north smooth with emptiness, stinging the mill of night’s hours. Wait with me. See, she comes circling over the listening snow to us. Shortened time’s reflecting water Wait with me. See, she comes circling From Calendars (Tupelo Press, 2003) Art is included in Celebrating Seasons of the Goddess (Mago Books, 2017). (Meet Mago Contributor) Sudie Rakusin (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch

(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.
(2015 Mago Pilgrimage) Neuk-do (Serpent Island) by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

I wanted to visit Neuk-do because of the Mago story told in the region. Its name Neuk-do, which means the Serpent Island (구렁이섬), whispers a deep memory of the gynocentric past. However, people today seem to be oblivious to this. Our guides did not inform us of the meaning of the island’s name. I relished being surrounded by an air of mystery about the island during our visit. Also I was drawn to Neuk-do because it is under the administration of Sacheon City. The place-name, Sacheon (泗川 or 四川 Xichuan in Chinese), is no unknown place in the mytho-history of Magoism. Like many other place-names, “Sacheon,” recurs in both present-day China and the Korean peninsula. They, although written in slightly different characters, concern Magoism (stories, place-names, or topographies). In the case of the Chinese “Sacheon,” Magoism is systematically suppressed and replaced by Daoism. Today China boasts of Xichuan Province as a birthplace of Daoism. Mt. Qingcheng (青城山) in Dujiangyan City, is known as one of the ancient Daoist centers. Our data are, albeit often sketchy, ample to indicate the importance of Mt. Qingcheng in Daoist history. It is a place wherein Zhangling (34-156) or Zhang Daoling, the founder of Tianshi (天師 Celestial Master) Daoism, founded the doctrine of Daoism and died. Yellow Emperor, the pre-dynastic hero of the third millennium BCE, is commemorated. The Temple of Eternal Dao(常道觀 Changdao Guan) located in Mt. Qingcheng is noted for its oldest hall, the Shrine of the Yellow Emperor, built during the Sui dynasty (605-618).[i] Also the place-name, Dujiangyan(都江堰), reflects the ancient irrigation system originally constructed in circa 256 BCE during the Qin dynasty.[ii] Alongside a number of Daoist temples extant today, there are Magoist place-names and topographies, Magu Cave (麻姑洞 Magu-dong) and Magu Lake (麻姑池 Magu-chi) also known as Heavenly Lake (天池). Located adjacent to Shangqing Palace (上清宫 Supreme Clarity Palace), Magu Lake has a story that Magu collected water for her alchemical practice.[iii] “Mago” is alternatively used with “Cheon (Heaven, 天 Tian in Chinese),” as is in “Heavenly Lake.” As in other places, such Magoist place-names in Xichuan have survived Chinese mytho-historiography that has obliterated pre-Chinese Magoism and replaced it with Daoism. Note that Magu is never articulated as the Creatrix in Chinese historiography, whereas her supremacy is adumbrated in Chinese folklore and place-names. Chinese mytho-historiography has paid the price for its matricide: Its origin will never be explained. To say that Xichuan is a Daoist birthplace is a misleading. Xichuan is a pre-Daoist center of Magoism whose origin possibly dates to the time of Danguk (3898-2333 BCE). From the Korean sources, fortunately, we are able to assess that Xichuan was a place of significance from pre-Dangun times. According to the Handan Gogi (Archaic Histories of Han and Dan), Daeeup extant today near Mt. Qingcheng, Xichuan Province, was a place wherein Dangun began her career. The Handan Gogi reads, “Dangun began her career in Daeeup (大邑 Great Town, Dayi in Chinese). All people feared and obeyed her virtue as a divine being. When she was at age 14 in the year of Gapjin (2357 BCE), Sovereign Ungssi, upon hearing her divine virtue, appointed her as Biwang (Auxiliary Ruler) to administrate Daeeup (Great Town) [Female connoting words are mine].”[iv] Thomas Yoon points out that Daeeup is not a fictitious place-name but an actual site extant today in Chengdu, Sichuan.[v] Mr. Kigap Kang, former politician but now an orchard owner who experiments with nature-based farming for fruit trees in Sacheon City, arranged our meeting with the Director of the Sacheon City Cultural Center. The Director alongside his companion met us in his office. They told us Neuk-do’s stories of Mago Halmae. Then, we drove to the road off the shore where we could look out across the stepping stones in the sea that were said to have been placed by Mago Halmae. The tide was high and we could see only the tips of rocks. I could see the island across the adjoining water. Neuk-do had unusual topography as it was an elongated island conjoined by two mountainous isles. From such topography the name, the Serpent Island, may have derived. Houses are populated in the conjoined area. We drove to Neuk-do via a modern bridge with the hope of running into someone who could guide us to the site of Mago stepping stones. A native of Neuk-do, our guide-to-be, happened to be right there, when we got off the car. Mr. Gyeung Jang, a 61 year-old fisherman and native of Neuk-do, showed us the site in the sea where Mago is said to have placed stepping stones. Due to the high tide, we could only see the top parts of Mago’s stepping stones upper edge over the waterline. He also led us to peeking Mago Halmi’s washing laundry rock and estimated its size to be about two meters high at the low tide. He added, Mago Halmi was so tall and giant that she needed a tall rock. The motif that the giant Mago Hami carried a boulder to construct standing stones or dolmens and the story of Mago’s laundry rock commonly recur in other regions. During dinner at a seafood restaurant in Neuk-do, our conversations grew. Mr. Jang informed us of the fact that the whole island of Neuk-do is designated as a cultural and notable site by the province and the state. Its archaeological unearthing began in the early 1980s and has brought out numerous multi-period findings (about 13,000 items) ranging from the Neolithic to the early Iron Age. The unearthed include shell mounds, house sites, human and animal burials, pottery, and daggers that originated from not only Korea but also Yayoi Japan and Nangnang China. As such, Neuk-do has come to be known as a site of ancient transnational maritime centers in East Asia.[6] As I write this, the Mago story turns out to have several versions. I will share three versions here. In one account, Mago Halmae, so tall and giant, walked around the sea. She brought rocks …
(Bell Essay 6) The Magoist Whale Bell: Unraveling the Cetacean Code of Korean Temple Bells by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note: The part 6 and ensuing sequels are 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.] Southern right whale from Wikimedia Commons Introduction The Korean temple bell is no mere Buddhist device. Calling it a Sillan Esoteric Buddhist invention in origin only adds to its mystification. Commissioned by Sillan rulers who represented traditional Magoist shaman rulers, Sillan temple bells administer sonic balance within and without all beings once and for all. In short, the Sillan temple bell reenacts the Magost Cosmogony HERE and NOW.[1] Engendering resonance to the self-creative power of cosmic music, Yulryeo (Rhythms and Tones), the Korean temple bell summons the paradisiacal reality of the Creatrix, Mago. Cast in the form of a female body, the bell structurally embodies the gynocentric principle of the Creatrix, the Mago Way. I have discussed earlier such features as nine nipples and apsaras. Here the dragon figure (Yongnyu) and the sound tube (Yongtong or Eumtong) in its head are focused. Multi-functional and polysemic, the dragon is there not only to be the loop for hanging but also to envelop the sound tube, seen below. Among others, the sound tube stands out as a distinctive feature of Korean temple bells that distinguishes them from their Chinese and Japanese counterparts. What is the sound tube of the Korean temple bell? Why do Korean temple bells have a sound tube? Answers to these questions concern a yet-to-be-unraveled undergirding theme of the Korean temple bell, the whale. Although its origin is debated, the sound tube signals Sillan cetacean veneration. In the mytho-history of Magoism, Silla (57 BCE-935 CE) stands as a prominent ancient Korean state, which succeeded and flowered ancient Magoist cetaceanism. Sillan cetacenism defines Silla as a new government that succeeded Old Magoist confederacies. In this context, we can assess a whale-shaped wooden mallet, which is no mere decorative addition to the bell. Nonetheless, the whale-shaped mallet is only a tip of the cetacean meaning of the bell. A whale (고래 Gorae in Korean) is the very model that the Korean temple bell (the bell hereafter) takes after, especially for its vocalizations. The bell mimics the music of whales. While the latter is heard in water, the former is heard in land. Its cetacean names corroborate such an assessment. The bell is called Janggyeong (長鯨 Eternal Whale), Gyeongjong (鯨鐘 Whale Bell), Hwagyeong (華鯨 Splendid Whale), or Geogyeong (巨鯨 Gigantic Whale). As such, the sound of the bell is alternatively called “the sound of whale (鯨音gyeongeum).” Ancient Koreans perceived whales, pre-human in origin and once a land animal, as the messenger of the Creatrix, Mago. In folk traditions, the phrase, “riding the back of a whale,” was widely popularized among East Asians throughout history, which means that one returns to Mago, by riding the back of a whale upon death. That ancient Koreans were cetacean venerators remains esoteric. The cetacean code of Korean temple bells holds the key to unraveling what has gone suppressed in patriarchy, the Magoist Cosmogony. By the Magoist Cosmogony, I mean a systematic origin story of our universe, as is recounted in the Budoji (Epic of the Emblem City). I have summarized the Budoji’s cosmogonic chapters in my aforementioned book, The Mago Way, as follows: The Magoist Cosmogony highlights the sonic movement of cosmic elements as the Creatrix. In the beginning, there was light. The movement/vibration of light (cosmic music) in the universe caused creation to take place over eons. Stars were born in the previous cosmic era. In due time, Mago was born together with the Earth (the Stronghold of Mago) with her moons. Her (self-)emergence marks the beginning of earthly history. Mago listened to and acted in tune with the cyclic movement of the cosmic music. In further due time, S/HE bore two daughters, Gunghui (Goddess Gung) and Sohui (Goddess So) parthenogenetically. This Primordial Triad laid the foundation for the earthly environment for all species. Mago, assisted by HER two daughters, orchestrated the terrestrial plan to bring acoustic balance in harmony with the cosmic music/sound/vibration. S/HE delegated HER descendants to cultivate and manage the sonic equilibrium of the Earth [Italics added].[2] Precisely, the Sillan temple bell encodes the message that whales are the paragon of Magoists whose mandate is “to cultivate and manage the sonic equilibrium of the Earth.” Restoring Magoist cetaceanism is metamorphic. Antithetical to the very establishment of patriarchy, ancient Magoist Korean cetacean practice unfolds the Other World that has been ever HERE. This essay, assessing the sound tube as a Magoist code of Sillan cetaceanism, aims to delineate how the Magoist cetacean meaning came to be encoded in the sound tube of the bell by the Sillan rulers of the 7th and 8th centuries. In decoding the cetacean message, we are led to the myth of Manpasikjeok (萬波息笛 the pacifying flute that defeats all, hereafter the pacifying flute), a Sillan royal treasure that is hermeneutically construed as made of the tusk of a narwhal. A group of Korean scholars maintain that the sound tube was designed to represent the pacifying flute. The task of this essay is to go further and to re-read the myth of Manpasikjeok—a story of King Sinmun the Great (r. 681-692) of Silla (57 BCE-935 CE) who was told by a sea dragon to create a flute out of a mysterious bamboo tree growing in a mysterious mountain in the East Sea, alternatively known as the Sea of Whales—from the Magoist perspective. This story has been written and misinterpreted as an enigmatic Buddhist story. I hold that “Ruler (King or Queen) the Great (大王 Daewang),” unlike other kings of the ancient world, does not refer to a patriarchal monarch. It is a Magoist cetacean term that is related with “Ruler Whale the Great (Daewang Gorae),” referring to the blue whale for its gigantic size or whales collectively. By adopting the cetacean title …