February 5, 2026January 18, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Nine Poets Speak) Who Will Speak for You? by Mary Saracino

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Photo of Lake Superior, Duluth, MN; author’s personal archives. If you do not say what Read More …

January 29, 2026January 31, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M SaracinoLeave a comment

(Nine Poets Speak) The Laurel by Maria Famà

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Laurel tree: https://stockadobe.com I don’t know what I miss more the running or the singingYet, I Read More …

January 26, 2026December 19, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Poem) How Do We End the Madness of War by Mary Saracino

Pace (Peace) sign, Rome, Italy 2004, photo by Mary Saracino How do we end the madness of war?Do we take up arms to disarm the armed nations?Or do we wrap Read More …

January 22, 2026January 24, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Nine Poets Speak) Daughter of the Cranes by Sara Wright

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Photo: Cranes in the Fog by Sara Wright When I see themI enter the Dreaming.In Read More …

January 16, 2026December 15, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Poem) Grief and Other Types of Love by Mary Saracino

Photo by Mary Saracino The troubled world wailslet’s loose a blood-curdling dirge.My ears ring with the sound of sorrow.My heart is heavy with grief.So much evil everywhere.My eyes weep as Read More …

January 15, 2026January 16, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Nine Poets Speak) Dakini Vultures by Leslene della-Madre

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Sitting quietly on ancient rockI feel her timeless patience enter me.Great stone Mother—her creation stories Read More …

January 12, 2026January 2, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M SaracinoLeave a comment

(Poem) Heyoka by Sara Wright

Artwork by Sara Wright When I gazeinto these reflectionsI know whoI ambentwillow lowhoo hooa weaverof relationshipbridging worldsI’m toldwedto sacred land.Grandmotherwears green pearlsbruises purple black or red Grandfathersings to Black Bears Read More …

December 30, 2025December 31, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino2 Comments

(Nine Poets Speak) Laundry by Leslene della-Madre

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Today I hung my clothesline.I feel twisted inside even thinking about using the clothes dryer Read More …

December 26, 2025December 23, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Poem) Fire and Ice by Sara Wright

Medicine Wheel photo by Sara Wright I walked downto rippling waterslistening….Frozen mossestrees and meold snowoverflowing anguishgathered in aChalice of Light my prayerfor usmy dogand meto flow underfire and iceor toleratesoul Read More …

December 22, 2025December 16, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino2 Comments

(Poem) Wholly Holy by Mary Saracino

Photo by Mary Saracino The forest is my cathedral.The meadow is my church.The mountains are my temple.The oceans are my mosque.The fields are my ashram.The sacred dwells in all that Read More …

December 19, 2025December 19, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino4 Comments

(Poem) Walking in the Early Morning Darkness by Mary Saracino

Photo by Mary Saracino I love to walk in the early morning darknessbefore the first light of day kisses the horizonwhen the birds are still asleepand the trees sway in Read More …

December 18, 2025December 18, 2025 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Nine Poets Speak) Metacrisis by Harriet Ann Ellenberger

[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.] Photo by Cassandra Moore, on Unsplash; Cassandra Moore (@cassanova) | Unsplash Photo Community MetacrisisThere is Read More …

December 16, 2025March 29, 2026 RTM Co-Editor M Saracino1 Comment

(Nine Sister Networks E-Interivew) Peggy Elam and Pearlsong Press by Mary Saracino

[Editor’s Note: Return to Mago E-Magazine (RTME) introduces Sister Organizations under the banner of the Nine Sister Networks as a way of consolidating Matriversal Feminism previously known as Goddess Feminist Activist Spirituality. Read More …

(Book Review) Novel About Hildegard by Mary Sharratt, reviewed by Judith Laura

Illuminations: A Novel of Hildegard von Bingen by Mary Sharratt, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012, 272 pages, available beginning Oct. 9 in hardcover and as an e-book. Mary Sharratt’s fascinating historical novel, Illuminations, is written from the first person point of view of Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th century German Benedictine abbess, composer, poet, theologian, herbalist, and scientist, who recognized divinity in nature, opposed mortification of the flesh, and desired more freedom for herself and for her nuns. Ironically to some, her sainthood was made official last May by Pope Benedict XVI, who announced he will elevate her to”Doctor of the Church” on Oct. 7. The release date of this book is set to coincide with this elevation, granted to fewer than 40 saints, only 4 of whom are women. Author of four previous novels, the most recent of which is Daughters of the Witching Hill, Sharratt begins Illuminations with a prologue set in the year 1177 when Hildegard is 79. She and her nuns are burying on hallowed ground a runaway monk whom the archbishop has declared an apostate. As Hildegard awaits a decision on whether the burial will result in her being punished by the Church, she is visited by a young monk who apparently hasn’t heard of the controversial burial because it occurred while he was traveling to visit Hildegard. The purpose of his journey is to interview the abbess so he can write her vita. He asks her such questions as “…is it true that you bade your nuns to wear tiaras?” and “….Did I correctly understand that God appears to you as a woman?” Hildegard ponders how to respond to the monk’s questions as the prologue ends and, in Part I (“The Tithe”), the novel flashes back to Hildegard, age 5, the 10th child of a noble, but not very wealthy, family. Hildegard plays with her dolls, her older sisters, and her brother Rorich, suffers various illnesses, and begins to have visions. In Hildegard’s voice, here is the first one described in the novel: “A shadow passing overhead made me glance up to see an orb come floating out of the sunlight. A ball of spun gold, yet clear as glass. Inside grew a tree adorned with fruits as dazzling as rubies. The tree breathed in and out, as a living creature would.” Hildegard reaches for the orb, but “like a bubble, it burst.” After she asks her nursemaid Walburga and her mother where the orb has gone, Hildegard overhears them asking each other whether she is “mad, or simply bad?” Hildegard prays for the to visions stop, but they persist and some are prophetic. When she is 8, her mother explains that consistent with the custom of tithing 10 percent of one’s income to the Church, she is donating Hildegard, the 10th child, to the Church. This will be accomplished by Hildegard’s accompanying a young noblewoman of a wealthier family, the beautiful but troubled Jutta von Sponheim, to a monastery where they will be “anchorites,” walled into a small area called an anchorage beneath the monastery and given to understand that they will never be allowed to leave. In return for this “donation,” the Sponheims give Hildegard’s mother dowries for two of her other daughters. After the rite of anchorage on All Souls Eve, Hildegard compares her situation of being hidden away both to “being sealed in a tomb” and to that of “women in the glittering harems of the East.” As Jutta, who is a few years older than Hildegard, sinks deeper into starvation and other forms of masochism, Hildegard daydreams about escaping, possibly with the help of her brother. And she continues to have visions, which she keeps secret. The first night in the anchorage she sees a golden pulsing orb containing “a face like Walburga’s but not Walburga’s. A face bathed in tenderness, the Mother of my deepest longing….” who tells her, “….When the time is ripe, I will set you free….” During Advent, Hildegard remembers Walburga’s stories about the customs of her ancestors who were heathen and observed the Twelve Nights of Yuletide, “a time out of time when fate hung suspended…the Old Ones roaring across the midwinter skies: the Wild Hunter…in pursuit of his White Lady with her streaming hair and starry distaff….” As a winter storm rages outside, a vision comes to Hildegard: “… a white cloud bursting with a light that was live, pulsing and growing until it blazed like a thousand suns. In that gleaming I saw a maiden shine in such splendor that I could hardly look at her….Her mantle, whiter than snow, glittered like a heaven full of stars. In her right hand she cradled the sun and the moon. On her breast, covering her heart, was an ivory tablet and upon that tablet I saw a man the color of sapphire. A chorus rose like birdsong on an April dawn—all of Creation calling this maiden ‘Lady’. The maiden’s own voice rose above it… I bore you from the womb before the morning star.” The vision fades but the voice continues, telling Hildegard she is here for a purpose she does not yet understand. Then another vision, in which Hildegard is in “a greening garden so beautiful it made me cry out.” She hears the Lady’s voice again, this time whispering: “See the eternal paradise that has never fallen.” Hildegard then sees “a great wheel with the all-embracing arms of God at its circumference, the Lady at its heart. Everything she touched greened and bloomed.” Another vision follows on Christmas night, in which the image in the orb appears as Mother rather than Maiden; Hildegard calls this Mother, God. She speaks to Hildegard, saying, “I am the supreme fiery force who kindles every living spark. I flame above the beauty of the fields. I shine in the waters. I burn in the sun, moon, and stars. With the airy wind, I quicken all things….” Hildegard’s relationship with Jutta, her magistra (superior, teacher), is a very difficult one. Jutta teaches her to read and write in German and Latin and to play the psaltery, but her magistra also becomes increasingly distant as her health declines, apparently due to …
(Book Announcement 3) Introduction (part 1) to She Rises Vol 2 by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Editor’s Note: This Introduction is from She Rises: How Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? Volume 2.] Pre-order available now! She Rises: How Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? is a proud sister book to She Rises: Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? Inheriting the legacy of Volume 1, it continues to interweave the warp (the theme of the book) and the weft (our stories). What we present in this book is a tapestry collectively interwoven by twenty-first century Goddessians/Magoists. As many as 96 contributors from around the world have provided captivating motifs in multi-genres of prose, poetry, and art. This tapestry is no ordinary one; it stands as the genome map of the primordial consciousness of WE in S/HE to those who will discover it. It charts out ways to undo patriarchal programs at personal, cultural, and cosmic levels and to enter the Way of the Primordial Mother, or the Creatrix.
(Prose) Feeding the Birds…. Refuge by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright It’s another gray snowy day with large white flakes falling from the sky… January lasts “forever” every single year. I feed chickadees on my window ledge until the squirrels show up; then I scatter seed on the ground. Chickadees begin their day just before 7 AM when it is still dark, coming to the ledge. Today the turkeys are absent, fluffed up monks still hidden under hemlock boughs. The blood male cardinal appears with his usual message. I peer into the forest as the turkeys make their way across the brook and start up the hill while gazing at sage green shield lichens and two pure white birches that stand out like sentries, peeling white skin. Some maples and many hemlocks border the brook that is running clear of ice. A multitude of twigs and evergreen spires sway, branches twist and bend filling every inch of space, a comforting sight, even though all the deciduous trees are bare. Global warming turns snow to rain and back again in every storm creating ice bound paths, easily traversed by my little dogs. Dangerous for me. Often now I am housebound. This gray world of mine needs animation from within… The birds and my little night- flying squirrel remind me that flight can be a good exercise, even if it is only in my mind – but any flight I may make must be attached to my body. My body needs solid grounding and the separation I feel from rich brown earth, now covered by snow threatens to sever one from the other, I know. That I need extra protection at this time of year is sharply etched in my psyche. I light sage daily as I invoke the Four Directions. Following my dreams closely I receive nudges like those I feel and sense when I am free to roam through my favorite forest. I meditate on a dream of a blue green serpent with red crosses on his back. Blue green earth and betrayal behind my back. I am forewarned… Paying close attention to my beloved dogs and indoor plants, I take deep pleasure from the fact that all are thriving. Twice now two plants have spoken; one imaged an offering I needed to make for personal protection. Another produced an illumination: The root connection to my children remains, part of the great underground mycelial network, regardless of their behavior. I feel ambivalence around this news having suffered for so long, and finally being purged of want or need, the latter a Life Blessing. A second dream tells me to add a frog to my enclosure, a place where a child that is also me lives … The next dream reveals that this child is no bigger than a little red berry (berries contain seeds) and that living inside a protected space allows her to thrive because she is safe. Yet another dream reveals an emerald evergreen princess pine, a diminutive forest ground cover shimmering through the snow. The meaning behind this plant dream remains obscure until I spy the spore bearing tuft in my winter bouquet. Severing the ‘candle’ from the plant I carefully spread the seed dust on the moss of my terrarium. Seeds! Offering or Intention – I am not sure – probably both. My terrarium is bursting with life. Last fall I collected wild plants from the beloved forest, where my little brother roams free, to fill a container…. By creating a miniature woodland without conscious intention, I created a safe space, not just for a child but for me. Every morning I open the doors to mist the air and let the sweet earth scent of a forest in miniature remind the adult that winter is but one of four seasons and spring will come. Inside this oasis a partridgeberry catches my eye immediately. Little stone frog sits at the edge of the pool, the She Bear is in the foreground, head bowed, her red heartline hidden. Both Zuni fetishes. Lichen and mosses abound, dripping from lichened wood. Hemlock heartwood, driftwood from the deep lies against the glass; two hemlock seedlings are planted just to the right. Death to Life. Rotting leaves curl, brown edged, like Pulmonaria, once common now a rare lichen. Gradually a few stones move in, chert from Changing Woman’s Mountain, granite from my friend an Oglala Sioux Medicine Man. The first two offerings I was instructed to leave here for Winter Protection… A few wispy turkey feathers lay against the back glass wall. The child directs who and what enters this space; plants and my dreams fill in the blanks. Imagination turns the key. Until this morning I thought we were finished with offerings, but I was wrong. As I read an article that Carolyn Lee Boyd had written about witch stones, I suddenly recalled my brother’s Algonquin amulet, one he used to wear around his neck. Rummaging through my old jewelry bag I discovered the leather thong, but inexplicably it had been cut. The round stone with its hand drilled hole was gone. How could this be? Bereft, I tore through everything I had before finding lost treasure. Clasping the stone in hungry hands it suddenly hit me. The anniversary of my brother’s death was five days away. Every year for the last 51 years there has been something that re -attaches me to him in a visceral way… Here was the final offering. This one for the dead. When I examined the petroglyphs etched on the stone I remembered the fish, the sun, and the arrow on one side. The opposite side held the end of the story picturing a teepee – like structure, a place to hang fish, and stars falling to earth. A prayer for good fishing? A Witch Stone. When I looked at the rounded edge I was stunned. I didn’t remember that a serpent circled the periphery, meeting up with a lizard, face to face. Serpents and Lizards – north and south. …
(Art) As Above, So Below by Liz Darling
Paganism and American Folk Magic Traditions by Francesca Tronetti

Wikimedia Commons Pagans are people seeking spirituality. Not always religion, but true spiritual growth and freedom. Due to this desire, many seek out and learn from older cultural traditions, viewing these practices as purer and more in tune with the universe. This has led to multiple clashes between pagans and those whose cultures they seek to draw from. This is called cultural or spiritual appropriation, and there are dozens of articles, and probably a book or two, on the subject already. To avoid this conflict, many white spiritual seekers have begun looking to older European traditions such as those of the Celts and the Norse. However, worship of the ancient Norse deities has been linked to white supremacy in the last decade, so understandably many avoid the label. In the United States, there has been a steady resurgence of interest in American Folk Magic Traditions, especially those of the Appalachians, known as hoodoo, conjure, and rootwork. However, pagan interest in this folk magic is not always welcome and can bring them into conflict with practitioners of the craft. Until the 1960s, there were few studies of the lifestyles and traditions of Appalachian people. Then in 1966, the magazine Foxfire was first published. Proposed as a writing project by teacher Elliot Wigginton at the Rabun Gap-Nacoochee School in Georgia, students collected stories from relatives and neighbors about how people had lived in their area. The magazine published these stories about the crafts, skills, and lifestyles of the people in their area, everything from lessons on raising and butchering hogs to how to build a spinning wheel. The magazine was an immediate success, partially owing to the interest in communes, the back to the land movement, and organic farms developing in the United States. Today for $15 a year, you can subscribe to the magazine, which has been in publication since 1966, and in 1972 the first of the Foxfire books was published. These books remain popular and are still sought after by collectors and enthusiasts today; I have six of the original books and one of the more recent publications in my library. Foxfire is also a museum of Appalachian history whose members continue to record the area’s oral history. It also serves as a classroom where people come to learn homesteading and traditional medicine using herbs. The work of the Foxfire group inspired others to take an in-depth look at the culture and traditions of the mountain people, rather than labeling them simple backwoods folk who need to be taught, not learn from. Because of the work of the Foxfire group and other dedicated researchers, we now have a better understanding of the folk magic traditions of the area. Hoodoo, conjure, rootwork, mountain magic, and granny magic are African-inspired religious practices that are sometimes called mountain magic. Hoodoo is a set of spiritual practices, traditions, and beliefs that were created and concealed from slaveholders by enslaved Africans in North America. Many of these enslaved people attempted to escape, and some, unwilling to risk the long trek north, headed deep into the Appalachian mountains. In this area, already established groups of Native Americans and small settlements of formerly enslaved people began to take shape. The Native Americans, having no love for the white man who also enslaved them, lived in relative peace alongside their neighbors and taught them the herbs of the land. Eventually, European immigrants settled in the area and soon discovered that the promised land was not a fertile plain where life came easy. Mountain life is tough, and you need to depend on your neighbors to survive, especially if you have never lived in an area before and do not know which herbs and roots you can eat, which will heal, and which will kill. When members of the Pennsylvania Dutch arrived, they had their own folk magic traditions, already influenced by their interactions with the Native American groups who lived in PA. The formerly enslaved people and their descendants incorporated some of these traditions into their belief practices and created what we today call hoodoo. Still, this knowledge was shared with their neighbors, which is why you will find white people who claim their families have practiced hoodoo for generations. Because they probably have. Hoodoo and conjure are uniquely American magical traditions, born out of the intersection of at least three, and possibly more, cultures who all wished to live their lives and remain free. The spells and incantations are in English, the herbs used are those which grow locally, and practitioners for centuries have been white. For those seeking a spiritual path linked to herbalism and one in which a charge of cultural appropriation cannot be made against Appalachian folk magic would seem to solve their problems. However, they would be mistaken in thinking this type of magic is open to everyone regardless of background. Hoodoo and conjure are not pagan, and many practitioners are Christian. While there is a belief in spells, curses, and evil spirits, the people have a solid Christian belief as their bedrock. The spells are based on Psalms and Bible passages, and invocations are made to Jesus, God, the Holy Spirit, and the Saints. Appalachian folk magic is a branch of Christianity for all intents and purposes. Perhaps not one which many Christians outside of the geographic area would acknowledge, but it is still deeply rooted in the Christian faith. This has led to some online conflict between those who see this tradition as one which can be incorporated into the umbrella term pagan and those who resist their beliefs being placed alongside those of admitted witches. American folk magic occupies a unique place, being at the interception of Christianity and magic, but this does not mean that their beliefs and practices are open for anyone to use. To claim it as one’s own could be a type of cultural appropriation, on par with claiming the spiritual traditions of Native Americas or Afro Caribbean practices without understanding the deep cultural …
(Poem & Art) Mother Whale by Alex Purbrick

dance of the mother whales, art by Alex Purbrick Mother love swims deep in my ocean of tears, Singing salt songs to soothe my fears. Boundaries are blurry between earth, sea and sky For I become Her and She becomes I. Our hearts beat as One, As our bodies birth Babies that leap and play in the surf. She sings songs of love from whale tribes of old. I echo her voice Fearless and bold. We are Mothers Whose songs bring life and rebirth. Yet somehow our voice carries no worth In a world where mothers are no longer heard, Whale songs considered crazy, weird and absurd. Yet I swim through this madness As I hear loud and clear Mother whales swimming holding me dear. https://www.magoism.net/2015/07/meet-mago-contributor-alex-purbrick/
(Poem) Goodbye Vermont by Francesca Tronetti

Omar Rodriguez organizes bodies in the Gerard J. Neufeld funeral home in Elmhurst on April 22, 2020. New York Magazine. 610,000 dead in early August as county fair season starts While we argue over mask mandates in our schools As we fill restaurants and walk into stores faces uncovered While we try to squeeze in a few last weeks of fun in the sun 618,000 dead on August 11 while the Delta variant sweeps through As parents start moving their children into college dorms Stores advertise sales, trying to get people to buy out the stock And now we are hearing about the Lambda variant making a surge School boards vote on mask mandates in community meetings Which are disrupted by shouts and threats, ‘we know who you are’ People wave around copies of the Constitution, The Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, the Federalist Papers, and the Bible. 624,000 dead on August 18, one thousand more that live in Vermont Another state has fallen to Covid-19, the Pandemic, the life changer American lives have been taken, American work may never be the same But the trauma does not encourage unity and safety, only anger. A hospital in Brevard County Florida sends out an SOS desperate for help Calling in refrigerated trucks which can hold up to 30 bodies each Doctors volunteer to run lab reports back and forth or sit with patients It still is not enough to help an overwhelmed system or nurses in the end. 2021 is surpassing 2020, the Delta variant is more easily communicable But 99% of those who are infected were never vaccinated, it wasn’t real Even now, knowing those who have died, or who have lasting effects of the virus They refuse to get vaccinated, because it’s a hoax, and they still have questions. It will be another year of working from home and online learning Another year of people being unable to pay their rent as the bills pile up But policies which could help, like loan forgiveness, or continued unemployment Are pushed to the side, ridiculed, and dismissed, those in power aren’t hurting. Politicians are entrenched, the Big Lie cannot be countered lest the profit fall So cultists continue to take the microphone, spouting buzzwords and rhetoric Plandemic, it’s all about the children, you will be tried for treason, Trump won I shake my head, how can you be so crazy, how do you not know someone who died? But they do know someone who died, they just don’t care anymore It’s not about taking care of each other, of getting through this nightmare together The madness has set in, the battle lines drawn, and no man’s land is outside the door The next fight will be over boosters, added to the passport I don’t want to write these poems anymore, not for another state They are no longer an outpouring of sadness, a reminder of the dead Instead, now they are my anger and my disbelief at what has happened My country has fractured, a cult has taken the minds of my neighbors. But we cannot deprogram them nor free them from its grasp Because to deprogram them we must stop the leader’s messages We must give them truth, hard facts, show them they have been hurt How can we do that when they have been told they cannot trust truth? We have lost two states worth of people, but they are small states Barely populated, only ranchers and hardy folk who love the elements The next Washington DC, a major metropolis, could fall by Christmas Would that be enough to shake the people out of the fog I wonder. Goodbye Vermont, with your college towns and university campuses No more Vermont cheddar, maple syrup, or Ben and Jerry’s ice cream If only that were true, if only this were confined by the borders of a state Would people care then, if they saw how many we’d lost? A state’s worth? (Meet Mago Contributor) Francesca Tronetti https://www.magoism.net/2018/11/meet-mago-contributor-rev-francesca-tronetti-ph-d/
(Essay 2) Feminism and the Future of Religion by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Meet Mago Contributor, Glenys Livingstone. Part 2 of a paper presented by the author at the National Socialist Conference Sydney, 1990. Feminism is not the only force pushing change to old stories, symbols, myths and images, but it is a significant one. And it has yet enormous resources, a labyrinth of archetypes and energy suppressed for thousands of years, gestating and complexifying, that have the power to scrape clear our eyes of the “learned cataracts”[1]. Interest in the Goddess archetype/metaphor and in Her religious traditions have grown visibly and audibly in the last 15 years, here in Australia. For some She is merely a cliche at this point, but that is an inevitable part of the process, a hurdle that can eventually be broken through in the bigger picture. The vision of the Earth as Gaia, a living being, as Goddess, is one that is gaining in strength. It has at its core, an ancient and wholistic understanding of Being, that can call humanity into different relationship with itself and with the universe. But real change is not inevitable. Even people who think they have changed (because they changed a pronoun, or pasted in a goddess), have not necessarily. Ongoing feminist critique and reflection is necessary to ensure the healing of fragmented archetypes that have confined us all. We must continue to speak, to review, to suspect, to research. We cannot make assumptions, we are a long way from having arrived at some kind of real inclusiveness and partnership. The old well-worn pathways are not that easily given over. It seems that there are a couple of clear directions pulling at the future of religion, as the feminist momentum continues to impact on it. And indeed it must be a worry for the religious powers that be. Those directions I describe as shamanic and pagan, which I will define in my own particular way, as follows. By shamanic, I mean that individuals are “storying” themselves, knowing themselves and thinking from within their own skin. Shamanism relies on direct lived experience for an understanding of the sacred, as opposed to relying on an external authority, external imposed symbol, story or image. Each person must claim their own inner power, imagine or visualize themselves and use this in the service of life. Myth/story which arises from within draws its power from a realm of pattern “which is common to people of all cultures and all times”[2]. The archetypes that arise, have done so since ancient times and have recurred across many cultures, in a diversity of form. This shamanic direction tends to come out of a feminist spirituality because here, women have learned to no longer take things on faith or presciption. It is a tendency of feminism to cure one from swallowing pre-scribed religion – all holy texts and myths must be reflected on suspiciously given their millenia of androcratic bias – and one is entered into the process of self-scription, of authoring, scribing oneself. Religion then becomes based on what we can feel, what we can know. We each then find “for ourselves our individual role in the matrix”[3], a way in which each being is part of the texture of the universal fabric. We are linked by a recognition in each other of a power that arises from within, not by some external word.
(Poem) Prologue from Limen by Susan Hawthorne

Credit for cover and art: Jeanné Browne © 2013 a cormorant goes fishingsilver splashof fish in her beakthe water a still arc buzz of dragonfliesthensilent as a snakeit’s periscope up andperiscope downtraversingsky air water mud kookaburras gatherfor their daily laughon the banks of the Einasleigh how we bare ourselvesinto the sweetnessof sand mud and timeit’s birds again and yet againour ears ringing withpossibilities of laughterand sorrow tonguesunforked for renewalmuscles unwoundready for life’s next pounce day 1 woman 1:the river is a necklace of poolsit grapples its way through the landlike a badly executed parting of hair woman 2:three years we camp in the same placethe landscape is rearrangedDevonian rocks abrupt against sand our inner landscapes are changed toothat first year grief-filled for our dog on the other side of the rivera black spirit dog arrivessniffing the Styxshe standslooks our directionwades in, drinks and leaveswhen my tears— a bee leaves its stingin my finger woman 1:that first yearwe watch the other side of the riverlonging for the space to be filledbut spirit dog is gone too ants devour an old bird carcassa kite contemplates prey from a leafless branchthe kite swoops the carcass late in the day a wind drift of butterfliesecholalic laughter of kookaburrasin the melaleucaits paperbark ruffledas a frilled ballgown woman 2:sorrow lifts in the second yearwith you four-legged frienddog-paddling across the riveryour tail a rudderyour mouth a wide smile dog:last year I showed youmy puppy swimming styleyou held me in your arms woman 1:we raced across the riverme with a head startyou catching upwriggling slippery as a seal woman 2:this yearno water where previously we had swumin easy nakedness thunderclouds gatheron the horizon Susan Hawthorne, poem extract from Limen, a verse novella, © 2013 Note In the Australian summer of 2007, my partner and I went camping. We had not long lost our dog, River. It was a sad time, but the following year we were joined by a new dog, Freya who has a speaking part in many of the poems. The Australian bush is a wonderful place and for many days we saw no sign of people. Later in the trip, we became stranded by rising floodwaters and so spent more days than we had intended. This sequence of poems is just the beginning. Solitude, communing with wildlife, trees, rocks and rivers is my idea of happiness. https://www.magoism.net/2013/12/meet-mago-contributor-susan-hawthone

(Special Post) Discussion on Mother-Daughter Wound by Mago Circle Members

[Mago Circle members discussed and answered the question, “What do you think of this (the topic article below)? If you are a feminist, it is something that you would promote? If so, why? If not, why not?” The discussion took place on May 15, 2017 and shortly thereafter in The Mago Circle.] Topic Article: “For The Daughters Who Don’t Love Their Mothers – Screw Mother’s Day” by Sade Andria Zabala Everyone talks about a mother’s unconditional love. But what if it doesn’t exist? Daughters are socially expected to be close with their mothers. But are you one of the women who aren’t? Mother’s Day isn’t just for celebrating moms. It’s a day some of us dread because we are reminded we grew up (or are still) unloved, not good enough. (Read the whole article here.)
(Special Post 3) Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, or Spirituality? A Collective Writing

[Editor’s Note: This was first proposed in The Mago Circle, Facebook Group, on March 6, 2014. We have our voices together below and publish them in sequels. It is an ongoing project and we encourage our reader to join us! Submit yours today to Helen Hwang (magoism@gmail.com). Or visit and contact someone in Return to Mago’s Partner Organizations.] Helen Hwang I study and advocate Goddess feminism or Magoism because it is a way of living for me. I find myself in Mago (the Great Goddess) who in turn leads me to the Way wherein I learn how to become the person who I can be. It has to be Mago, the Female Divine, because She is real! She is the Primordial Mother who is the Beginning and the End of everything to us on the planet Earth. She teaches me the real. I can’t negotiate Her to anything less. Helen Hye Sook Hwang, Ph.D. California http://magoism.net Bridget Robertson A Goddessian I was introduced to a form of meditative journeying by a resident in my grandmother’s retirement community. She approached to me. I know she was at least part Native American, and that alone made her the topic of much gossip in the building. Her Rose colored lipstick, deep brown eyes, wrinkles that only helped illuminate her face and a chiffon scarf that matched none of her clothes. I thought she needed help with her groceries. She didn’t. She had me stop the elevator. and directly asked about my looking tired. My response was about being, busy balancing all the areas of my life. In fact I was exhausted doling out time like pieces of pie.
(Special Post 1) "The Oldest Civilization" and its Agendas by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: The following discussion took place in response to an article listed blow by the members of The Mago Cirlce, Facebook group of Goddessians/Magoists from May 6 to May 10, 2016. Readers are recommended to read the original article linked below that has invoked the converation.] “The Danube Civilization: Oldest in the World” in The Ancient Ones upon the ruins of our ancestors, published April 3, 2016.

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.
(Essay) Winter Solstice/Yule within the Creative Cosmos by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from Chapter 5 of the author’s book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. Dates for Winter Solstice/Yule Southern Hemisphere – June 20 – 23. Northern Hemisphere – December 20 – 23 This Seasonal Moment is the ripe fullness of the Dark Womb and it is a gateway between dark and light. It is a Birthing Place – into differentiated being. Whereas Samhain/Deep Autumn is a dark conceiving Space, it flows into the Winter Solstice dark birthing Place – a dynamic Place of Being, a Sacred Interchange. This Seasonal Moment of Winter Solstice is the peaking of the dark space – the fullness of the dark, within which being and action arise. It is the peaking of emptiness, which is a fullness. As cosmologist Brian Swimme describes: the empty “ground of being … retains no thing.” It is “Ultimate Generosity.”[i] In Vajrayana Buddhism, Space is associated with Prajna/wisdom – out of which Upaya/compassionate action arises. Space is highly positive – something to be developed, so appropriate action may develop spontaneously and blissfully.[ii] In Old European Indigenous understandings, the dark and the night were valued at least as much as light, if not more so: time was counted by the number of nights, as in ‘fortnights,’ and a ‘day’ included both dark and light parts … it was ‘di-urnal’. I have been careful with my language about that inclusion in the ceremonial ‘Statement of Purpose’ for each Seasonal Moment. This awareness is resonant with modern Western scientific perceptions about the nature of the Universe: that it is seventy-three percent “dark energy,” twenty-three precent “dark matter,” four percent “ordinary matter.”[iii] The truth is that we live within this darkness: it is the Ground of all Being. In Pagan traditions since Celtic times, and in many other cultural traditions, Winter Solstice has been celebrated as the birth of the God; and in Christian tradition since about the fourth century C.E., as the birth of the saviour. But there are deeper ways of understanding what is being born: that is, who or what the “saviour” is. In the Gospel of Thomas, which was not selected for biblical canon, it says: “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you.”[iv] This then may be the Divine Child, the “Saviour”: it may be expressed as the new Being forming in the Cosmogonic Womb,[v] who will be born. We may celebrate the birth of the new Being, which /who is always beyond us, beyond our knowing … yet is within us, burgeoning within us – and within Gaia. What will save us is already present within – forming within us. The Winter Solstice story may emphasize that what is born, is within each one – the “Divine” is not “out there”: it may be said, and expressed ceremoniously, that we are each Creator and Created. We may imagine ourselves as the in-utero foetus – an image we might have access to these days from a sonar-scan during pregnancy. This image presents a truth about Being: we are this, and it is within us, within this moment. Every moment is pregnant with the new. It will be birthed when holy darkness is full. Part of what is required is having the eyes to see the “new bone forming in flesh,” scraping our eyes “clear of learned cataracts,”[vi] seeing with fresh eyes. That is what the fullness of the Dark offers – a freshening of our eyes to see the new. And the process of Creation is always reciprocal: we are Creator and Created simultaneously, in a “ngapartji-ngapartji”[vii] way. We are in-formed by that which we form. In Earth-based religious practice, the ubiquitous icon of Mother and Child – Creator and Created – expresses something essential about the Universe itself … the “motherhood” we are all born within. It expresses the essential communion experience that this Cosmos is, the innate and holy Care that it takes, and the reciprocal nature of it. We cannot touch without being touched at the same time.[viii] We may realize that Cosmogenesis – the entire Unfolding of the Cosmos – is essentially relational: our experience tells us this is so. The image of The Birth of the Goddess on the front cover of my book PaGaian Cosmology expresses that reciprocity for me, how we may birth each other and the healing/wholing in that exchange. It is a Sacred Interchange. And it is what this Event of existence seems to be about – deep communion, which both Solstices express. Babylonian Goddess, Ur 4000-3500 BCE. Adele Getty, Goddess, 33. Birthing is not often an easy process – for the birthgiver nor for the birthed one: it is a shamanic act requiring strength of bodymind, attention, courage, and focus of the mother, and resilience and courage to be of the new young one. Birthgiving is the original place of ‘heroics,’ which many cultures of the world have never forgotten, perhaps therefore better termed as “heraics.” Patriarchal adaptations of the story of this Seasonal Moment usually miss the Creative Act of birthgiving completely, usually being pre-occupied with the “virgin” nature of the Mother which is interpreted as having an “intact hymen.” The focus of the patriarchal adaptation of the Winter Solstice story is the Child as “saviour”: even the Mother gazes at the Child in most Christian icons, while in more ancient images Her eyes are direct and expressive of Her integrity as Creator. NOTES: [i] Swimme, The Universe is a Green Dragon, 146. [ii] See Rita Gross, “The Feminine Principle in Tibetan Vajrayana Buddhism.” The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology 179-192. [iii] These figures as told by cosmologist Paul Davies with Macquarie University’s Centre for Astrobiology, Australia. [iv] Elaine Pagels, Beyond Belief: the Secret Gospel of Thomas, saying number 70. See https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/religion/story/thomas.html . [v] Melissa Raphael’s term, Thealogy and Embodiment, 262. [vi] The quotes come from a poem by Cynthia Cook, “Refractions,” Womanspirit (Oregan USA, issue 23, March 1980), 59. [vii] This is an Indigenous Australian term for reciprocity – giving and receiving at the same time. I explain it a bit further in PaGaian Cosmology, 256-257. [viii] An expression from Abram, The Spell of the Sensuous, 68. REFERENCES: Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous. New York: Vintage Books, 1997. Getty, Adele. Goddess: Mother of Living …
(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.
(Essay) Walking with Bb by Sara Wright

Walking with Bb: a story exploring the psychic connection between one woman and her bear. Preface: The black bear – hunting season in Maine is brutal – four months of bear hell – five if one includes the month where hunters can track bears for “practice” with hounds – separate mothers and cubs, terrorize them, tree them and do anything but legally kill them. During the legal slaughter, Hunters bait bears with junk food by putting old donuts etc. in cans and shoot the bear while he or she is eating. Most bears (82 percent) are slaughtered in this manner, the rest are killed by hounding and trapping. The season begins in August and lasts through December. Trapping, by the way, is illegal in every state but Maine. Black bears are hated, and that hatred will, of course, eventually result in their extirpation. I had a shy (male) year old black bear visiting my house this past summer with whom I developed a friendship, and what follows is part of our story: Last Saturday I was walking down the road when I remembered that I had not done my daily “circle of protection” imaging for Bb (standing as he was the day he visited me at the window early in August). When I began to do this another picture of Bb moving on all four feet with his face turned towards mine super-imposed itself over his standing image. I could almost see his expression, but not quite. I didn’t know what this imaging meant beyond that we were communicating in some unknown way, and he was in the area (not a good thing on hunting Saturdays). He had not been coming in most nights and I was worried… That night he came. He is still making nightly visits five days later, the most sequentially consistent visits since September 15th, the day I believed that he had been shot. This experience prompted me to write about telepathy and precognition. It is close to All Hallows and the full Hunter’s moon (Nov 3). I keep listening to Charlie Russell’ story which reminds me that loving bears (especially male bears) is hard, almost a sure recipe for disaster, and that I was not alone in this deep concern for and fear of losing Bb. I can barely stand to remember my other bear losses and I can’t stand feeling them. Even after I wrote about the incident with Bb, the experience seemed to carry a charge that didn’t dissipate. Had I missed something? Next I wrote “Root Healer,” exploring the possibility that as I continued to act as Bb’s “little bear mother” now employing psychic techniques to keep him safe (in some desperation as it was the only means left open to me to protect this very vulnerable yearling), that Bb’s presence might also include a gift for me and that it might involve some kind of root healing for my body because Nature thrives on reciprocity. One idea I missed completely, for it was so obvious. Bb’s image was communicating to me that we were having a psychic conversation in that very moment. It was the first time in three months of imaging protective circles that moved with him that I had confirmation from him that we were communicating effectively in this unknown way. This rarely happens. Normally when I do this kind of work, I just do it. I don’t get direct confirmation that it’s working from the animal itself (except with Lily b). Knowing this helped me make another decision I might not have made so intentionally. The hunting season will last into mid December, and I will be traveling during that last month. I keep thinking that putting actual physical distance between Bb and I might pose more of a threat for his life and I have to remind myself that psychic phenomena are not distance dependent. I should be able to image that protective circle every day and feel that it is working. Bb has already shown me that it can but I fear adding distance because I don’t completely trust my own perceptions.* I suspect believing might be an additional dimension of ensuring success when it comes to psychic protection for this bear. But how do I incorporate belief into a picture that is so clouded with personal/cultural doubt? Half the time I don’t believe myself and virtually no one except Rupert Sheldrake, Iren and Harriet have ever taken my experiences seriously. I have to remind myself that I have done this work many times dealing with doubt and it worked anyway. The point of writing this reflection might be to put me on a new edge of increasing Bb’s odds of survival. If it’s possible that an attitude that embraces believing in what I do could help me protect Bb more effectively until hunting is over and its time for him to den in peace I want to claim it. The question I need to answer now is how to go about moving into a more trusting self as a woman who continues to walk with a bear at her side? The night after I wrote the above paragraph I dream of the doubters in the roles of my parents, and in a friend. I take these dreams seriously as doubters inside me and out. These dreams may be telling me that it is unreasonable to expect me to believe that what I do works when no one else does? The problem with this idea is that on some level I do believe. I feel as if I am walking with this bear, every single day. I think about him constantly. The only thing that got me out of the house yesterday was that he was out of chocolate donuts. Something is intensifying my relationship with Bb although I never see him. I am caught in a field of bear energy and information, perhaps through some version of beauty and the beast. That an archetype is …
(Essay) Ceremony as “Prayer” or Sacred Awareness By Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an excerpt from Chapter 3 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. MoonCourt Ceremonial Space set for Autumn Equinox ceremony, 2013 Ritual/ceremony is often described as “sacred space.” I understand that to mean “awareness of the space as sacred”: all space is sacred, what shifts is our awareness – awareness of the depth of spacetime, and of the depth of all things and all beings. I understand “sacred awareness” as an awareness of deep relationship and identity with the very cosmic dynamics that create and sustain the Universe; or an awareness of what is involved in the depth of each moment, each thing, each being. Ceremony is a space and time given to expression, contemplation and nurturance of that depth … at least to something of it. Ceremony may be both an expression of deep inner truths – perceived relationship to self, Earth and Cosmos, as well as being a mode of teaching and drawing forth deeper participation. Essentially, ceremony is a way of entering into the depth of the present moment … what is deeply present right here and now, a way of entering deep space and deep time, which is not somewhere else but is right here. Every-thing, and every moment, has Depth – more depth than we usually allow ourselves to contemplate, let alone comprehend. This book, this paper, this ink, the chair, the floor – each has a history and connections that go back, all the way back to Origins. This moment you experience now, in its particular configuration, place, people present, subtle feelings, thoughts, and propensity towards certain directions or outcomes, has a depth – many histories and choices that go back … ultimately all the way back to the beginning. Great Origin is present at every point of space and time – right here. In ceremony we are plugging our awareness into something of that. In this holy context then – in this mindframe of knowing connection, everything one does is a participation in the creation of the Cosmos: for the tribal indigenous woman, perhaps the weaving of a basket; for another, perhaps preparing a meal; for you, perhaps getting on the train to go to a workplace. It is possible to regain this sense, to come to feel that the way one breathes makes a difference – that with it, you co-create the present and the future, and you may even be a blessing on the past. In every moment we receive the co-creation, the work, of innumerable beings, of innumerable moments, and innumerable interactions of the elements, in everything we touch … and so are we touched by them. The local is our touchstone to the Cosmos – it is not separate. Ceremony may be a way into this awareness, into strengthening it. Ceremony is actually ‘doing,’ not just theorizing. We can talk about our personal and cultural disconnection endlessly, but we need to actually change our minds. Ceremony can be an enabling practice – a catalyst/practice for personal and cultural change. It is not just talking about eating the pear, it is eating the pear; it is not just talking about sitting on the cushion (meditating), it is sittingon the cushion. It is a cultural practice wherein we tell a story/stories about what we believe to be so most deeply, about who and what we are. Ceremony can be a place for practicing a new language, a new way of speaking, or spelling – a place for practicing “matristic storytelling”[i] if you like: that is, for telling stories of the Mother, of Earth and Cosmos as if She were alive and sentient. We can “play like we know it,” so that we may come to know it.[ii] Ceremony then is a form of social action. I have found it useful to describe ceremony using and extending words used by Ken Wilber to describe a “transpersonal practice,” which is needed for real change: he said it was a practice that discloses “a deeper self (I or Buddha) in a deeper community (We or Sangha) expressing a deeper truth (It or Dharma).”[iii] My extension of that is: ceremony may disclose a deeper beautiful self (the I/Virgin/Urge to Be/Buddha), in a deeper relational community (the We/Mother/Place of Being/Sangha), expressing a deeper transformative truth (the It/Old One/Space to Be/Dharma). This is the “unitive body,” the “microcosmos” that Charlene Spretnak refers to in States of Grace.[iv] Since ceremony is an opportunity to give voice to deeper places in ourselves, forms of communication are used that the dreamer, the emotional, the body, can comprehend, such as music, drama, simulation, dance, chanting, singing.[v] These forms enable the entering of a level of consciousness that is there all the time, but that is not usually expressed or acknowledged. We enter a realm that is ‘out of time,’ which is commonly said to be not the “real” world, but it is more organic/indigenous to all being and at least as real as the tick-tock world. It is a place “between the worlds,” wherein we may put our hands on the very core of our lives, touch whatever it is that we feel our existence is about, and thus touch the possibility of re-creating and renewing ourselves. NOTES: [i] A term used by Gloria Feman Orenstein in The Reflowering of the Goddess (New York: Pergamon Press, 1990), 147. [ii] As my doctoral thesis supervisor Dr. Susan Murphy once described it to me in conversation. [iii] Ken Wilber, A Brief History of Everything (Massachusetts: Shambhala, 1996), 306-307. [iv] 145. [v] As Starhawk notes, The Spiral Dance, 45. REFERENCES: Livingstone, Glenys. A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. Girl God Books: Bergen, Norway, 2023. Orenstein, Gloria Feman. The Reflowering of the Goddess. New York: Pergamon Press, 1990. Starhawk. The Spiral Dance: A Rebirth of the Ancient Religion of the Great Goddess. New York: Harper and Row, 1999. Wilber, Ken. A Brief History of Everything. Massachusetts: Shambhala, 1996.

(Photo Essay 2) ‘Gaeyang Halmi, the Sea Goddess of Korea’ by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

Part II: The Lost Iconography of Gaeyang Halmi We visited the Suseong Shrine a second time on July 11, 2012. I looked inside the Shrine wherein a shaman ritual was being performed by a Mudang (Korean Shaman)[i] and her assistants. The Mudang in colorful ritual outfit appeared to console her female client on behalf of the spirit. The ritual continued another hour or so and we waited outside until she finished her performance. We had come here on the day of arrival in Jungmak-dong, Buan. The shrine was locked, apparently not being in use. On our second visit, the shrine was packed with four people and their instruments and equipment. It was so compact that it left no room for another person to sit; however, it was pumping up the sober energy. In fact, I have no recollection of which musical instruments were being played inside the shrine. Nonetheless, it feels like that I was hearing the sharp and high banging of the kkwaenggwari (gong) accompanied by the janggu (hourglass drum) rhythm [symbolizing the sound of thunder and rain respectively]. The “musical” sound that I heard shook off the debris of ordinary thoughts and took me to the Other Side of Reality. I began to see things clearly the way they are. I was stepping into the history of this place that I was going to discover.
(Essay 2) Why Reenact the Nine-Mago Movement? by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Author’s Note: The sequel of this essay is released in preparation for 2015 Nine-Day Solstice Celebration Project.] Part 2 Goddess Goma, the Magoist Shaman Ruler, and Her Nona-Mago Tradition Not until the autumn of 2012 did the pervasive manifestation of the number nine symbolism in Magoism surface in my consciousness. The information that the shrine of Gaeyang Halmi (Gaeyang Grandmother/Goddess), the Sea Goddess of Korea, was once called the Temple of Gurang (Nine Goddesses 九嫏祠) awakened a deep memory in me. It was a revelation to me and I began to connect the dots! That summer, I had joined the field research team of Konkuk University’s Korean Oral Literature graduate program. With them I visited the Shrine of the Sea Saint (Suseong-dang 水聖堂) in Buan, North Jeolla, S. Korea to collect folklore from the locals. Only when I was processing the data that the team gathered to write a report, did I come across the original name of the shrine, the Temple of the Nine Goddesses. And the Nine Goddesses refer to Gaeyang Halmi and her eight daughters. It is unknown how and when it was replaced by the current name, the Shrine of the Sea Saint. It is evident, however, that a linguistic femicide took place; the female-connoted term, the Nine Goddesses, was replaced by the sex/gender neutral term, the Sea Saint.
How do you say what The Mago Work is? by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang & Mago Circle Members

It took many years for me to pronounce the communal nature of the Mago Work. Defining the Mago Work necessarily endows us with the bird’s eye view of the Great Goddess, the primordial consciousness of WE in S/HE. Early this year, I asked people to define the Mago Work and their definitions are illuminating about what this book ultimately seeks to achieve.[1]

Category: Goddess Activism

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