August 9, 2016October 2, 2019 RTM EditorsLeave a comment

(Video) Commemorating the Bombing of Hiroshima by Janie Rezner

Speaking at Rally to Commemorate the Bombing of Hiroshima, Aug 4, 2001 in Fort Bragg

(Poem) My Three Grandmothers by Mary Saracino

[Author’s Note: Previously published at www.mothertongued.com, September, 2004] Immacolata The Boss we called her, though in life her authority barely reached beyond the aroma-stained walls of her over-worked kitchen. She came to America from Puglia in 1920, seven months pregnant with my father. A woman on the run from who knows what — poverty or the threat of it. Of my grandmothers, I knew her best, this woman of sad brown eyes, whose drawn lips withheld somber secrets no matter how many times I asked, “Why did you leave Italy?” After her husband died, The Boss ruled, a dowager empress; her queenly attire, a plaid or flowered house dress, a simple apron, with or without pockets, anointed with meatball grease, stained with red sauce, flour, egg yolks, and sweat; her mother named her Immacolata, a mother who died before her sweet daughter turned four, leaving a hollow of want in the young girl’s bones (the onset of shrouded mystery?). Immacolata, a reverential name, spiritual, resonant, heavenly with authority; Mary, the immigrant papers insisted, their official stamp stripping my grandmother of native identity, unraveling the umbilical thread that bound her to her dead mother;a minor indignity, one might say, though one would be wrong to misname it so. Mary she became, a diminutive of the nobler appellation conferred long before; Mary she was called, though her older sister — the one who could still recall the scent of their mother’s skin, the one who had also sailed to America in the belly of a big boat bore that name from birth, etched as it was upon her brow by long-lost maternal lips. In America, Immacolata, the junior Mary, her mother’s cherished, last child,lived in a cramped house in a small town, an hour’s drive from the elder, original Mary.There, The Boss, distanced from her sister and from what her native tongue refused to recall, reigned over Sunday suppers, holiday meals, a bevy of seven children, dozens of restless, hungry grandchildren, each with American Italian mothers who did not die, but abandoned them nonetheless to assimilation, a different kind of silencing; each child burdened with secrets, like their grandmother, yet more fierce and unyielding, defying the proscriptions, refusing to change their names, slam shut their hearts, be silenced. 2. Fiora My mother’s mother was named for aromatic bouquets of flowers fresh from the loamy Tuscan soil. She gifted me with a small string of faux-pearls when I was born, my mother Margaret’s first daughter. After four sons, a blessing for which Mom had prayed; Fiora, too, lighting vigil candles for a girl this time, a girl, to please her youngest daughter. To please herself, as well. Fiora’s tiny necklace a promise of affiliation, a miniature garden of round, iridescent blossoms strung together, a collection of whispered prayers, the bequeathing of lineage, a gift I used to wear as a young girl, liberating the delicate strand from the velvety confines of the small box on my mother’s dresser. Unclasping the silver clasp, I would display the pearls around the pink curve of my small neck until one day I misplaced them, never to be recovered, lost as they became, amid the clutter of life in my family’s chaos, perhaps buried beneath a pile of dirty clothes or cloaked by dust or by tears. Fiora died when I was two, passing beyond my earthly grasp. I do not recall if her skin smelled of roses or peony petals, if her smile was as fragrant as her name, if she would have taught me to till and transplant, coaxing brilliant buds from the dirty American soil had she lived to see me grow into a woman determined to outsmart the aphids, coax reluctant seeds to swell, inhale every aromatic blossom. My mother did not name me Fiora; perhaps I did not remind her of cultivated plots or terra cotta urns overflowing with brilliant red zinnias. Spurring convention, Mom sandwiched an adjective between my surname and my first, calling me Mary Immaculate, shunning the too-Italian Immacolata, foregoing the homage due The Boss, my father’s mother, as was familial tradition; in doing so unwittingly planting a mistrust of rules for their own sake in my ever-listening soul. 3. Isabel Isabel, whose German practicality does not grace my arteries, became my grandmother by default, perhaps the only hidden blessing of my mother’s second marriage. No Nonna she, Isabel did not possess The Boss’s sassy, sad aura, Fiora’s soil-savvy touch, or their lingering ache of a motherland lost. Grandmother nonetheless, Isabel bequeathed not genetic memory, but something else — something as posh and pink and elegant as the curtains that hung in her fancy living room, something as fragile as the cut-glass, crystal goblets from which I drank cold milk when first I was invited to her dinner table; the same milk my ten-year old hands splayed across her finely woven, lace tablecloth. Isabel did not chastise, did not raise her groomed eyebrows to shun my reddened face, name my embarrassment, my ineptitude; she did not scorn or pity me. She merely retrieved a cotton cloth to sop the pool of white liquid that puddled before my plate of grilled steak and creamed potatoes, a meal so foreign to my second-chance immigrant mouth as to befuddle my senses. Once the pond of milk was contained, Isabel commanded that the meal go on, as if I belonged there, as if the youngster who sat at her refined table was accustomed to bone China, sterling forks and spoons, instead of mismatched Melmac and chipped tumblers; as if the accident I had caused was minor, nothing more than a causal, commonplace spill, easily dismissed and forgiven, instead of the deeply disquieting sin that stained my insides, unaccustomed as I was, to absolution and exoneration. https://www.magoism.net/2013/05/meet-mago-contributor-mary-saracino
(Prose Poem) Cloths by Susan Hawthorne

Young women in fancy Minoan-style dress, picking saffron—the stamen of a lily used as a yellow dye, as a spice, and medicine for menstrual cramps. Wall painting from a mid-second millennium house on the Aegean island of Thera. (Elizabeth Wayland Barber, 2024, p. 107.) Our stories are threads, follow the thread, the colour and you will find us. Woven words. It’s easy once you know how. We learn with fingers, the old women teach. Every day we sit and weave as the stories are told. Every pattern is a mnemonic, every thread another story to follow. Each of us is the creatrix of our own epic. Our cloths are specific to each of us. Those who die young leave a small cloth which is wrapped around her body. As the years pass the cloths increase in size and complexity. For those who know, the story of a woman’s life is told in the fold of her cloth. When an old woman dies her story is taken up in song, the fabric of her life sung.NotesAll around the world women have been making cloths in many different ways for thousands of years. They are found among archaeological finds albeit in fragmentary form. The image for this poem comes from Elizabeth Wayland Barbers book Women’s Work: The first 20,000 years. First published in 1994, in a note from the 2024 edition she writes that these days she would make the subtitle The first 30,000 years. This poem is inspired by her work and the work of women in many cultures who keep their stories alive through weaving and cloths. https://www.magoism.net/2013/12/meet-mago-contributor-susan-hawthone/
(Essay) The Women in the Story by Hearth Moon Rising

Old movies are are like thrift store finds. Vintage treasures lurk within detritus, and the discovery of a jewel feels like an achievement. Publicity Poster I recently watched, for the first time, Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte, a 1964 film noir that had a half-dozen Academy Award nominations (but no winners). It’s a topical film because of the ongoing discussion about the dearth of woman characters in film, epitomized by the Bechdel Test*, which was actually designed not as an aspirational goal but to highlight the abysmal way Hollywood treats women. Sweet Charlotte meets the Bechdel Test and more: it could be classified under the rubric of films revolving around strong female characters. That this could even be conceived as a special category, with women more than half the population, says something. Even more interesting, the stars of Sweet Charlotte, female as well as male, are over fifty (okay, de Havilland was 48). Hollywood, like the rest of corporate media, has long embraced the notion that a woman can be strong, interesting, and intelligent only as long as she’s young and pretty. The double standard is staggering when you consider that around the time Sweet Charlotte was made, an aging Jimmy Stewart put his foot down about the studio casting him as the romantic lead opposite twentysomthing actresses, rightfully complaining that he felt ridiculous. Bette Davis (left) and Joan Crawford in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane. So what is Sweet Charlotte about? It’s a Southern-gothic crazy horror thriller flick, categories that have always favored girl victims, lady villains, and psychotic dames. Maybe I shouldn’t say it revolves around the women characters, because the heart of the story is the man one of them murdered, played by Bruce Dern, who makes a brief appearance at the beginning. Other stars are Bette Davis (as Charlotte), Olivia de Havilland, Agnes Moorehead, Joseph Cotton, and Mary Astor. The screenplay was written for Bette Davis and Joan Crawford (not in the film; long story) to sortof reprise the success of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane. Hence the many torrid scenes between the women focusing on their fears, jealousies, and recriminations. I have a penchant for car scenes, so I particularly liked the part where Davis and de Havilland are driving off to dispose of the body. Most people know Agnes Moorehead from the television show Bewitched. The solid acting is the strength and the downfall of Sweet Charlotte. Director Robert Aldrich could not bring himself to pare down the stellar performances of his cast, and the movie ends up being way too long, even tedious in places. The near-miss of a movie that could have been great, but ended up only being very good, got me thinking about the primacy of story. There is something primal, perhaps even sacred, about narrative. Sweet Charlotte could be dismissed for its violent themes, but violence and betrayal permeate the Odyssey or the tales of King Arthur or the plays of Shakespeare. These are elements of the narrative, exciting or deplorable depending on your values, but at core narrative is something else. It’s axiomatic that entertainment promoted by American media highlights violence, sex, and celebrity to the detriment of quality, but even “serious” movie-making gets sidetracked by the elements that propel a narrative, forgetting the narrative itself. It’s not about the acting or the cinematography or the costumes or the special effects: it’s about the story. Olivia de Havilland This is a lesson that can be carried over to fiction as well. Writers can get bogged down in description, experimental prose, characters, or rules (no adverbs!), forgetting that they’re supposed to be telling a story. Even ideology – even feminist ideology – can fall over itself by overshadowing the narrative. It has to come through the story or it damages the work, rendering itself useless. Callie Khouri has said that she never envisioned Thelma and Louise as any feminist statement when she wrote the screenplay; her point of view shaped the story but was not her focus. Story is a basic human need. Women have all-too-often been written out of story, but story is not about us: we are a part of story. *Bechdel Test: A movie must have at least 2 female characters who talk to each other about something other than a man. https://www.magoism.net/2013/04/meet-mago-contributor-hearth-moon-rising/
(Book Announcement 1) Introduction to She Rises: How Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? By Trista Hendren

[Editor’s Note: This Introduction is from She Rises: How Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? Volume 2.] Pre-Order available now. Gloria Steinem famously said, “God may be in the details, but the goddess is in the questions. Once we begin to ask them, there’s no turning back.”[i] It is the questions that keep me up at night long after I should be sleeping. The first She Rises anthology asked the important question of Why? This question is very important for women. For most of my life, my questions centered on why a certain man was abusing me. Moving beyond this—into our own realm—is hugely important, and something some women are never able to do. Even women who don’t suffer abuse are often so bogged down by the disproportionate care-giving that females are expected to do that they never question the whys or the hows.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Freeda Cathcart

Freeda Cathcart is a mother living in Southwest Virginia with her husband. She raised four children and homeschooled them until they went to college. She is a founding shareholder of the Artesia Corporation and Left Bank Land Corporation, a land trust and development in Floyd County, Virginia. She enjoys writing and musing about transforming the patriarchy by rewriting myths. She creates stories to plant seeds in young minds to respect the elderly and wise people in our culture. She is a Director on the Blue Ridge District Soil and Water Conservation Board. She loves hiking, kayaking and swimming.
Sandborn River Song by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright One day while photographing I grew leaves. How can it be that I slip skins with such ease? Light breezes twirled my petticoat, and a chartreuse sister drifted orange light. Earthborne – feathery grasses and crisped travelers meet those who have already transformed – crumbling minerals, wings and bones nourish sweet soil rich in moisture fungus and mold. New life unfolds. Five fingered petals crimson hands fly by – just a few, infusing bodies still vibrant with song. Thanks – giving is a natural high. Not far behind old bones ache from wandering alone for so long… Fire on the mountain is rare this year – Yet roaring flames consume our Elders whose bark is smoldering, seed cones charred, shriveled tombs will not release our dead. We celebrate Deep Rose and do not ask for more when winds bring smoke and sorrow to choke us. Crouched in green, focus is movement, one hoarse croak – Where is that fly? Cold blooded haunches hug stone still warmed from an autumn star. I awaken then gazing into a silver stream swept along down the Sanborn as clouds burst blue and gold and the peace I feel is mine to grow, to own.
(Poem) what Lupa says by Susan Hawthorne

Lupa, Photo Susan Hawthorne, © 2013 air is sweet in this forest as we followearth’s ridge toward an Etruscanhollow Diana runningalongside me shrine of Demeter dug deep in soilscraped from earth’s heartsmells of two millenniaunderworld protection whiff of ancient rust of grainher figure in an alcove wheat stalkvisible in her hand I sniff stale airdamp walls nightfall we camp in ancient cavesDiana seeks traces of handprints spiral whorlsrounded forms in the space between night and dayair from Aurora’s wings shiversalong my coat I curl into her bellyseeking warmth rock temple holds usthrough nocturnal hoots and howlsdawn birdcalls wake meinto saffron light Notes I wrote this poem while on a six-month Literature Residency in Rome. The purpose of the residency was to write the book Lupa and Lamb. I returned to Rome briefly last year and while I enjoyed revisiting some old haunts, it seemed to have lost some of its patina. Perhaps because of the huge numbers of visitors. Lupa is the mother wolf of Rome. But she is much more than that and has associations with other historical and mythical figures: Ilia, Rhea Silvia, Acca Larentia, Diana, Artemis, Artemisia. The first four are really the same woman/wolf. Lupa means both ‘wolf’ and ‘prostitute’. Ilia/Rhea Silvia is raped by the god, Mars and when she becomes pregnant is imprisoned. Lupa, the she-wolf, finds Ilia’s twins who are raised by Acca Larentia (also known as Lupa). Diana, Artemis, Artemisia is identified as a goddess, the mistress of the forests, of wolves; she who runs with hounds. As Artemisia she is a herb and the artist, Artemisia Gentileschi, who was publicly scorned when she was raped. In this book, Lupa is sometimes a dog. The reference to Aurora is to the Roman goddess of the dawn. And to Demeter, not far from Rome in Viterbo, there are Etruscan votive offerings to Demeter that date back to at least 1000 BCE. https://www.magoism.net/2013/12/meet-mago-contributor-susan-hawthone
(Essay 1) Gestating Thealogies Through Birth by Nané Jordan

[Author’s Note: I seek to reclaim a wider understanding of birth in society-at-large and in human spirituality. Birth mysteries have been invariably silenced, lost, or co-opted towards metaphors that disconnect our birth-y origins from actual mothers and women. As a foundational experience of human life, re-visioning birth can provide socially transformative values. I want to open a birth-based dialogue into the deep Goddess energies of S/he, from Her powers of creation and renewal through female generated being. Understanding Goddess—and goddessing—as a verb and a process, is enriched by honouring the inherently female-originated condition, wisdom, and value of the human process of gestation and birth.] Birth invites mystery into our lives if we can, or want to, receive that. Wound up into that mystery is personal and societal fear of death, which birth…stands at the doorway of. So much of medical birth practice is about diverting this mystery into knowable forms with time-tables, charts, clocks and interventions. Yet birth is older and wiser than our clocks and technological tricks. Every birth unfolds in its own way in its own time. Birth inherently asks a mystery of us, women in particular. This is a true gift of listening to its calling, allowing the mystery to be present and unfold in our lives as the new being emerges into our arms. (Nané Jordan, Birthdance, Earthdance, 2002, p. 116) I have a life-long passion to wander in the field of “birth” and birth-giving through women- and love-centred practices and philosophies. I have variously pursued my birth-calling as a midwifery student and lay midwife, a birth advocate/activist and post-partum caregiver, as a ritualist, and through writing and scholarship that highlights women’s voices and experiences.
(Poem) Red Oak Prayer by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright All Hallows 2020 Guardians… Cranes, Lizard who drinks from both fire and water and has a passionflower tail (with “buds and balls” – wow both genders – ‘he’ used to be male. Great Bear, Awi Usdi Red Oak you were a patient seedling who waited years for a green door to open beyond a cobalt sky. The fallen pine offered you ‘the way.’ At last you shine! Bittersweet orange and scarlet, oversized leaves tenaciously holding on when most others are withering away. Light winds, gifts of rain, maple leaves and scented needles compost your future. Deep roots meet with Pine People Your friends I’m told, fusing mycorrhizal threads into complex patterns that stretch across the forest floor, All search for minerals: nitrogen, phosphorous, precious water too. Nourished, you thrive. Not even insect damaged leaves can still your will to live. I feel you singing a love song to the sun. Eat all the light you need during this golden autumn before winter slows your blood and you fall asleep. Dreaming Our Future. I hug you with hungry eyes wondering who planted your seed. Was it cached by Squirrel or Jay? From acorn to tree – From DNA to Form. Horizontal Gene Transfer? Grow straight and tall. Leaf out, unfurl pointed fingers. Deep verdant green is summer shade. Come fall the Oak Fields of Yore will strengthen each limb prepare you to sleep, nurturing and protecting the Wise Wo/Man you already are. Working Notes/Prayer: I turn towards the steadfast oaks in my deepest distress. May I stand tall, stay with unwelcome betrayals, deep loneliness, a monster at the helm, insanity, murders, wars, bow again and again to ‘what is’. Like the druids and wise women healers who came before them, may I find refuge and strength within your groves, gain further perspective, and never forget how grateful I am to be alive and living among so many wise beings – both plant and animal and those invisible ones who inhabit the spaces in between. This year comes to an end in human induced chaos and communal exile – cultural realities that are inescapable unless virtual reality has stolen the human soul. With a madman’s insanity, the word ‘future’ loses meaning. Or creates terror of monumental proportions… We have lost so many animals, trees, roots, and people to death, indifference, dishonesty, cruelty, or starvation of one kind or the other. Our precious planet screams and still we refuse to listen…. Fires and Floods – Killers abound. Too many with guns. Our Greed has gone viral like Covid 19, killing millions, and now there is no turning back. It is spiking in Maine (first time since spring – now it’s a real threat here) and the rest of the country. Some of us have stayed awake through this holocaust, but I am one who must force herself to climb into each day with a resolve that is slowly eroding, collapsing a floor that once held me secure. I am sinking into mold, fog bound, marshy oblivion… So I cry out for the comfort of trees who bend love over bare branches, listening for the Messenger who clasps his heart around my dreams. In Greek mythology we uncover a totally different story. Oak trees were associated with thunder and lightening. The tree was sacred to Zeus and the gods of the sky most of which were war gods. Curiously, Oaks often survive being hit by lightening. I can’t help wonder if the oak tree that I am growing inside might be able to withstand being hit by lightening? With a full moon dimming the stars in the sky I cry out to the Great Bear: What will the Hunter’s Full Moon reveal? COYOTES HOWL NIGHT OF 10/30 – full moon 9 am tomorrow… trickster’s reign begins… Water Blessing (1): Release: shame that I need so much help now to the fire Water Blessing(2) : Blessing of the House – 4 corners… House, self – health of my BODY, animals, friends. Breathing and Prayer (1) Prayer that the floors of our house will hold…that we will be safe… that my body will manage the mold – somehow. That our bodies like the house body will get the help we need… (2) Prayer that I might become the oak who can withstand fire and lightening strikes…whose strength will help me deal with the future . (3) a prayer for RAIN… (4) a fervent prayer to stay emotionally attached – emotionally to a few people to help with loneliness… Giving thanks for surviving this year, for every act of courage I have mustered to live with the hole that permeates body and soul as well as my house. A hole and rotting timbers. Honoring myself. Giving thanks for trees, for finding “home” after four years of desert wandering… giving thanks for appreciating each breath I take inside and out. For seeing and hearing Sandhill cranes! And at this 11th hour I give thanks for Marcus and Mark – the Son and his Father who have come into my life – a slender but tough and honest thread of hope that now interrupts my fear… (Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright

(Special Post 3) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing sequels are a revised version of the discussion that has taken place in The Mago Circle, Facebook group, since September 24, 2017 to the present. Themes are introduced and interwoven in a somewhat random manner, as different discussants lead the discussion. The topic of the number nine is key to Magoism, primarily manifested as Nine Magos or the Nine Mago Creatrix. Mago Academy hosts a virtual and actual event, Nine Day Mago Celebration, annually.] Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Xiang Yao or Xiangliu is the Chinese equivalent to Hydra in Greek mythology. And Hercules is to Yu, the Great, founder of the Xia dynasty. We will see in the course of this discussion that the myth of Yu, the founding ruler of Xia, the oldest dynasty of China, who slains the nine-headed snake, is only a variation of its older prototype, the myth of Huangdi who fought Chiu, the alliance of the Nine Han Giants (East Asian/Korean Magoists). “According to the Classic of Mountains and Seas, Xiangliu was a minister of the snake-like water deity Gonggong. Xiangliu devastated the ecology everywhere he went, leaving nothing but gullies and marshes devoid of animal life. Eventually, Xiangliu was killed by Yu the Great, whose other labors included ending the Great Flood of China. In other versions of the story, Xiangliu was killed by Nüwa, after being defeated by Zhurong, but his blood was so virulently poisonous that the soil which it soaked could no longer grow grain.[1] An oral version of the Xiangliu myth was collected as late from Sichuan as 1983, in which Xiangliu is depicted as a nine-headed dragon, responsible for floods and other harm.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xiangliu Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Ancient China had to demonize the pre-Han myth of the nona Mago because it bespeaks the matriarchal/gynocentric history that it overthrew… the past that had to be severed in order to fake patriarchal originality. With this in mind, we have a better look on patriarchal mythopoeia, which appears to be complex but, nonetheless, transparent in its motive to hide/hijack pre-patriarchal gynocentric histories. “One of the most harrowing myths from ancient China is the story of Gonggong’s rebellion. You can revisit the whole story here, but the quick version is that the evil water god Gonggong attempted to drown the world and was only prevented from doing so by the heroic last resort actions of the beneficent creator goddess Nüwa, who cut the legs off the cosmic turtle in order to set things to rights. In the chaos of the climactic battle, however Gongong’s chief minister and partner in crime Xiangliu the nine-headed snake monster completely escaped. Filled with bitterness about Gonggong’s failure, Xiangliu crawled away across the soggy lands of Szechuan (which were water-logged after the nearly world-ending floods). Wherever he went, the snake monster left permanent fens and swamps which were toxic to life. His very being had become steeped in poison, and his progress through the damp and moldy world had to be stopped. Yu the hero, the third of the three sage kings, finally caught up with the nine-headed monster and killed him in a pitched battle. Yet still there was a problem: Xiangliu’s pestiferous blood has poisoned the whole region, which now stank of rot. Crops would not grow and civilization began to falter. Yu dug up the blood soaked soil again and again, but the corrupted blood of the monster just sank deeper into the ground. Finally, Yu excavated a deep valley by Kunlun mountain and rid the world of Xiangliu’s toxins. With all of the land he had excavated he built a great terraced mountain for the gods. Yu then went forth to found the kingdom of Xia, the first civilized state in Chinese history. Of course some people say that Yu did none of this, that, it was the goddess Nüwa who once again came forth to battle the monster and undo the damage he had caused. Then, with accustomed modesty she let Yu take the credit and begin his kingdom (for Nüwa cared not for empty praise and hollow glory but only for the well-being of her children).” https://ferrebeekeeper.wordpress.com/2013/09/24/xiangliu-the-nine-headed-snake/ Max Dashu: These patriarchal heroes! Nova Scheller: What a fascinating thread…that the nine headed hydra correlates to the nine headed dragon as a linkage to patriarchy or gynocentric/ matriarchal beginnings…the root being in Korea! Dropping into your work of so many years…a privilege as well as informing some of my personal awareness. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Nova Scheller, indeed! The myth of slaining the nine-headed snake/dragon across cultures shows; (1) The onset of patriarchy did not come naturally but forcefully, which proves that patriarchy is not original. It was a reaction to what had been before, its matrix. Patriarchy faked its originality by inventing the myth of demonizing and killing the female principle. (2) Patriarchal rules established across cultures adopted the mythic motif of slaining the nine-headed snake or dragon, which appears to be of Chinese origin. (3) The Nine Mago mythic system preserved in Korean Magoism testifies to gynocentric/matriarchal beginnings, which were remembered by peoples of the ancient world. (4) Furthermore, Korean Magoist mythology explains the origin/meaning of the nona Goddess symbol. Let’s explore how the Nine Mago pantheon was remembered in East Asian myths and religions. For this, we need to unravel the patriarchal mythopoeia of Goma, the Shaman ruler of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: In principle, we can tell if an ancient rule/culture was patriarchal or gynocentric by the myth of the nine-headed snake/dragon. In the case of ancient China whose heroes are told to have killed the opponent, the nine-headed snake. Nonetheless, the people’s memory of pre-patriarchal gynocentric history never dies. The nine symbolism is still described as auspicious. It revives time and time again throughout history. In other words, ancient China was a small regional power, only modern scholarship seals it all mighty China. Find out what other ancient myths concern about the nine female symbolism. (To be continued) Join us in The Mago Circle https://www.facebook.com/groups/magoism/.
(Special Post 2) Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, or Spirituality? A Collective Writing

[Editor’s Note: This was first proposed in The Mago Circle, Facebook Group, on March 6, 2014. We have our voices together below and publish them in sequels. It is an ongoing project and we encourage our reader to join us! Submit yours today to Helen Hwang (magoism@gmail.com). Or visit and contact someone in Return to Mago’s Partner Organizations.] Harriet Ann Ellenberger I got involved with women’s liberation in the early 1970s, so involved that it became my life for many years. During those beginnings of what is now called “the second wave of feminism,” everything was new to us and everything was mushed together — the political, the economic, the intellectual, the emotional, the spiritual. I liked that a lot; it felt as if all the parts of myself were coming together. During that time, I learned something crucial the imagery and concepts of patriarchal religion justify and are embedded in the material structures of oppression. I don’t know which came first, institutionalized oppression (of everyone; I’m not speaking here only of women) or the religious expression of that oppression. All I’m certain of is that patriarchal religion permeates, for example, the Oxford English Dictionary, which I use all the time, in conjunction with Websters’ First New Intergalactic Wickedary of the English Language, conjured by Mary Daly in cahoots with Jane Caputi.
(Special Post Isis 1) 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 1 Is Isis White (European) or Black (African)? Harita Meenee What could Isis have to do with the political situation in Egypt? Read on to find out! Isis, Egypt and the Revolution For the past few years Egypt has felt like a second home to me. Some cherished friends and co-workers live there, to whom my thoughts often travel. Also, Isis, the Egyptian great goddess once worshiped all over the Mediterranean, has been an ever-present source of inspiration… By: Harita Meenee, Author https://www.facebook.com/notes/harita-meenee-author/isis-egypt-and-the-revolution/457348724361326 Rick Williams Isis and that picture for me is kind of offensive in 2013. KMT [Kemet, Egypt] and AUSET [Isis] “worship” is an oxymoron. Kahena Dorothea Can you explain, Rick Williams, how it is an oxymoron? I am curious. Rick Williams First, Auset as a deity was not a singularly honored symbolic personage. KMT taught principles of BALANCE and UNIVERSAL COSMOLOGICAL TRUTH. There are NO images from the dawn of that age depicting her as EUROPEAN. [Threads curtailed] Helen Hwang I would strongly suggest that Rick and others who see Rick’s point educate us in Mago Circle. I know this is very difficult but we are here to learn and express differences from each other. We are all centers and please share your perspective and knowledge so that others can learn. I am doing that with patience and tolerance as well. Thank you all! Rick Williams I try to be as honest and respectful when I can, Helen. I only personalize things when ONE person says something. Yet there are those who know that the people of that land now weren’t the same people who honored the deities of mythology and that image isn’t of Auset. When will folks stop promoting fictitious images and uneducated observations? I could have beat around the bush and politely asked about the statue, why that one isn’t truly the same of Auset’s time? Helen Hwang Okay, conflicts and contradictions are everywhere. Nonetheless, we can’t be beat by those. We are exploring ways to be empowered by addressing our differences in Mago Circle. We trust that we have good intentions and yet we are not perfect. I do Mago Circle and Return to Mago because I believe there is a way for us to meet and talk with our differences, I can’t let that hope go! Thank us for talking to each other. Naa Ayele Kumari I can see both points. Egypt has a long and ancient history… One filled with invaders.. wars.. people who stole the magic and manipulated it for their own purposes… Those invaders changed images to make them in their own reflections all the while slowly destroying the indigenous images of power and strength as well as the sacred tradition they were built on.. As a woman of African descent, it is sometimes difficult to see the Hellenistic images of our mother.. because her original images were a woman of color. Racism… whether we chose to admit it or not has played an immense part in our oppression as a people and that includes the struggle for Egypt today. It is especially a sensitive issue because those images play a role in how people see and view black women… even today. The dark goddess is stereotyped as being a part of our shadow while the white goddess is caste as being all that is good in the world. What black women struggle to tell the world is that those projections are simply racist projections… and so we reject them. Still, I recognize that people like to experience the divine in their own image and that our Mother has been taken around the world… and by extension absorbed many names and faces because after all, she is mother not to just Africans… but to the World. Right now, we have dominant tradition of Islam… that at its roots has a feminine basis… (Islam came from the word Isis) all the while oppressing women by its dogma. The indigenous people of Egypt, the Badarians and Nubians… are oppressed by Arab invaders who have taken control, projected their own religions all the while wanting to destroy the remainder of the images of the ancients. Injustice recognizes injustice… and all the ways that it shows up. At the root of Egypt…is Isis… called also Esi and Auset by the indigenous people. She has been oppressed by many layers of invaders… Her daughter’s voices have been muted… Timeless icon that she is, as the tides are turning, so are the heavy oppressions being lifted. Women are finding and re-remembering their power… and as they do… Mama Esi.. is taking back her throne. Naa Ayele Kumari This is the Isis on the walls and temples of Egypt. Harita Meenee Seeing the people of Egypt as all white or all Black means stereotyping them. In fact the inhabitants of Egypt are of different colors: some are white, others are Black and many others are something in-between. The same was true in antiquity and it’s reflected in Egyptian art. Rick Williams Harita, really? What does that have to do with your choice of misrepresentation of that image? Please enlighten me, thank you. Harita Meenee Τhere is no misrepresentation, dear Rick Williams. If you read my note carefully, you’ll see that it talks about Isis as a goddess who was worshiped all over the Mediterranean–I’m not referring to just her Egyptian manifestation. The statue depicted is in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens, Greece. I took this picture and processed it slightly so that it looks more like a painting than a sculpture. No change was made to the actual form or color of the statue. I’m attaching a photo of the museum label of this work of art. It may not be clearly visible, but it reads: Marble statue of the goddess Isis-Tyche-Pelagia. 1st-2nd century AD. The composite name means that, as was often the case in […]

(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 & 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) 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 …
(Video) Winter Solstice Breath Meditation by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Winter Solstice/Yule Southern Hemisphere – June 20 – 23. Northern Hemisphere – December 20 – 23 Winter Solstice is a celebration of the Mother/Creator aspect of the Triple Goddess in particular – as both Solstices may be, as dark or light come to fullness. Winter Solstice Moment celebrates the ripe fullness of the Dark Womb, and the gateway from that fullness back into new growing light. It is a Birthing Place – into differentiated being, and Her birthing happens in every moment in the breath, and is seamlessly connected with all layers of being – of self, Earth and Cosmos. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDsVZzXtoyM The Text in the Meditation[i] Take a deep breath and let it go. Notice the Void at the bottom of emptying your breath … feeling it, and feeling the Urge to breathe as it arises. And again … feeling it over and over – this breath that arises out of the full emptiness in every moment, birthing you in every moment. – Recall some of the birthings in your life, your actual birth – see it there in your mind’s eye … you coming into being – your Nativity, your Nativity. Recall projects you have brought into being, new beings within yourself, perhaps children, new beings in others, how you have been Creator and Created – even at the same time … who was birthing who? Staying for a while with the many, many birthings in your life. – recalling now Earth-Gaia’s many birthings out of the Dark everyday … the dawn is constant as She turns. See Her in your mind’s eye – the constant dawning around the globe, the constant birthing. Recall Earth’s many births right now of all beings – as day breaks around the globe – the physical, emotional, spiritual births. Her many, many birthings everyday, and throughout the eons. recalling now Universe-Gaia’s many birthings – happening in every moment – right now in real time and space … supernovas right now, stars and planets being born right now. Her many, many birthings in every moment and throughout the eons. – recalling now Universe-Gaia’s many birthings – happening in every moment – right now in real time and space … supernovas right now, stars and planets being born right now. Her many, many birthings in every moment and throughout the eons. Come back to your breath – this wonder – none of it separate … the Origin Ever-Present, birthing you in every moment – out of Her Fertile Dark, in real time and space. Feeling this breath, Her breath. NOTES: [i] Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology, Winter Solstice ceremonial script, p. 195-196. Reference: Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology. Music: Fish Nite Moon by Tim Wheater, permission generously given Images: – Birth of the Goddess, Erich Neumann, The Great Mother, pl. 155. See https://pagaian.org/book/cover-goddess-image/ – Winter Solstice window, MoonCourt Australia 2016 – some sources unknown
(Essay and Video) Cosmogenesis Dance: Celebrating Her Unfolding by Glenys Livingstone

The dance begins with two concentric circles, which will flow in and out of each other throughout the dance, resulting thus in a third concentric circle that comes and goes. The three circles/layers are understood to represent the three aspects of Goddess, the Creative Triple Dynamic that many ancients were apparently aware of, and imagined in so many different ways across the globe. In Her representation in Ireland as the Triple Spiral motif, which is inscribed on the inner chamber wall at Bru-na-Boinne (known as Newgrange)[1], She seems to be understood as a dynamic essential to on-going Cosmic Creativity, as this ancient motif is dramatically lit up by the Winter Solstice dawn. It seems that this was important to the Indigenous people of this place at the time of Winter Solstice, which celebrates Origins, the continuing birth of all. Thus I like to do this Cosmogenesis Dance, as I have named it[2], at the Winter Solstice in particular. The three aspects that the dance may embody, and are poetically understood as Goddess, celebrate (i) Virgin/Young One – Urge to Be as I have named this quality – the ever new differentiated being (also known as Fodla in the region of the Triple Spiral)[3]. This is the outer circle of individuals. (ii) Mother – the deeply related interwoven web – Dynamic Place of Being as I have named this quality – the communion that our habitat is (also known as Eriu in the region of the Triple Spiral)[4]. This is the woven middle circle where all are linked and swaying in rhythm. (iii) Crone/Old One – the eternal creative return to All-That-Is – She who Creates the Space to Be as I have named this quality (also known as Banba in the region of the Triple Spiral)[5]. This is the inner circle where linked hands are raised and stillness is held. The three concentric layers of the dance may be understood to embody these. The Cosmogenesis Dance represents the flow and balance of these three – a flow and balance of Self, Other and All-That-Is. It may be experienced like a breath, that we breathe together – as we do co-create the Cosmos. Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme have named the three qualities of Cosmogenesis in the following way: – differentiation … to be is to be unique – communion … to be is to be related – autopoiesis/subjectivity … to be is to be a centre of creativity.[6] The three layers of the dance may be felt to celebrate each unique being, in deep relationship with other, directly participating in the sentient Cosmos, the Well of Creativity. The Cosmogenesis Dance as it is done within PaGaian Winter Solstice ceremony expresses the whole Creative Process we are immersed in. It is a process of complete reciprocity, a flow of Creator and Created, like a breath. There is dynamic exchange in every moment: that is the nature of the Place we inhabit. The dance may help awaken us to it, and to invoke it. The Cosmogenesis Dance on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dR73MDMM9Fk For more story: Cosmogenesis Dance for Winter Ritual For Dance Instructions: PaGaian Cosmology Appendix I Meet Mago Contributor Glenys Livingstone NOTES: [1] The Triple Spiral engraving is dated at 2,400 B.C.E. [2] This dance is originally named as “The Stillpoint Dance”, or sometimes “Adoramus Te Domine” which is the name of the music used for it. I learned it from Dr. Jean Houston in 1990 at a workshop of hers in Sydney, Australia. I began to use the dance for Winter Solstice ceremony in 1997, and it was only in the second year of doing so that I realised its three layers were resonant with the three traditional qualities of the Female Metaphor/Goddess, and also the three faces of Cosmogenesis. I thereafter re-named and storied the dance that way in the ceremonial preparation and teaching for Winter Solstice. See Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology: pp. 280-281 and 311. [3] Michael Dames, Ireland: a Sacred Journey, p.192. [4] Michael Dames, Ireland: a Sacred Journey, p. 192. [5] Michael Dames, Ireland: a Sacred Journey, p. 192. [6] Brian Swimme and Thomas Berry, The Universe Story, p. 71-79. I have identified these qualities with the Triple Goddess, and the Triple Spiral in the synthesis of PaGaian Cosmology: see Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology, particularly Chapter 4: https://pagaian.org/book/chapter-4/ References: Dames, Michael. Ireland: a Sacred Journey, Element Books, 2000. Livingstone, Glenys. PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. Lincoln NE: iUniverse, 2005. Swimme, Brian and Berry, Thomas. The Universe Story: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era. NY: HarperCollins, 1992.
(Essay) The Wheel of the Year and Climate Change by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from Chapter 2 of the author’s book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ The Wheel of the Year in a PaGaian cosmology essentially celebrates Cosmogenesis – the unfolding of the Cosmos, in which Earth’s extant Creativity participates directly, as does each unique being. The Creativity of Cosmogenesis is expressed through Earth-Sun relationship as it may manifest and be experienced within any region of our Planet. In PaGaian tradition this is expressed with Triple Goddess Poetry, which is understood to be metaphor for the creative dynamics unfolding the Cosmos. At the heart of the Earth-Sun relationship is the dance of light and dark, the waxing and waning of both these qualities, as Earth orbits around our Mother Sun. This dance, which results in the manifestation of form and its dissolution, as it does in the Seasons, happens because of Earth’s tilt in relationship with Sun: and that is because this tilt effects the intensity of regional receptivity to Sun’s energy over the period of the yearly orbit. This tilt was something that happened in the evolution of our planet in its earliest of days – some four and a half billion years ago, and then stabilised over time: and the climatic zones were further formed when Antarctica separated from Australia and South America, giving birth to the Antarctica Circumpolar Current, changing the circulation of water around all the continents … just some thirty million years ago[i]. Within the period since then, which also saw the advent of the earliest humans, Earth has gone through many climatic changes. It is likely that throughout those changes, the dance of light and dark in both hemispheres of the planet … one always the opposite of the other – has been fairly stable and predictable. The resultant effect on flora and fauna regionally however has varied enormously depending on many other factors of Earth’s ever changing ecology: She is an alive Planet who continues to move and re-shape Herself. She is Herself subject to the cosmic dynamics of creativity – the forming and the dissolving and the re-emerging. The earliest of humans must have received all this, ‘observed’ it, in a very participatory way: that is, not as a Western industrialized or dualistic mind would think of ‘observation’ today, but as kin with the events – identifying with their own experience of coming into being and passing away. There is evidence to suggest that humans have expressed awareness of, and response to, the phenomenon of coming into being and passing away, as early as one hundred thousand years ago: ritual burial sites of that age have been found[ii], and more recently a site of ongoing ritual activity as old as seventy thousand years has been found[iii]. The ceremonial celebration of the phenomenon of seasons probably came much later, particularly perhaps when humans began to settle down. These ceremonial celebrations of seasons apparently continued to reflect the awesomeness of existence as well as the marking of transitions of Sun back and forth across the horizon, which became an important method of telling the time for planting and harvesting and the movement of pastoral animals. https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ It seems that the resultant effect of the dance of light and dark on regional flora and fauna, has been fairly stable in recent millennia, the period during which many current Earth-based religious practices and expression arose. In our times, that is changing again. Humans have been, and are, a major part of bringing that change about. Ever since we migrated around the planet, humans have brought change, as any creature would: but humans have gained advantage and distinguished themselves by toolmaking, and increasingly domesticating/harnessing more of Earth’s powers – fire being perhaps the first, and this also aided our migration. In recent times this harnessing/appropriating of Earth’s powers became more intense and at the same time our numbers dramatically increased: and many of us filled with hubris, acting without consciousness or care of our relational context. We are currently living in times when our planet is tangibly and visibly transforming: the seasons themselves as we have known them for millennia – as our ancestors knew them – appear to be changing in most if not all regions of our Planet. Much predictable Poetry – sacred language – for expressing the quality of the Seasonal Moments will change, as regional flora changes, as the movement of animals and birds and sea creatures changes, as economies change[iv]. In Earth’s long story regional seasonal manifestation has changed before, but not so dramatically since the advent of much current Poetic expression for these transitions, as mixed as they are with layers of metaphor: that is, with layers of mythic eras, cultures and economies. We may learn and understand the traditional significance of much of the Poetry, the ceremony and symbol – the art – through which we could relate and converse with our place, as our ancestors may have done; but it will continue to evolve as all language must. At the moment the dance of dark and light remains predictable, but much else is in a process of transformation. As we observe and sense our Place, our Habitat, as our ancestors also did, we can, and may yet still make Poetry of the dance of dark and light, of this quality of relationship with Sun, and how it may be manifesting in a particular region and its significance for the inhabitants: we may still find Poetic expression with which to celebrate the sacred journey that we make everyday around Mother Sun, our Source of life and energy. It has been characteristic of humans for at least several tens of thousands of years, to create ceremony and symbol by which we could relate with the creative dynamics of our place, and perhaps it was initially a method of coming to terms with these dynamics – with the apparently uniquely human awareness of coming into being and passing away[v]. Our need for …

(Essay 1) Magoist Cetaceanism and the Myth of the Pacifying Flute (Manpasikjeok) by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

Pod of narwhals, northern Canada, August 2005. Image courtesy of Kristin Laidre. Wikemedia Commons Manpasikjeok (the pacifying flute that defeats all) is a legendary flute, purportedly made from a narwhal’s tusk, originating in the 7th century Silla (57 BCE-935 CE). King Sinmun (r. 681-692) had a revelation concerning “a bamboo tree” growing on a mysterious mountain floating in the Sea of Whales, today’s East Sea of Korea. From this tree, a flute was made with which he was able to protect the whole world. As a national treasure of Silla, this instrument was famed to defeat all enemies at the time of troubles. What we have is the accounts of the pacifying flute recounted in Korea’s official historical texts. Two sources from the Samguk Sagi (Historical Records of the Three States) and the Samguk Yusa (Memorabilia of the Three States) shall be examined. Not surprisingly, whales are made unrecognizable not only within the story but also in the official history books of Korea. Magoist Cetaceanism was subjected to erasure in the course of Korean official history, but apparently not in the time of King Sinmun of Silla. The myth of Manpasikjeok testifies to Sillan Magoist Cetaceanism upheld by 7th century Sillan rulers. We are reading a Magoist Cetacean myth, however, told by people of a later time when Magoist Cetaceanism was no longer recognized. The fact that these two official historical texts of Korea recount the narrative of Manpasikjeok speaks to its significance: The story is told with a sense of mystery or suspicion. While the Samguk Sagi overtly treats the author’s sense of disbelief, the Samguk Yusa provides a full narrative in tantalizing but mystified details. How was Manpasikjeok 萬波息笛 created in the first place? Below is the Samguk Sagi version of the story: According to Gogi (Ancient Records), “During the reign of King Sinmun, a little mountain emerged in the East Sea out of nowhere. It looked like a head of a turtle. Atop the mountain there was a bamboo tree growing, which became two during the day and became one at night. The king had his subject cut the bamboo tree and had it made a flute. He named it Manpasik (Pacifying and Defeating All).” Although it is written so, its account is weird and unreliable.[1] Written by Gim Busik (1075–1151), a Neo-Confucian historiographer, the above account betrays an unengaged author’s mind in the story. For Gim, Korean indigenous narratives like Manpasikjeok are anomalous, if not unreliable, by the norms of Chinese history. In contrast to the former, the Samguk Yusa details the Manpasikjeok story in a tantalizing sense of mystery. Its author Ilyeon (1206-1289) was a Buddhist monk, a religious historian who saw the history of Korea as fundamentally Buddhist from the beginning. He elaborates the story with factual data but fails to bring to surface the cetacean underpinning of the myth. It is possible that Magoist Cetaceanism had already submerged much earlier than his time. King Sinmun (r. 681-692) had built the temple, Gameun-sa (Graced Temple), to commemorate his late father King Munmu (r. 661-681) who willed to become a sea dragon upon death. The relic of King Munmu had been spread in Whale Ferry (Gyeongjin 鯨津), also known as the Rock of Ruler the Great (Daewang-am) located in the waterfront of the East Sea also known as the Sea of Whales. Evidence substantiates that King Munmu was a Magoist Cetacean devotee clad in a Buddhist attire. Or today’s Buddhologiests call it Esoteric Buddhism. The Manpasikjeok myth may be called the story of King Sinmun’s initiation to Magoist Cetaceanism. Before explicating the Samguk Yusa account, which is prolix and complex, I have summarized the Samguk Yusa’s account as follows: (Summary of the Manpasikjeok Myth) King Sinmun ordered the completion of Gameunsa (Graced Temple) to commemorate his deceased father, King Munmu. The main hall of Gameunsa was designed at the sea level to allow the dragon to enter and stroll through the ebb and flow of the sea waves. In the second year of his reign (682 CE), Marine Officer reported that a little mountain in the East Sea was approaching Gameunsa. The king had Solar Officer perform a divination. The divination foretold that he would be given a treasure with which he could protect Wolseong (Moon Stronghold), Silla’s capital. This would be a gift from King Munmu who became a sea dragon and Gim Yusin who became a heavenly being again. In seven days, the king went out to Yigyeondae (Platform of Gaining Vision) and saw the mountain floating like a turtle’s head in the sea. There was a bamboo tree growing on its top, which became two during the day and one at night. The king stayed overnight in Gameumsa to listen to the dragon who entered the yard and the substructure of the main hall. Then, there was darkness for seven days due to a storm in the sea. After the sea calmed, the king went into the mountain to meet the dragon. The dragon told him that, if he made a flute out of the bamboo tree, the whole world would be pacified. The king had the bamboo tree brought out of the sea and made it into a flute, which became a treasure of Silla. The mountain and the dragon disappeared. The flute, when played during times of the nation’s trouble, brought peace. Thus comes its name, Manpasikjeok (the pacifying flute that defeats all). During the reign of King Hyoso (r. 692-702), his son, the flute continued to make miracles. Thus it was renamed Manmanpapasikjeok (the pacifying flute that surely defeats all of all). One day, it was reported to King Sinmun that a little mountain was approaching Gameunsa. That mountain had a mysterious bamboo tree atop. On the seventh day from then, he went out to Yigyeondae (Platform of Gaining Vision), the whale watch place near Gameumsa. Then, he stayed overnight in Gameunsa to hear the dragon who entered the temple yard through the ebb and flow of the …
(Video) Gurang (Nine Goddesses), Gaeyang Halmi (Grandma Gaeyang), and Goddess Gom: Exploring Old Magoism in Korea by Helen Hwang

Meet Mago Contributor, Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D. Read (Photo Essay 5) Gaeyang Halmi, Sea Goddess of Korea.
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]

Tag: Hiroshima

(Video) Commemorating the Bombing of Hiroshima by Janie Rezner

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Mago Almanac Year 9 Monthly Wheels

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

Mago Almanac Year 8 (for 2025)

Program Booklets

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