Gratitude Stalks You

May 4, 2012


Gratitude stalks you
Unawares you are ambushed
Smile in surprise

Earlier this week I was in the woods at a stream swollen with spring, and a familiar situation overtook me. It’s similar to coming upon a beautiful scene by surprise or having an unusual interaction with an animal–and of course you left the camera at home. This is the situation of coming upon a sublime space, maybe in some ordinary place where you’ve been many times, and your heart is unexpectedly opened and full to overflowing. Perhaps you can hear the voices of water, rocks and trees. This is the time for ritual, but you have no offering. A simple thank you does not seem like enough. What gift can you leave to signify the importance of this moment?

Fortunately, a priestess twenty years ago taught me that you can leave a strand of hair as an offering. Trees love hair–that’s why they grab at your head as you walk down the trail. In the desert you can offer a few drops from your water bottle, but where I live a water offering seems superfluous. (It’s one thing we have plenty of!)

There are many offerings you can make when you come with just yourself.

If you have a few coins in your pocket, trees also love money. They prefer coin to paper money. Water and earth like coins as well.

A gesture can be an offering: a hug, kiss or pat on a rock or tree. Touch water and rub your forehead. Spinning or jumping are more exhuberant gestures.

The spoken word is a profound offering. A prayer said out loud. A song, not necessarily a spiritual song but even a popular song that comes into your head at the moment. Conversation can be a wonderful gift that trees and animals value. They might not understand your words, but they hear the tone and cadence. Animals particularly like the higher pitched, more melodic voices of children and women.

If the ground is sandy, you can write a message with a stick: a symbol, a picture, a word. Pebbles can also be arranged to send a message.

What other empty-handed offerings can you suggest? Leave a message in the comments.

Blessings of May!

May 1, 2012


Some awesome celebrations for Beltane going on last night–wasn’t the energy pablpable? I was alone myself, and I had trouble lighting the fire because it was drizzling. Then I remembered that the purification at Beltane is from the smoke that the brush-fires generate. That’s why they used to drive the cattle between two fires. So, I used lots of incense in the fire pit. It was beautiful, and worked like a charm.

The Witch’s Broom, part IV

April 27, 2012

Brooms made of sorghum fibers at a Bulgarian shop. Photo by Edal Anton Lefterov.

Let’s examine the phenomenon of flying.

Recall that Doreen Valiente attributes the belief that witches fly on brooms to the traditional riding-pole dance. Participants would stradle their staves and jump high to encourage the crops to grow tall. This agricultural fertility rite continued well into Christian times, with the phallic carved ends of the poles hidden by birch twigs when not in use – presumably to hide the practice from inquisitive eyes, but perhaps for some other purpose. We have already seen how during the persecutions witches were frequently said to be flying on staves rather than brooms. Maybe during the fertility rites they really were flying. Many of us modern-day witches have had the experience of dancing ecstatically during ritual and discovering that our feet were no longer touching the ground, that we were “dancing on air.”

Another theory about flying has to do with “flying ointments.” These had some kind of grease as a base, with extracts of hallucinogenic plants mixed in, especially belladonna. This plant reportedly gives the user the sensation of flying. Some say the ointment was applied to the labia, so that it could be more easily absorbed through the skin. It was never used internally because belladonna and similar plants are so highly toxic. In Apuleius’ second century Latin novel The Golden Ass, the sorceress applies the ointment, assumes the form of an owl, and flies away. Other accounts of eyewitnesses say the ointment users writhed or remained inert on the floor, in an unconscious state, then wakened after about an hour reporting that they had flown. Some have conjectured that the ointment may have been applied to the broom handle, the witch rubbing her genitals against the handle until she absorbed just enough to lose consciousness. (I have a difficult time accepting this explanation, as rational as it sounds from a standpoint of safer flying.)
Wild fennel growing in France. Photo by H. Zell.


With or without flying ointments, European shamans took trance journeys where they flew with broom-like implements. The Friulian benandanti were Christians in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries who flew on the backs of animals carrying bunches of fennel to wield against witches bearing stalks of sorghum. Grocery store fennel looks like celery, but the plant gets quite large and rangy in the wild. Sorgham grows in large stalks that can sweep the air like a broom. Livonian Christians of the same time period assumed wolf form to fight witches who had stolen sheafs of grain. These werewolves wielded iron whips while the witches fought back with brooms. Despite their assertions that they were good people fighting bad witches, both the Friulian and Livonian shamans were persecuted by the Inquisition.

Christian authorities frequently bemoaned the peasant superstition that witches used their brooms to change the weather. A witch reportedly would sweep the air with her broom to make it rain or to bring damaging storms that devastated neighbors’ crops. I’m not into storm magic myself, but many witches report that it’s fairly easy to raise winds and storms through magic. Theoretically it would be possible to raise enough wind to fly through the air, although it would take quite a bit of control to stay astride that broom, and there would be the issue of flying debris to contend with.

Astral projection is yet another way to fly, one that doesn’t require a broom. I’m talking about a trance state where the body is inert but the spirit is flying in the regular world, not the otherworld. I used to do a bit of window shopping this way, especially when I lived in San Francisco. It was easier than getting around on buses. One day when I was flying in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, a woman walking along the sidewalk chatting to friend looked up at me and said “Oh, hello!” This is the only time this has happened to me, and I found it so disconcerting that I stopped flying for awhile. The incident proved to me that a person flying in spirit form can sometimes be noticed. Presumably, before perceptions had been distorted by modern narrow-mindedness, more people would have been able to recognize witches flying around.

So there are lots of ways those legendary witches really could have been flying: trance journeys in another world, trance journeys in this world, ecstatic dancing, drug experiences. It’s too bad they’re not here to show us all the ins and outs, but at least the art of flying is still with us.


Sources

Apuleius. The Transformations of Lucius Otherwise Known as the Golden Ass. Robert Graves, trans. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1951.

Douglas, Adam. The Beast Within: A History of the Werewolf. New York: Avon Books, 1992.

Ginzburg, Carlo. Ecstasies: Deciphering the Witches’ Sabbath. New York: Pantheon Books, 1991.

Kors, Alan Charles and Edward Peters, eds. Witchcraft in Europe 400-1700. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.

Morgan, Adrian. Toads and Toadstools: The Natural History, Folklore, and Cultural Oddities of a Strange Association. Berkeley, CA: Celestial Arts, 1995.

The Strange House in the Woods

April 20, 2012

Sami storehouse. Photo by m.prinke.

In last week’s bird quiz, the pelican was mentioned as Baba Yaga’s bird. Baba Yaga is the harvest goddess of many Eastern European countries, who appears as a witch in Russian fairy tales. Another of her bird characteristics is her little house, which stands on chicken legs in a clearing in the woods. This hut has the curious ability to walk around on its legs. Sometimes it spins in a furious circle. In folk tales when the heroine reaches Baba Yaga’s hut, she addresses the building politely and says, “Stand with your back to the forest and your front to me.” Obediently, the hut waddles around and allows the door to face her, so that she can enter. It is speculated that Baba Yaga’s house may be built off the ground on tree stumps, similar to the storage building traditionally used by some Sami people.


Sources

Afanas’ev, Aleksandr. Russian Fairy Tales. Trans. Norbert Guterman. New York: Random House, 1973.

Johns, Andreas. Baba Yaga: The Ambiguous Mother and Witch of the Russian Folktale. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2010.

Bird Companions of the Goddess: A quiz

April 12, 2012

Photo by Courtney Johns

How much do you know about the winged companions of the Goddess? If you’ve been following this blog for awhile you’ll recognize many of these. Match the bird in the left column with the European or Middle Eastern goddess (or god) she is frequently associated with.

Owl

Goose

Raven

Falcon

Vulture

Dove

Pelican

Woodpecker

Eagle
Baba Yaga

Morrigan

Mars

Athena

Lugh

Freya

Aphrodite

Astarte

Mut



Answers are here.

Feel free to add other goddess and god associations for these birds in the comments.

Adrienne Rich, 1929-2012

April 6, 2012


And if I’ve written in passion,
Live, Julia! what was I writing
but my own pledge to myself
where the love of women is rooted?
And what was I invoking
but the matrices we weave
web upon web, delicate rafters
flung in audacity to the prairie skies
(from “For Julia in Nebraska,” in A Wild Patience Has Taken Me This Far)

Adrienne Rich, the poet whose work exemplified the journey of twentieth century feminists to find an authentic individual and collective voice, died March 27th at 82. Her groundbreaking collection, The Dream of a Common Language, spoke to the soul of the emerging vision of women’s poetry. Her nonfiction work, Of Women Born took on the sentimentalized and trivialized subject of motherhood and examined it as a central influence on women’s lives and perspective.

I did not know Rich, although I heard her perform many times. I chatted briefly with her once after a reading, and I recognized her occasionally in San Francisco or Santa Cruz – too shy to go up and speak to her, though she seemed open and approachable. Rich did not exude any air of self-importance, despite being recognized and celebrated as a gifted writer from an early age. Rich did, however, convey a sense that we – each of us women – were vitally important.

The salient experience of being female in Western patriarchy is one of unimportance. Our thoughts, our feelings, our needs, our hopes, what we do, what we say, what happens to us – all are uninteresting, unimportant and irrelevant. If we sound shrill at times – to men, to other women, even to ourselves – it’s because we always feel like we’re never being heard.

And Rich wrote as if she heard us. Rich could make the word “we” seem not like a conglomeration of unnamed entities but a symbiotic web of nourishment. She carried the conviction of our central, vital, incontrovertible importance. Not in spite of being women, but because.

Rich was not, however, an unwavering source of upliftment. There was too much pain in her work. She suffered most of her life with arthritis, yet the pain that came through her work was an emotional one, almost an impersonal one, the pain of humanity and especially of women. It was too much to take in heavy doses, and I found myself drifting away from Rich’s poetry – and then being pulled back occasionally to the strength of that conviction: that our deeds, our experiences and our dreams are vital to the continuity of history – and to all that lies ahead.

The Witch’s Broom, part III

March 30, 2012

Witches flying on broom and staff. From manuscript border of Martin Le Franc's 1440 Defender of Ladies.

The stereotypic witch is the deluded worshipper of Satan, working her evil in remote congregations she accesses by flying on her broomstick. She has a huge larger-than-life nose with larger-than-life warts, and one of her greatest sins is the fashion mistake of that ridiculous cone hat. She is a misguided dupe who will, of course, meet with a sorry end as the forces of good prevail.

Curiously enough, there are parts of this stereotype with a basis in reality. The most interesting of these is the flight on the broom.

Broom flight came relatively late in the Christian understanding of witchcraft. Medieval writings such as the 906 Canon Episcopi talk about the idea of pagans shapeshifting into animals in order to go places and do things, though the texts make clear that the error is not in doing these things but in believing that they happen. A clerical reference to witches on broomsticks appears in 1440 in Martin Le Franc’s Defender of the Ladies. In this essay Le Franc takes exception to the belief that women are more likely than men to do the Devil’s bidding, arguing that this belief is based on fanstastic assumptions like broom travel. He discusses the confession of a sixteen year old girl at a trial and concludes that “There are no broomsticks or rods by which anyone could fly. But when the devil can fool the mind, they think they fly….” Again, the error is not in the act of flying, but in believing that flight is possible. Since theology around Satan and witchcraft solidified by the thirteenth century, and witch flight continued to be suspect within this paradigm, it is likely that the idea of witches flying on brooms arose not out of Christian cosmology but pagan belief. Eventually broomstick flying did become stock in the witch hunter’s lore, though witch prosecutors like Matthew Hopkins lamented that the belief cheapened the discipline. The need for prosecutors at actual trials to establish a modus operandi may explain why the scenario of the witch flying on her broomstick was accepted outside of more erudite theological circles. The scenario explained how the witches (many of whom were elderly) were getting to their sabbats in the wilderness undetected, and it allowed the testimony of victims and witnesses, who often insisted on dragging in broom flight, to be admitted in full.
Aphrodite riding a swan or goose, carrying staff or distaff. By Achilles the Painter, 450 bce. University of Haifa Library.


So how did people get the idea that witches were flying on brooms (or staves or animals)? The simple answer, which we’ll get to eventually, is that they really were flying. Another point to consider is the relationship between the priestess and her goddess. While the monotheistic religions (and many pagan religions as well) place a wide distance between the greatest priest/priestess and the deity, in many pagan religions a priestess can become endowed over time with the qualities of her deity. Christian theologians may have furthered this conflation between goddess and priestess by their emphatic portrayal of goddesses (whom they categorically referred to as “demons”) as the mundane part of their divine/worldly dichotomy. Sometimes in Christianized folklore the goddess even becomes a witch.

We know from myth and art that goddesses are always flying around, often with staves, distaffs or brooms, or on the backs of animals. The germanic giantess Hyrrokkin rides on the back of a wolf, and witnesses in a witch trial from Switzerland testified that the accused was seen flying on a wolf. More often the goddess is shown carrying a staff or a distaff as she flies, with or without animal support. While today the broom is the stock image, medieval and Renaissance witches were often portrayed flying on staves or distaffs. The Russian Baba Yaga, who has counterparts throughout Eastern Europe, definitely has a flying broom association. Baba Yaga is described as a witch, but her awesome powers are goddess-like. She rides through the sky at night in a mortar, using the pestle as an oar to steer. With her broom she sweeps the tracks away as she rides. Baba Yaga is an ancient crone with a huge nose almost touching her chin. She or harvest crone goddesses like her probably influenced the broomstick witch stereotype.

Flying witch with distaff on indeterminate animal doing weather magic. From Albrecht Durer's early 16th century engraving Witch Riding. Thought to be inspired by a cameo of Aphrodite Pandemos.

Sources

Guerber, H.A. The Norsemen. London: Senate, 1994.

Johns, Andreas. Baba Yaga: The Ambiguous Mother and Witch of the Russian Folktale. New York: Peter Lang, 2010.

Kors, Alan Charles and Edward Peters, eds. Witchcraft in Europe 400-1700. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.


Still to come: What if they really were flying?

Happy Birthday, Aries

March 23, 2012


In honor of the arrival of Spring I thought I’d dust off my epic poem about an Aries perspective on an important mystery.

ARIES WOMEN


i.

Put away your vampire books. Forget about picking scabs or peeking at booboos under band-aids. These things are for children who have yet to discover better things.

ii.

Indulge in all the paraphernalia. Tampons, sponges, belts, sticky pads, reusable pads, simple rags–each has new information to shed on the subject. Wear junior tampons so you can change them often. Examine the mottled colors–the red, the browns, the tiny globs and veins. Notice how the smell of used tampons differs from used sanitary napkins. Hold your sponge under the faucet til the water runs clear. Fill the tub and let the water turn scarlet. Allow a few spots to annoint your underwear.

iii.

They tell you to keep a record of when you start, but why stop there? Record how it started–fast and red or a brown trickle and then the red part? Where were you when it happened: in a store…at the office…in bed with a lover? What times of day do you bleed the heaviest? How many days do you spot? Do you have cramps and where are they? Do you flow evenly or do you have liver clots and how big? How many pads per cycle do you change in a public restroom?

iv.

Do not call it a period. Others may say moon-time, dot, that time or on the rag, but the word that says it best is “bloods.”

v.

Build a bloodhut or a blood tent or a bleeding corner of your room. Bleed on flannel or silk. Take the first day of bloods off work or school to celebrate. Take a walk. Buy yourself flowers. Make cup after cup of hot tea and stare into space. Revel in that warm sticky feeling between your legs.

vi.

Brag about it to your friends. When you excuse yourself to change a tampon make sure everyone knows that’s what you’re doing. Mention it often so that people around you are almost as continually aware of it as you are.

vii.

Slip your finger in the opening of pleasure and slide in the thick red juices. Note the sound your fingers make as they slosh. Hold your bright red fingers to the light. Notice the aroma different from regular blood and different from regular cunt. Lick the very tips of your fingers.

viii.

Collect your wise blood by squeezing a tampon or sponge into a teacup. Use it to paint runes or rattles or the ever popular walls. Annoint the sides and wick of you vulva shaped candle for an exceptionally potent spell. Blood can be frozen in ice cube trays for craft projects during those in-between times.

ix.

Squat naked outdoors as you face the East. Let your blood sanctify this place marking the end and beginning of cycles. Pray for a good cycle, a healthy cycle, marked with love and accomplishment.

Squat again in the South, the direction of fire. Thank the Mother of All for your fiery nature which gives and replenishes itself perpetually.

Squat a third time in the West, the direction of fluids. Feel the mysteries unfolding within the darkness of your body. Feel the cosmos bleeding with and within you.

Squat one more time in the North, the direction of wisdom. Touch the body of your Mother Earth and rub your fingers in her living soil. Thank the earth and moon and stars and sun that you can have blood, all the blood you need and want, without hurting yourself–or someone else. Bless the juices of creativity flowing downward and outward and onward in a river of endless possibilities.

Happy Eostre!

March 20, 2012

Snowdrops are not the showiest flowers but they’re so welcome here, because they’re the first to bloom. Spring generally comes late in the Adirondacks, sometimes not until May, but this year it’s very early and we have a warm day for our celebration.