She was the first woman to be Chief of the Cherokee Nation. She was the first at a lot of things. Wilma Mankiller was a true American heroine and a voice for the masses. Tuesday morning, Wilma Mankiller passed away, but not forgotten. She was only 64.

Mankiller and her family announced last month that she was suffering from metastatic pancreatic cancer. Friends and family gathered around her. Mankiller had survived lymphoma and breast cancer, but metastatic pancreatic cancer isn’t something even a fierce willed woman like Mankiller could beat.

During Mankiller’s 10 years as principal chief, the tribe grew to become the second largest in the United States. Mankiller was inducted into the National Women’s Hall of Fame in 1993 and received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Clinton in 1998.

“Our personal and national hearts are heavy with sorrow and sadness with the passing this morning of Wilma Mankiller,” Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Chad Smith is quoted as saying on the organization’s website. “We are better people and a stronger tribal nation because (of) her example of Cherokee leadership, statesmanship, humility, grace, determination and decisiveness. Her gift to us is the lesson that our lives and future are for us to decide.”

Carolyn McClellan, a Cherokee who is assistant director of community and constituent services at the National Museum of the American Indian, said “She was faced with so much adversity in her life, but you couldn’t keep her down. She had such an effervescent spirit. She would not take no for an answer.”

She was on the board of the Freedom Forum and Women Empowering Women for Indian Nations, which plans to name a scholarship for her. WEWIN founder Susan Masten said “She was a true warrior and an excellent leader in the sense that she worked tirelessly to improve the lives of everyone else, including her own people, and she did it in a humble way. With all the attention she got and the awards she received… that never changed who she was as a person. She had a very big heart.”

As Pagans, we view the work of Wilma Mankiller as invaluable. She was a sister to all of us, as well as a mentor. We learned from her as we read her books. She was a feminist who fought for the rights of women everywhere, for child’s rights, for Native people’s rights, for all people’s rights.

“Early historians referred to our government as a petticoat government because of the strong role of the women in the tribe,” Ms. Mankiller told Ms. Magazine in 1988. “So in 1687 women enjoyed a prominent role, but in 1987 we found people questioning whether women should be in leadership positions anywhere in the tribe.”

She brought health care to the Cherokee Nation. Mankiller was a veteran of the 1960’s Native American rights movement. She led a drive to institute health and social services on tribal lands and marshaled a self-governance agreement with the federal government. During her tenure, membership in the Cherokee Nation budget grew to $150 million a year. Mankiller put much of that money back into health care and educational resources for the tribe.

In 1969, Mankiller became involved with the Native American rights movement when she helped support a group who occupied Alcatraz, the former federal prison in San Francisco Bay.

She is survived by her husband Charlie Soap, a Cherokee who championed tribal language and tradition.

We close our remembrances of Wilma Mankiller with her own words, words that all Pagans embrace:

“I think the Cherokee approach to life is being able to continually move forward with kind of a good mind and not focus on the negative things in your life and the negative things you see around you, but focus on the positive things and try to look at the larger picture and keep moving forward … also taught me to look at the larger things in life rather than focusing on small things, and it’s also awfully, awfully hard to rattle me after having faced my own mortality … so the things I learned from those experiences actually enabled me to lead. Without those experiences, I don’t think I would have been able to lead. I think I would have gotten caught up in a lot of nonsensical things.”

She had told the world that she had accepted her own passing, and now it is the world that must come to terms with it. We loved you Wilma! We will not forget you … what is remembered lives! Deep peace.

Books reviewed by Z Budapest

“Make Merry in Step and Songs” by Bronwen Forbes (Llewellyn )

Spring is warm enough to take a book out and read it while you inhale the fresh new air with flower scents. Reading about pagan rituals and enhancing your vocabulary in songs and folk dances, for circle leaders what a gift.

This is a great book! I love old England and loved learning about these many dances. The music is written down, and one can actually learn it. The dances are explained with meticulous precision, and the gentle prodding towards more practice makes the book a delight.

The author is a great lover of folk art, it shows in every selection, but those who think this is all about sugar and a little spice don’t know the English. Some of the heritage is gruesome, the character of the players murderous and unpredictable.

Yes there are the well behaved May Dance participants, wooing the fair Elinor, but there is also a story of a mother who hexed the young wife of her son with infertility. She can never have a child, until the son learns what she has done to hex her and undo the spell.

Then there is the humor. In the John Barleycorn Play, Old Woman questions Doctor Brown .

“What diseases canst you cure?” Doctor Brown: “The hips –pipsy, the palsy, the gout, a man having twenty-two senses in his head. I can cast twenty one out. Why I cured a snag tail last week nearly twenty-five feet long! Surely I can cure thy son who is not quite gone.” And then proceeds to raise her dead son from the dead. Not your everyday pabulum culture here.

I find it exciting that so much has remained still in practice, which the rebirth of the pagan traditions I am sure will contribute with more longevity.

This kind of culture requires costumes and props, a bit of pageantry peasant style. I think this is the kind of book you can consult at each turn of the seasons plus to make more merry at pagan parties. The information in here creates community, cohesiveness and entertainments. Well done Bronwen!

“Echoes of the Goddess” by Simon Brighton and Terry Welbourn (Ian Allan Publishing)

This is a book that should be made mandatory for all Women’s Studies students, and of the Craft and Goddess studies. Beautifully laid out with splendid color photographs just the object of the book itself is classy.

The English do not usually come out with this “in your face we got the Goddess all over our country” narrative. I recall when I was in England looking for the pagan heritage, the locals didn’t brag a lot about it. The London National Museum put the goddesses in room 22, a side show. It was all well known near the temples and stone, yet hush, hush at the same time. With this book, England at last owns her pagan heritage.

I have never seen goddess book this thorough, a well produced overview of the Goddess Culture. Starting with the Lost Goddess, prehistory goddesses, subterranean goddesses, holy wells, freshwater sirens, saltwater sirens, the Celtic and dark goddesses, the rude goddess, the Christianized goddess, the goddess in myths, legends, and in the labyrinth.

Rich chapters lead you through the countryside of England showing you what even tourist guides cannot see. And the Goddess is here bold and beautiful. Indeed, this book has a Holy book quality to it in content and presentation.

It’s hard to pick a favorite, but I am partial to stones. Looking at the breathtaking spiral paths, on a slab from Malta boggles the mind. Four to six thousand years old, these were people who knew about the spirals in the sky, understood the world to be part of the great whole. Another favorite of mine is the image on the Picardy Stone Aberdeen shire, from the 6/7^th century AD; it was a tombstone once on an ancient grave. It has a curvy snake, a symbol of reincarnation; several images which could be maps of the stars said that it had a relationship to the hill of Dunnideer. Mysterious, yet riveting.

When you absorb all this good information take it easy, do a chapter at a time. Its like a rich meal for your mind you want to savor. The book takes you through history and accurately documents where the goddess was worshiped, by whom, for example the Pictish people, who gave women equal rights even back then. Then the great goddess was taken down with misinformation, destruction of her legacy and values. The Synod of Whitby in 664 AD finally crushed the Goddess Culture; all her physical representations were destroyed.

But not the She na gig, the vagina Goddess, she survived decorating the Christian churches, inside and outside. Good luck was her value and sexuality. The same folk also had many Green Man images to keep her company.

Make this book a success. Give them to friends for high occasions. Share it with your book clubs, keep it where you can see it and reach for it.

RavenCrone

So, been thinking about how to present this thought. I can’t come to something reasonable so let’s out with it.  This has been rolling around in my mind as something that should be talked about especially if we are truly to act in the role of Priestesses – how we define death and how we deal with it

Death. What if ….

As it is, really, I don’t know that anyone knows if there is life after death. There’s a lot to be argued one way and the other. I died, went down the tunnel, met someone, came back, cried because I had to come back. My mom cried, after I was 6 days in a coma, when she saw me come back. I saw my brother get killed while gazing into a crystal and his spirit saying goodbye as I stood on a beach 1,000 miles away. So, it would appear that I could argue for “life after death”.

But…

What if when we die we die? What if this is the only time and place? What if there’s only today? What if we “made up” the Goddess?

Scary? Yes? Why?

This is a case of “you might as well give in.” There’s absolutely nothing that you or anyone else can do about death. As it is, we’re born to die. So, what about the journey in between?

Do we have fun (become enlightened – “lighten up”) and do we make up stories to make ourselves feel better? Personally, I don’t mind the feeling better part and look forward to it and the stories. Why not?

So, what if you knew you could not fail, what if you really “knew” you had only today – right now? What would you do? Would you suddenly look up and see the stunning beauty of this planet, of the people (0, 2, 4, 6 and 8 legged people) and their constructs. Consider the imagination involved. Consider that you and I are less important in the scheme of things than grass (which is third, IMHO, on the list behind air and water – everything else is 4th).  No gold medals there.

Hmmm, do you become crazy and try and do it all in one day? Do you sit in front of the TV (or other device) and become a numbed mind? Or, somewhere in between? Or do you start following your bliss? Your art? Your love? Why wait? There may not be a tomorrow; no way to know either if there will be a tomorrow for you or me.

Where do we fit in? Where/what is it that we are just as happy as can be when involved with/in/among/learning/doing?

And do we make up stories? Call them plays. Call them fables. Call them holy. But, the point is, we do call them. And, as long as it’s fun, I can’t see any reason not to call them. After all, I think I’m an enlightening loving individual.

And, you might as well do it in “beauty and strength”. Be the best, learn as much as you can, pass it on to your kids and their friends. It’s been proven that there is only 6 degrees of separation between any of us. 6 people between you and your goal, between you and me.

Can you imagine a world of enlightened people? Everyone being the best they can be at what it is they’re good at and really love doing? Ok, probably impossible because what you love I may hate, but what if? What if when we live, we live? I think we were born to live and part of the living is dieing. Such is life.

All I can say about it is Become Enlightened!! Have Fun. Don’t wait for tomorrow.

And decide how you wish to council others once you’ve clarified your view of death and what to believe or not believe about it.  And, don’t forget, everything changes.  You don’t have to get stuck in anything, even an idea.  In my eyes, stagnation is a sin – the only sin.

And, Her name is Fun.

The following article is excerpted with the author’s permission from Chapter One of Summoning the Fates, A Woman’s Guide to Destiny, © copyright 1998 by Zsuzsanna E. Budapest. All rights reserved.

“What rules our lives? Is it chance, or choice, or something else? Is it the stars, or that strange force people call Lady Lucky, or Fortuna? Since the beginning of time, people have tried to figure out what determines their destiny. In Hungary, we have a saying, ‘Ember tervez, Isten vegez‘ — ‘humans plan, god finishes.’

But the Fates are beyond even goddesses and gods. They are raw forces of nature. They are rhythms of the ebb and flow of energy, matter, and meaning – the three basic components of the universe. They were here first; they will stay to the last. Everyone’s story is in the Fates’ web. They are one; they are three; they are nine, three times three. Their mystery cannot be totally understood, or can it? All the other goddesses and gods became their emanations through time. It was the fate of Zeus to destroy his own father. The Norse gods cannot avoid Ragnarok. When the gods must obey the Fates, you know who is in charge.

This archetype of destiny is embedded deep in the Indo-European psyche. From India across the European continent all the way to the North Sea and the British Isles, cultures big and small have stories, symbols, and ceremonies for the forces who make destiny. Some of these overlap, some diverge, but they agree on the fundamental concept. There are three sisters who rule our lives.

The three Weird sisters are working women. They are spinners, weavers, cutters of the thread; they are writers of the Book of Life. They are blessers, birthers, deathers, dressed in white and red and black. They are fortune-tellers. They are casters of the lots. They are gamblers and luck-givers. They are living springs of water. They are mornings, noons, and nights. What they rule must be.

Since the dawn of consciousness, people have found it psychologically useful to give names and faces to the Fates. The Greeks called them the Parcae; the Romans, Fata; in Northern Europe they were the Norns, who governed men’s ‘wyrd,’ or fate, and for Anglo-Saxons, the ‘Weird’ were those who could foretell the future.

I am especially fond of the word wyrd, because we use it today when something happens that we don’t understand, cannot control, or fear. The word comes from a form of the old Germanic verb ‘to become.’ When we feel something is weird, we activate our fate receptors, the soul that knows the Fates already. Only the soul can understand something weird – the action itself, the presence of the Fates, and their effect on our lives. Often we resist their promptings only to appreciate them later on.

I had to grow up and discover the Fates for myself. The discovery, however, did not come from a book, rather it was a living process. I had to become aware. You don’t really understand what the Fates can do to you unless you have had a visceral experience of them.

During the Hungarian revolution in October of 1956, I was on my way to a demonstration. When you are 16, being part of a collective uprising is very exciting. I lived on the Buda side of the Duna River, and to reach the site of the demonstration, I had to cross the bridge over to the Pest side. I was running toward the bridge when suddenly something weird happened. My feet slowed as if they were weighted down with lead. Frustrated, I redoubled my efforts, but try as I might, I could only shuffle along, furious that I was going to be late.

When I finally crossed the bridge, I heard shots. That wasn’t too unusual. It was a revolution, and people had been shooting off guns in celebration for days. But when I turned the corner to the plaza, everything was silent. Too silent. Instead of a crowd of cheering, shouting people, the plaza was covered with bodies. All those who had made it to the plaza on time had been shot down. The blood was still dripping onto the stones. I stood stop-still, realizing that I had indeed arrived too late – too late for the massacre.

In Hungarian the Fates are Sors Istennok, the destiny goddesses. But their Latin name, the Parcae, means ‘those who spare,’ and indeed my life was spared by them that day. We all have stories about incidents during which that weird feeling, usually accompanied by fear or frustration, has come over us, and it turned out to save us in some way.

The English name for the Fates comes from the Latin word fata. In the singular, the word was fatum, meaning ‘a divine utterance,’ the will of a god. When a child was a week old, the fata scribundus were invoked to ‘write’ a good destiny for the newborn babe. The fata, with the birth goddess Eileithyia, both established and predicted the child’s destiny. The word fate, fatum, comes from the same root as the words fairy and fay. So we learn the Fates are of fairy origin.

In Greek they were called the Moirae, those who allot us our fate; there was Clotho (the Spinner), who spins the thread of life, Lachesis (Disposer of Lots), who measures it out, and Atropos (the Inevitable), who cuts it off. Clotho is usually portrayed with a spindle, Lachesis with a scroll or a globe, and Atropos with scissors, a pair of scales, or a bowl for drawing lots.

In Northern Europe we also find three maidens in a deep cavern. These are the Norns from the Germanic traditions, best known today from their appearance in Wagner’s opera Gotterdammerung. They are named in Old Norse: Urdh, Verdandi, and Skuld. Their names come from the words for being itself, and so I will use these names for the Fates in this book.

Urdh (the same word as wyrd and weird) is all that went before. She is the past. She owns the Well of Life and the Tree of Life, which is fed by the well. Everything that has ever been belongs to the past. From this fertile background life emerges anew.

Verdandi, whose name means ‘that which is becoming,’ rules what is going on right now. She is flux. She is the flower of our energies. She is the mother time, the ripe time, the sexual time. She is harvest time. Her symbol is the full loom.

Skuld (whose name is related to ’shall’) is the one who governs that which must be. She is the necessary outcome of the past and that which is becoming. Skuld is the inflexible one, but in some later legends she likes to ride with humans and mingle with men. She is the one who may request a kiss from a handsome man and change into a beautiful young woman if he has enough gumption to kiss her old face. Strangely, the most personable of the Fates turns out to be the death goddess. Her symbol is the crescent knife, the ghostly scythe of the Grim Reaper. The Grim Reaper is a girl.

This original model of the three sisters is the source for all the other triple goddesses, such as Hecate, who stands at the triple crossroads, her faces looking in three directions – the past, present, and future – and Triple Brigid, who appears as a healer, a goldsmith, and a lady of inspiration. It is the pattern for the trinities of maiden, mother, and crone and all the other goddesses who have three aspects. Each of the many components of our human existence required the Goddess to show a separate face and attributes. Eventually the original trinity became ten thousand aspects, each with her own name, each still harking back to the beginning, the middle, or the end of the life cycle, which the three Fates ruled.

When we summon the Fates we call them out from their deep hiding place in the unconscious. We draw them slowly into the conscious mind, illuminated by goodwill and understanding. This eternal magic can transform the powers that rule us from the misunderstood three Hags into the wonderful three Graces. Or at least we hope so. There are no guaranties with this force. But there are certain practices, a kind of etiquette of interaction with the Fates, that have worked for people before. We call it the technology of the sacred.

Linking up, networking, speaking back to power.

Here we are in 010, entering the second decade of the 21st century. It is still the sub-age of Aquarius. It is still the favorable times for humans to wake up to a new self understanding. This is happening in big quantum leaps, fueled by technology and science. Congratulations to all fellow planetary travelers! We have arrived in the future.

But now what?

We have more and more women come to us searching for a LOCAL group, contact where they can join, study and grow. This used to be rather easy in the last century. You went to your local bookstore; you hung out around the bulletin board, read the stuff on it, then added your own request, “Goddess study group forming” and the phone number. Pretty soon the first woman would call, who knew another, and in a couple of weeks you had a good little eager group; armed with Goddess books, healthy tea collections, and time set aside to be just a student of your own culture.

Women’s studies at Universities is not what it used to be, its still great we have them at all, alas under the name of Gender Studies, but who cares let’s just be grateful. These are still places where women can gather and plan actions.

Once you have created yourself an account with us, the Dianic University, we will let you use our Global Goddess Dianic Groups virtual bulletin board, look it through for women in your neighborhoods, add you name to the particular state and region you are at. Then we will have a central board to post on for just this. Local connections.

Because we only let people we checked out on the board, you are safer to post and call whoever you find. I recommend exchanging email addresses first and get to know each other. Once you decide to meet up, do it in a public place first … maybe for coffee or tea. Check each other out and then exchange contact information.

But more than beginners, first timers, seekers of all kinds, we also need volunteers who help us battle the cultural anti-woman forces. You don’t think that the battle field is any less than before computers. Each time I go on the radio, or write something very pro-woman, anti-establishment, anti-male god material, I get attacked on the internet from men who hate that we have advanced as much as we have. They would like to see the Goddess Movement fade with my lifetime; me destroyed on the visibility field, my ideas and philosophies relegated to the trash bin.

Bobbie, my mighty Amazon, is the only one on the field battling this, so far successfully. But we could not have been defending ourselves without the help of women working in those technology citadels of power, the Goggles, wikis, who knew about the Goddess Movement. Imagine that! We are everywhere.

We need new allies with some time and skills. Not just hey I want to try to help, but rather … hey, I can battle on the techie field with the best of them and I don’t mind a little work out against the invisible forces.

This is what l’d like to put out to you. Please techie women with writing skills, step forward and make contact with me and Bobbie. The cultural war consists often in creating material, but also tracking down where the trouble comes from, correction information when it’s wrong.

Our visibility on the cultural field is crucial in the elevation of our sex.

When women don’t know how to link up, network, and publish … we can easily be marginalized again.

Don’t forget women are the majority of all humans. We create everybody from our own bodies. We raise citizens, consumers, and all the tax payers.

Women deserve their own culture. This is the part of the battle field that needs boosting. Individuals can do a lot, but we need the help, the link-up with the successful women, the higher end income women, the university program directors, and the leadership who organizes workshops, conferences, and gathering of all kinds.

For example, link us up with organizations where the women already formed groups, where we can cast a wider net when we disseminate information.

When we tighten our skills around the new technology and form a cultural staff around our own interests, then we can serve women on all level much better.

What I don’t want to end up is alone, battling the evil forces of cultural marginalization, and witness the new century pushing women’s issues, women’s needs and women’s spirituality aside.

What we have is a lucky opportunity to flood with our skillful energy into the collective consciousness, making room there for the love and respect for women; create a world where women don’t have to go to collage to learn about their past, our own dianics, and whose shoulders we are standing on.

Information about our spiritual heritage will create a proud generation of women, talented, blooming, and confident.

Let us all go into the depth of the sub-age of Aquarius in this certainty, when women lead the planet thrives.

Blessed be,
Z Budapest

The evening was like most other working the evening dispatch shift for the county Sheriff.   It was almost 2:30 in the morning and call volume had slowed and I took a rare break from the radios and took a call taker’s position at the front desk.   The phone rang and the voice on the other end was soft and sincere.   A lady asked how long the county Coroner’s office kept records of bodies found.   An unusual question,   I resisted the urge to ask the lady if she had lost a body.   The sarcastic sense of humor is very much a coping skill developed by those of us in law enforcement to deal with the dark side of life we often experience.   I have never been more grateful for remaining the professional demeanor that was required of me.   I told my caller I had never worked for the Coroner so I wasn’t familiar with the amount of time records were kept but told her how to contact them during the start of the business day to get the information.

There was such a sincereness and sadness in the lady’s voice that made me ask her “Why do you ask?”.   The story began to unfold.    “I have cancer and I don’t have long maybe another month but no more and I just wanted to know so I can leave this world in peace” was the way her story began.   A little more conversation with questions and answers and she knew I was sincerely trying to help her and an emotional flood gate opened.   It was a long time ago, the early 1950’s, the caller was in her mid teens.    She said it was so long ago but it was still fresh in her memory like everything occurred yesterday and she had always wondered.     The caller was pregnant and scared, she kept her condition from her family and friends until her expanding tummy made it impossible to conceal any further.   A nightmare began.

“I didn’t mean to get pregnant, I didn’t really know what I was doing, I sure didn’t know how to prevent it” came the words spoken so softly by the voice that trembled.   “My Dad was so mad” said the caller as the soft tears began to flow my heart broke with a lady who very much just needed somebody to listen.   She began to tell of how times were different and how to avoid the disgrace and shame of having a child born out of wedlock her Dad had taken her to some woman’s house that lived a few towns over near one of the major highways.   She told of the physical pain and horror and fear of having an unwanted abortion performed by someone she didn’t even know.   She told of the physical complications that followed.   There was no follow up medical care, ever.   The result was an inability to carry a child to term  later in life.

Life continued for the lady she married and adopted a child.   She lived in a respectable house and had a comfortable life in the material sense but she said she always wondered.   She knew she had to be far enough along that it was possible her child could have survived.   The older she got and the wanted pregnancies that eventually occurred and failed she learned about fetal development and birth control was introduced to her since she had continued to have miscarriages.   She just wanted to know if anybody had ever found the aborted fetus, was it given a proper burial, did it survive and if so was it alright.     She was looking for information knowing that what had happened could not have been undone but she needed to know.

We spoke for a little more than twenty minutes which is an extraordinary amount of time to keep a caller on the lines.    When the lady had finished telling her life story she asked if she would ever know if a body was found.   I spoke the truth, I told her I felt that since records were not kept like they are now and that anyone who was performing unlawful abortions would not have left evidence to be found in the area which is still rural and undeveloped she would probably not be able to get an “official” report of what had transpired that day so many years ago.     She softly sighed and said she knew it but that she had just needed somebody to talk to and she asked for my name which I gave her.   She thanked me and said that she would pray for me because just being able to talk to me helped her so much and she felt so much better.

I felt bad for her but told her that was what we were there for and she said she was tired and wanted to get some sleep.  I told her if we could help further to be sure to call back.   I didn’t really do anything to help, I was not able to give her information which she was looking for in fact I told her she probably was not going to get the information she was looking for but still I know she found peace I could hear it in her soft voice that was no longer trembling.   I wish I could tell you more of the story of the lady who inspired this article from a conversation now eight or nine years old but I Don’t Know Her Name. I present this story to you for consideration to help young girls today, the Maidens.   We have become somewhat comfortable and apathy has set in concerning Women’s Rights and Women’s Bodies.   Education is fundamental, girls must be taught early on how their bodies work, what they can do to take care of themselves and help that is available to them, they are precious and must know that their Mothers, Aunts, Grandmothers love them and can be trusted enough to be asked about contraception and the older generations must be strong enough to have frank discussions and give clear information.   It is a slippery slope and a very dangerous one at that, if our right to CHOOSE is lost our daughters will once again know the unspeakable horrors of procedures performed without medical care.   They will know the complications of their own bodies maimed because medical care is not available.   They will know of friends who die because they did not get proper medical care.

We have to remember if we don’t have the freedom to choose we are forced to accept what is decided for us be it a forced unwanted abortion or a forced unwanted pregnancy.    Either has horrible ramifications that are inhumane and we must prevent a return to the dark days.   Z Budapest encourages women to organize, agitate, and educate and we must take active measures to preserve the freedoms gained only in the last thirty to forty years.   The Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries by Zsuzsanna Budapest gives an excellent Herstorical perspective of how things slipped and the importance of women reclaiming their worth and ways to do it.   I encourage you to gift a young girl, a Maiden, with a copy of this and be open to discussion after all it is her future that is at stake.   A sister who has probably crossed the veil by now is speaking to you with the retelling of  Herstory.  Take heed sisters do not let her story once again become our story.   I wish I could tell you more of story of the lady who inspired this article but I Don’t Know Her Name….

I am going to my altar now to light a candle for this unknown lady a Goddess whose name we can’t call may she know peace and may she continue to inspire others to preserve rights she did not have herself.

Blessed Be

The typical day ends something like this: come in from work, use a crow bar to get the uniform off, get a shower to wash the yucks away, prepare food to nourish the family, wash the dishes, and then finally collapse into the recliner and drift off into sleep.   Then your eyes pop open, oh no, its the night of the Full Moon!  There are candles to be lit, petitions to make, thanks to be offered!   Then your eyes slowly start to close again when the voice calls out “There is work to be done” and you know the Goddess has given you this beautiful night lit by her Sacred Moon to get your work for her done.   You drag your body up from the recliner and stumble over to the candle box.   As you take your candles and oils in hand your energy builds.   Your body starts to come back to life.   Your hands start to tingle.   The energy is flowing.    You make your way over to the altar and begin your Sacred Duties.  Then you disrobe and step out to dance in the moonlight.   You are a Priestess of the Goddess!

Another work day and you are on your lunch break when you learn that your beloved elderly Grandmother is at her home but only for a moment.   You know that you need to get back to work they have called already unable to locate important documents.   You take your lunch and sit at the table of you Grandmother.   She enjoys your company and you cherish her every breath and word.    After eating you hurry back to the duties that call yet you took time for the Sacred Crone.   You are a Priestess of the Goddess!

You hostess a lovely gathering at your Sacred Temple and many cherished ones are there with you.   Your sister in law arrives with the Goddess Discord upon her.   You consider pulling your sword but you chose not to let the Sacred Gathering be ruined by Discord.   You smile sweetly offer her cake.   Your Warrior Goddess will fight another day on a battle worthy of fighting.   You preserve the Harmony.   You are a Priestess of the Goddess!

The young girls have gathered at your Temple.   They giggle and share stories of their day.   They discuss plans for the coming week.  Hair is braided and finger nails are painted by the Maidens in their late teens and early twenties.   Clothes are compared and boys pondered and music is danced to all of which inspires hunger.   You feed the Maidens.   They ask for a reading and you provide the reading.   You are a Priestess of the Goddess.

The Temple kitties that are Sacred to Bast need grooming.   You feed them, you brush them, you hug them.   You clean the litter boxes.   You play with them by tossing their small stuffed mice across the rug.   You Love them.  You vacuum the rugs to keep them tidy for places for the little ones to play.   You are a Priestess of the Goddess.

The evening altars need tending.   There is the Family altar where you honor your Ancestresses and Ancestors.   There is the working altar where most of your healing work requests are made.   There is the Full Moon altar that still flickers from the evening past.   The Warrior altar needs replenishing.   It stands for those in the military and law enforcement.   It will soon be time to add another candle for another Warrior soon to join the battle.   You tend the altars because you are dedicated to others.   You Love and care for them .   Those you light candles for always hold a very special place in your heart.  You are a Priestess of the Goddess!

You are a Priestess of the Goddess!   You tend to the needs of others.   You smile when others smile.   You take comfort by providing comfort to others.   By feeding others a meal you feed your own soul.   The Maiden new to the craft gives you pride as she begins her journey.   The Body of the Priestess is your Sacred Temple like that of the Temple you dwell in.   You go to the spa to replenish your Temple.   You give hugs to show your affection and appreciation.   You sit by the water while it dances on your toes.   You are a very busy Woman! You are a Priestess of the Goddess!!!!   Long May You Serve!!!!

Abundance (To Gain): waxing to full moon.
Addictions (To End): waning moon.
Artistic Creations (To Bring Forth): waxing to full moon.
Bad Habits (to break): waning moon.
Bad Luck (to reverse): waning moon.
Beauty: full moon.
Bindings: waning moon.
Blessings: full moon.
Career Advancement: waxing moon.
Communication: full moon.
Curses, Hexes (to break): waning moon.
Divinations: waxing and full moons.
Energy Raising: waxing moon.
Fear (overcoming): waning moon.
Fertility Rituals: waxing and full moons.
Forgiveness: new moon.
Friendship: waxing moon.
Garden Planting Spells: waxing moon.
Goals (attainment of): waxing to full moon.
Good Luck: waxing moon.
Growth (of an kind): waxing moon.
Harmony: waxing moon.
Happiness: waxing and full moons.
Healings (to increase health): waxing moon.
Healings (to end sickness): waning moon.
House Blessings: full moon.
Inspiration: waxing and full moons.
Intuition: full moon.
Judgment: waxing and full moons.
Liberation (to free oneself from something): waning moon.
Love Magick: waxing and full moons.
Love Spells (to reverse): waning moon.
Lunar Goddess Invocations: full moon.
Money Matters (to increase wealth): waxing moon.
Negativity (to banish): waning moon.
Nightmares (to banish): waning moon.
Obtaining (things and goals): waxing and full moons.
Omens: full moon.
Overcoming: waning moon.
Peace (to end hostility, war): waning moon.
Power: waxing and full moons.
Prophetic Dreams: full moon.
Protection: waxing moon.
Psychic Powers (developing, strengthening): full moon.
Quests: new moon.
Real Estate (to buy): waxing moon
Real Estate (to sell): waning moon.
Sexual Desires (to stimulate, increase): waxing moon.
Spirit Conjurations: full moon.
Strength: waxing moon.
Teaching: waxing and full moons.
Transformations: full moon.
Travel: waxing moon.
Unions (marriages, business partnerships): waxing and full moons.
Weatherworkings (to bring forth): waxing moon.
Weatherworkings (to quell): waning moon.
Weight Gain: waxing moon.
Weight Loss: waning moon.
Wisdom (to increase): waxing and full moons.

“I don’t know what made me stand up at that moment” says Deborah Faye Winslow* when asked what brought her to launch a law suit against the local town council due to their use of sectarian invocations at the opening of their meetings.   Deborah Faye not only launched the law suit, she won the law suit.   The town council appealed the verdict all the way to the Supreme Court.   The Supreme Court declined to hear the case which meant the ruling of the Federal Appellate Court would stand.   Deborah Faye won the war, but the battles took their toll on this Pagan in a town of approximately 2,000.

Deborah Faye found herself in this small town after the break up of a long term relationship.   She choose the area because it was close to where her mom lived.   Her mom needed help with driving around so it seemed like the ideal thing to do.   Deborah had bought for herself a 1995 GMC Sonoma pickup, and it was the closest thing to a new vehicle she had ever owned.   The year was 2001, and Deborah was proud of her pickup and some of the local men were leaning up against it discussing her bumper sticker.   The bumper sticker said “Witches Heal.”   The conversation didn’t so much bother Deborah, but she asked them to stop leaning on her truck.   Their cuff links scratched the truck.   There in a convenience store a local minister made rude comments.   It didn’t discourage Deborah.  She liked her new home but things would soon get worse, alot worse.

The jeers and rude comments soon turned to threats.   She attended a town council meeting to learn a little more about the people and give them the chance to know her.   Perhaps she could get help that way.  The council opens with a prayer to Jesus that was directed against her!   That was the breaking point for Deborah.   She knew she had to act.  It was then that she filed the lawsuit.

The grandson of the mayor threatened to burn her out.   Deborah took the threat seriously.   The police didn’t help her so she turned to the mayor and asked for help.   He smiled and told her, “Well maybe you should take heed.”   The vandalism to her home became a regular thing then the unthinkable happened.   Deborah came in from supper with a friend and found her beloved African Gray Parrot beheaded and his heart cut out.   There was a note beside the body that said, “You are next.”  She had to search for the head which was found elsewhere in the home.  Imagine how ominous this was to Deborah.   “No respect for people or lives, it’s normal here,” says Deborah about the atmosphere.

“It wasn’t about the Pagan community, it was what was happening to me.   It was standing up for me.   I think as a woman I had to,” says Deborah.   She filed a law suit against the council.   Deborah’s goal was not to convert anyone to her faith or to be disrespectful of anyone else’s beliefs, but she had been harassed and terrorized to the point she had to put a stop to that because she was literally in fear for her own life.   The law suit was the only action she could take and she did.   It was a fight that was fought alone.   “Supporters didn’t come out until I had one the final case,” and even then there weren’t many.   Even after the victory, the threats continued.   One person threatened her with a shotgun.  Nothing came of that even though he was a convicted felon who was such due to his drug charges.

Some time has passed and this Priestess is still living in the town.   The vandalism to her home was so great that it was not livable.   She was able to get financing for a house that was for sale very close by and lives there now.    At the age of 45, she is a full-time student working towards a Bachelor’s degree which she hopes to complete next year.    The town clerk who had once been a bitter enemy, will now stop and speak pleasantly and politely in the local grocery store.   Deborah is still very cautious as she tells about how she still gets crazy calls and things in the mail sometimes.    I asked if she thought tolerance would ever come and Deborah said, “I think it will be a long time.”  I think she is right.

This is over and done with for the most part and Deborah is glad.  “If I knew then, what I know now, I don’t know that I would have put myself out there.”   She is proud of the fact that she dispelled the myth of you can’t fight city hall.   She did.   Now she will occasionally get calls from the locals when they have a problem with city government.   Deborah also has thought of writing a book about her story.   She plans to title it Hate… A Proud Southern Tradition. Sadly hatred is a tradition.   A tradition that will be here for a long time but a tradition that needs to be banished.    Those of us in the broom closet out of necessity respect Deborah for her strength in standing up for herself.   We can all feel pain for the suffering she has faced.

As women we should all look inside ourselves and ask what can we do to lessen the hatred in the world around us.   That is so complicated and I don’t know what the ultimate answer is, I just know we should all practice acts of love, kindness, and patience whenever possible.    I also know that some are in a position that openly standing up would literally endanger lives.   It’s not just overseas.   It’s here.   I chose to change the name of the person this happend to out of concern for her safety.   Her story needed to be told, but not at the expense of exposing her to such atrocities again.    When you are at your altar’s light a candle for those who can’t openly practice or express their religon.   I offer my own blessing for this lady who got caught up in a storm, and that is Walk in peace, Walk in love, and Walk in the light Deborah Faye Winslow, you have seen the horrors of life now may you see the beauty.  Blessed Be!

* The name of the Priestess and the exact dates and location have been changed to protect her privacy and prevent these awful acts from beginning again.

My friend Sue came to visit me at the end of August.  I’ve known her for many years, since 1996 to be exact, when we were living in the same city.  We’ve both moved several times since then.  Sue is one of the women in my life whom I immediately recognized (from pasts lives) when we first met, and it was a mutual recognition. There have been a few women whom I’ve met and instantly knew, and this has been happening even more these last few years. My S.B.A.#1 Sister Ro is one of them, as is my friend and Sister, Tinne.

Sue traveled far, from the Prairie Provinces in Canada to visit her mother in southwestern Ontario, and then added an additional 7 hours of driving each way just to come see me.  I was thrilled!  Sue arrived with her sweetheart, who is truly a Kouretes* in the Goddess tradition, the second one I’ve met lately and immediately recognized.  We had a wonderful visit, too brief, considering we hadn’t seen each other in three years!

It was the night of the Full Moon.  Sue & I went to the beach, near the Aylmer Marina, accompanied by our very own Kouretes, Darren, as well as Sue & Darren’s adorable Teddy, a fierce & loving little schnauzer. We brought with us sage for smudging, a lighter, a lantern with a candle in it, a Native drum and drumstick, and a Shaman rattle which I had made earlier this summer during a drum camp for womyn and which I gave to Sue.

We walked on the beach until we found an unoccupied space.  Darren spontaneously decided to take Teddy for a walk and throughout our ritual, Sue & I felt his presence on the periphery, even though he wasn’t always close – we knew he was a protection to ensure our privacy.

We removed our shoes and let our toes revel in the cool beach sand.  The water was lapping the shore quite close.  We found a seagull feather, a gift of the Goddess, to help with our smudging.  And so, by the light of the Full Moon, reflected on the mirror surface of the lake, we cast our circle, circling it while drumming.  We invoked the Goddesses, guardians and spirits of West, North, East, South, and Centre.  We did the Mystai “salute to the Moon” (kissing the backs of our hand and sending it to the Moon, while gazing at Her); we stated our intentions for the ritual.  We walked around the circle, drumming and chanting; we talked of our plans and projects for the future; we raised energy and sent our intentions to the Universe, to shower back upon us.  Finally, we thanked the Goddesses, guardians and spirits of West, North, East, South and Centre, and we opened the circle.  Darren shortly reappeared with Teddy.

Although Sue & I had participated in many rituals together with others, it was the first time we had done a ritual, just the two of us, and it felt very very special.  We both felt elated afterwards.  This was when I realized that Darren is truly a Kouretes, and when I told him this, said he felt that this fit him perfectly and described his intentions. He further added that he felt his role keenly while Sue & I were doing our ritual.  Magical!

I’m including a photo taken earlier in the day of the August Full Moon.  Sue & I, at Lac DesChênes (Lake of the Oaks), which is an extension of the Ottawa River

Many blessings,
Eclecta

* Kouretes:  In Z Budapest’s Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries, the Kouretes are described as sons of the Goddess, members of the Goddess-serving priesthood. They were the males who performed service for the Priestesses, who stood around the periphery to ensure privacy for the Priestesses in ritual; they were the sons and lovers of the Priestesses, as well as many of the gay men of the community.