Around the Mother House--RCG-I Blog Archives

August 17, 2008 - Becoming A Woman ~The Adventures of Kalimama~

It’s Friday morning. Early. 7am to be exact. I am at the hospital with my daughter. She is getting an EEG done. An EEG is a test where they measure her brain waves for any abnormal activity. Since she has to fall asleep during the test, I was instructed to only allow her to have 3-4 hours of sleep last night. Which, of course, meant that I only got 3-4 hours of sleep as well. Sigh. So I am tired too and the bed they offered me looks inviting. But there is something I need to process about all of this.

The reason Josie needs an EEG is because last week she came to me late one night and said she had what felt like “electrical currents” or “lightening” going through her body. They started at her head and went all the way through her to her toes. She didn’t black out or didn’t lose consciousness in anyway, and she wasn’t in pain, but it was a bit scary for her. I was her age, 10, when I had my first grand mal seizure and was diagnosed with epilepsy. So naturally, I was immediately concerned. Still, it didn’t seem like a seizure, so I sat with her until she went to sleep and told her if she were still having them the next day, I would take her to the doctor. Well, she did have them the next day and a subsequent visit to the doctor has led us to the hospital this morning. Josie is right now lying in a bed with electrodes stuck all over her head. It isn’t painful – I remember this exact test – but it is different being the mother of the daughter/patient than the patient herself.

This is the first time I’ve thought about how scary my seizures must’ve been for my parents. Out of the blue, one December, I had a grand mal seizure. We were visiting my grandmother for the holidays and bam! I recall waking in a strange hospital bed confused and disoriented. After a battery of tests I was eventually diagnosed with epilepsy and given medication. I was lucky and only have had 4 grand mal seizures in my entire life. Twenty years ago I took myself off my medication and have never looked back. I have not had a seizure in over 25 years.

I don’t think that Josie has epilepsy though. I think, instead, she is on the verge of becoming a woman, just as I must’ve been. The night she first felt the waves of electricity coursing through her body she asked me what I thought it was. I explained to her about epilepsy and then I said, “Of course, it could just be your hormones are shifting and the electricity you feel moving through you is an energy that is preparing your body to become a woman. Perhaps you will get your first period soon.” My ever-psychic Pisces and unusually wise Josie responded, “That’s what I was thinking.”

So my hunch is that she is not epileptic, rather she is experiencing her first Blood Mystery and Rite of Passage in a very physical and yet mystical way. Given my epilepsy and the family history of it, I am having her tested to be on the safe side. But spiritually, mentally, and emotionally, I am preparing Josie and myself for her first Rite of Passage. I wonder, was my body preparing me in some way for my journey into womanhood when I had my first seizure?

I am dedicated to providing Josie with a positive transition for her into womanhood. I’ve actually conducted a lot of research on menarche and the rituals surrounding our becoming a woman and to be honest, I have been planning her menarche ceremony in my head for years! I deeply want Josie’s coming of age to be honored in the most heartfelt and sacred sense. I want her womanhood to be celebrated and something she remembers forever. However, it is interesting, when I talk of a ritual for her she gets embarrassed and shy. She isn’t sure that she wants a ritual. And I don’t blame her. It is a personal thing, menarche, and there is so much cultural shame and silence around our fertility cycle, that it is only natural that she feels unsure about a public ceremony declaring her bleeding time! Not that it would be “public” – but even a ceremony with women she knows seems a bit daunting to her.

Sigh. What to do? I want badly to undo the patriarchal bullshit that gets shoved down every girl and boy in this culture. The propaganda and lies that tell children that women’s bodies are bad, that women are not worthy, that our blood is a curse, that our ways are invalid. But I also want to be sensitive to what Josie needs and to her feelings and thoughts and experiences.

The problem with the women’s spirituality movement that I’ve found since being a mother of a daughter (let alone of boys!) is that there really isn’t a lot of room for girls. So many of us women, myself included, are busy trying to heal the wounds of our dysfunctional girl childhood that we’ve forgotten about the girls who are growing up in the patriarchal system right now! I have never been a part of a woman’s circle where girls are welcome. Usually this is a good thing – as the work and the words that are spoken are often deep and raw and maybe too intense or inappropriate for young ears.

And sometimes, this ban on girls is for purely political or legal reasons, insurance for institutions that provide services to children is considerably higher than if catering only to adults. And although I understand this, I also grieve it deeply. Our daughters need a place to become women where they can feel safe and protected – and even more than that, they need to be guided. They need to experience women’s rituals, women’s circles, women’s ways of being. I do not want Josie growing up having to spend the first part of her spiritual journey healing from the wounds of her childhood. Although I recognize that that is part of the spiritual journey too, I also wonder how our sacred circles would be different if we had been part of them all along? If we had a place to go as girls where we saw strong women celebrating their journey together? As Judith Duerk writes, How would your life have been different if there was a place for you?

I recognize that part of the spiritual journey for many of us goddess women has been to drop out, reject, and heal from our inherited religions, which were in all likelihood male dominated and repressive. Finding the goddess has been THE journey – and what a grand journey it has been! But for Josie, I want to offer her the goddess NOW. I realize that she will have to find Her by herself on her own terms, for no one can hand you an authentic relationship to the Divine. Still, I want her to grow up with an image of the Divine that looks like her, celebrates the processes and experiences that are unique to her and her body, and I want her to have a community to do this in.

Currently Josie is in a Maiden Circle. And it is lovely. But I want more for her. She is on such an important crux – the crux to womanhood – and I continue to search for ways to celebrate this transition with beauty, respect, and honor.

Please share with others and me in the RCG-I community your experience of Menarche. Was it positive or not? What makes is memorable? Do you wish for a different experience? If so, share your vision with us at rcgiyahoogroups.com.

PS: Not a member? Membership to our community is free and you can join online at www.rcgi.org. Once you are a member you can join our RCG-I elists and share your thoughts with us!

Musing on the spiritual journey by Jenny June Sterling – Goddess mother of three, 10 year old Josie, 5 year old Zeke, and 3 year old Oliver~ seeking the joy and spiritual lessons of being a mindful goddess mama.

August 4, 2008 - The Turning Point

Here we are again, at a major turning point. Our tribe has seen many of them over the centuries. This one seems particularly acute, perhaps due to the fact that it is in the present time. I know we all feel the suspense in the very air we breathe. We are aware of the world around us. We can feel the life force of our Mother as it ebbs and flows. And so it must follow that we sense the approach of a monumental moment in time.

The questions are many.

Will be be able to reverse global warming? Will we be able to avoid a nuclear catastrophy that destroys us? Will the imperialism and arrogance of our own government irreparably harm our relationships with our neighbors and friends? Will a lone zealot unleash a chemical or biological apocolypse? Will we continue to consume blindly until we turn our earth into a cold floating iceberg that is unable to sustain us?

Or will we leap eagerly into a new era? Will the values that Goddesswomen have so long held true be recognized as caring, gentle and sensible? Will the people at last see the sense in protecting our world, in relating to one another with peace in our hearts, in finding ways to live on our planet that are sustainable? Will we finally demand a government that reflects our best values instead of our worst fears?

I don't have the answers, my friends, and I am VERY skeptical of anyone who thinks they do. However, I DO know which side of this chasm that I want to walk on. I have spent the past several moons evaluating my life, talking to Deb and friends, hatching ideas. I know that if each of us takes personal reponsibility for our own actions and behaviors, that change is possible. We know that it comes down to ourselves: our own house, our own businesses, my own family.

We can sit back and say we wish "they" would do something, or we can do everything we can to do something ourselves. So my moons of introspection, of simmering my cauldron,are giving way to an era of action. Our family continues to redouble its efforts to waste less, to be more thoughtful, more active and more concious. I have a business idea brewing that is bold and tranformative. You will hear about it soon.

In the meantime, I urge each of you to so everything you can to help push the energetic tide toward a sustainable, peaceful, sensitive and sensible future for our Mother and her Children.

In Her Service and So Yours...

Kip Parker

July 14, 2008 - Becoming A Woman Of Power ~The Adventures of Kalimama~

My prayers and meditations often take the form of a question. Most recently, I have been meditating on the nature of Power. What is it? Where does it come from? What is authentic power and how does one manifest it in ones life?

The Summer Solstice found me far from my Midwest home, on the edge of our continent - the Atlantic Ocean. I spent a week there with my kids and parents. We visited the ocea every day, and every day I offered the question, "What is Power?" to Mama Ocean. While standing in the waters of our collective birth, the answers rolled in slowly, like the waves. They whispered: "Fear. Fear is powerful." "Anger. Anger is powerful." And, "Hatred. Hatred is powerful." I sat with these for a couple of days. Yes, how powerful these things have been in my life.

And then more rolled in. Mama Ocean whispered on the salty air: "Self hatred. Self hatred is powerful." "Guilt. Guilt is powerful." And, "Addiction. Addiction is powerful." As shocked as I was by these answers, I had to admit that these too held me captive with their power.

Yet I was stunned. I had expected answers like "love", "forgiveness", "kindness" - but what I got was the exact opposite. What did it mean? So I continued to offer my question to Mama Ocean, "What is power?"

The gulls and pelicans on the shore cried, "Depression. Depression is powerful." "Poverty. Poverty is powerful." "Death. Death is powerful." And "Exhaustion. Exhaustion is powerful."

I left the ocean and the east coast on the Summer Solstice and began my trip back east. I was depressed. My meditation on power had led me to a dark place. Mother Ocean had mirrored to me that which held power in my life. I am, by nature a happy and easy going person, but poverty and a really deep bout of depression has really colored my world in shades of grey. I have always known my mothering experience to be Shamanic. Not just the pregnancy and labor part, but the actual parenting aspects as well. Mothering has felt like Inanna’s decent. Moving through layers of myself and learning to let go and transform that which doesn’t serve.

My deepest wish this solar cycle - and perhaps for this life time - is to be a Woman of Power. I still am not sure what it means. I do know that I can no longer allow Anger, Hatred, Fear, Poverty, Depression, Addiction, etc. to have power over me. And so I did the only thing I know how to do. Like Inanna, I left each of these dark aspects of power at Her feet. I chose to no longer accept them as having power over me.

And perhaps that is the most powerful thing of all. The power of choice. So I have taken all of those words and found their exact opposite, and I have written these words on cards and placed them around my home.

• Fear ~ Courage
• Anger ~ Joy
• Hatred ~ Love
• Self Hatred ~ Self Love
• Guilt ~ Innocence/Forgiveness
• Addiction ~ Freedom
• Depression ~ Elation
• Poverty ~ Surplus
• Death ~ Birth
• Exhaustion ~ Fullness

This was a fascinating meditative experience and what was revealed to me was profound as well as startling. I realize that the crux of who we are as witches rests on our ability to make a choice, to transform reality, to create who we want to be. This is our power, our wisdom, our legacy. It is the source of our magic, the point of our magic, the intention of our magic. It is who we are. To be a witch is to be a woman of power.

I am becoming a woman of power because I choose to be a woman of power. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, but today. Right now. In this moment. And isn’t that true for all magic and all power. Power is in the moment, in the choice, and in our intentions. It is work - like laboring babies - and isn’t always pretty and certainly isn’t easy - but it is the work we were born to do - as women and as witches.

I am curious what your concepts of Power are. How do you define it? What has power in your life? Are you a Woman of Power? If so, how do you know? If you are a registered member, you can respond to rcgi@yahoogroups.com .

Jenny June Sterling is a Goddess mother of three, 10 year old Josie, 5 year old Zeke, and 3 year old Oliver~ seeking the joy and spiritual lessons of being a mindful mama.

July 1, 2008: Fiction Brought Home

by Kip Parker

So...here's something from the realm of truth that sounds a lot like a good fictional story.

Kip was asleep, her face burrowed deeply into a pillow, her leg flung carelessly over the hip of her partner, Deb. She was snoring softly. (Ok, those of you who know me can spot the fiction...I was roaring like a bear as usual!) The kids, dogs and cats were asleep for once. The fan wafted cool air gently over the sleeping pair from the open windows.

Abruptly, Kip sat up, listening to a loud sizzling noise. She stood up, looking toward the source of the noise, the darkened yard. The sizzling intensified, and Kip crouched instinctively as a large fireball erupted right outside the darkened window! Deb sat up suddenly, saying "Wha??? Is Kyle low?" (she's a deep sleeper). Kip hurried to pull on jeans and step into shoes. She flung on the lights, yelling to rouse the children. The lights in the room brightened and dimmed in several short bursts. She slammed the switch back off. The TV sizzled, popped and started to smoke. The computer's screen brightened and darkened. Kip frantically pulled plugs from the wall, yelling for everyone to get out of the house. There were voices in the yard below.

Grabbing a flashlight, Kip ran downstairs as Deb herded the children toward the front door, scooping up animals as they ran. "Get everyone into the car!" Kip bellowed, charging into the living room and unplugging a TV that was sparking and smoking too. There was an urgent pounding on the door. Kip raced to open it. The neighbor man stood there with a huge maglight. He said, "Its a downed wire! We need to get to the breakers!"

Deb got the kids and dogs into the Kia, and seeing the live wire laying on the siding of our home, she smartly pulled the car around the corner, and away from the danger. Kip and the man ran down the basement steps to the breaker box. As they went, the man explained "Im a volunteer fireman. I saw the tree fall on the line. I will call dispatch and the electric company. But we have to get that breaker thrown or something will catch fire!" They got to the main and the man threw it. They turned and raced back up the stairs. "I've got some appliances that are smoking" Kip told him. "We'd better get them outside." They carried out the tv's, a computer, and some assorted appliances that smelled like burning rubber, and dropped them unceremoniously onto the wet grass.

The man called his dispatcher, and sirens could immediately be heard in the distance. Thankfully, the nearest firehouse is less than a mile away. Then he called the electric company, explaining that if he called them as a fireman they would respond more quickly than they would for a homeowner. Apparently, homeowners panic and firefighters do not.

Kip trotted over to the car. "everyone ok?" Deb nodded. "We're alright. Cody ( our sheltie mix) is a little hyper, but the kids are trying to calm him down."

The fire truck arrived in a blaze of light and noise. The firefighters climbed down, swaggering around the driveway, gaping at the downed line. One large suited man approached Kip. "That line is live, ma'am (a brilliant, I insight, thought, considering the fact that it was shooting sparks 2o feet into the air from the siding of the house). Since Jim got everyone out, we'll just do a quick walkthrough of the house and make sure there's no fire. Then we'll wait for AEP. We'll let you know when we have an ETA." Kip trudged through the yard to the car to wait.

Now......I know this sounds like something I wrote. But it actually happened to us last week. As the neighbor guy and I ran downstairs, I was convinced that the house was on going to burn. ALl I could think of was making sure Deb and the kids were safe. I was terrified, tingling with adrenaline and shooting protective energy out as forcefully as the downed wire was shooting sparks into my yard and my home.

There was no house fire, thankfully. And the electric company got there withing a half hour and got the line cut and a new one run. We were without lights for a few hours, and since the cable company's line was knocked out too, we were without internet, phone or cable tv for two days till they came and replaced it (that was the biggest scare for the kids LOL). My computer had died a week prior, and I was relying on the kids downstairs computer for email and work, and it was DOA too. As were the microwave in the kitchen, the Wii, the coffeepot, 3 tv's, 2 cable boxes, and a wireless router. I spent the next day in a haze. Exhausted from all the energy output, knees aching from charging up and down stairs, I kept hugging kids and pets, grateful for their safety, and called Deb 20 times at work "to touch base".

Within 48 hours, comcast had come, replacing the downed wire and the modem and tv boxes, and restoring our land line. Deb had spoken with her insurance agent (who I had been arguing for two years that we did NOT need!). She was told that all our damage would be covered, that we had a 500$ deductible. I was tasked with making the list of damaged items, model and serial numbers, and arranging for estimates from service providers. My hands had finally stopped shaking, and it was sinking in that we had dodged a BIG bullet. I lit candles in front of every goddess statue we have, grateful most of all that no one was hurt and that our beloved home had weathered the crisis.

Now a week later, we have a computer again (turned out to be just a power supply), a coffee pot (turned out to be just the power strip), a Wii (again, a $10 power strip absorbed the blow and the Wii itself was fine), the tv in our bedroom still works, we pressed a little tv from the basement into service in the living room. Deb's folks (who have a little maintenance service in their little town) came and cut up the branches in the yard. The kids and I dutifully dragged them to the woodpile.

So our losses are few. Two tv's, a wireless router and the microwave in the kitchen. But my personal gains are substantial. My family is safe, our beloved pets are fine, our home is secure. And I am left with perspective.

I have been pondering this week the ethereal side of the story. Shortly after my wonderful Ordination Ritual, Fire came to our home, touching our lives, reminding me of my true hearts desires. After a year or so of being stuck in the cobwebs of writers block, I am working again daily. I have submitted the manuscript of Book 2 to the Astrea Foundation for consideration for a Lesbian Writer's grant. I have created a website. I am still hugging the kids and pets and Deb every day. And when I get fed up with adolescent angst and want to blow my temper, I smile in spite of myself. LIfe is good after all. All of it. Even the maddening parts. Even the scary parts.

Thank you, Fire Mother, for waking me up.

Love you.
Kip

June 15, 2008: 40 pieces of Wisdom ~KaliMama~

by Jenny Sterling

I turned 40 this year. In a flash of creativity I had this "great" idea for my birthday month blog ~ I’d make a list of 40 pieces of wisdom that I’d gleaned over the years to mark each of my 40 rotations around the sun. I mean, wouldn’t that be a wonderful way to commemorate my 40th and think of how impressed all of you readers would be by my infinite brilliance and above average intelligence?!

Okay, just so you know, my birthday month as back in March, and I still haven’t come up with even three pieces of wisdom, let alone 40. The fact that I actually believed that I could come up with 40 pieces of unique wisdom should’ve been my first clue. Apparently, this middle-aged Mama ain’t got a wise bone in her body ~ well, at least not forty of them!

I do have a list - however truncated it may be. Here it is:

1. Never give yourself a haircut while you are under the influence or while you are harboring a fever of over 101.
2. When purchasing a toilet bowl plunger, do not get the one with the short handle, even if it is cute and cheap. (Unless you like used toilet water on your hand!)

And that’s about it. Are you impressed? Probably not. Although you have to admit, they are two fairly sound pieces of advice, aren’t they? Just hold on, wait until I am 50!

What about you? What wisdom do you have to share from your years on this planet? Send comments to rcgi@yahoogroups.com

May 15, 2008: Flinging Crap ~The Adventures of Kalimama~

by Jenny Sterling

The other day a friend sent out an email to a group of moms in the area asking if anyone knew how to fillet a crappie. I responded with my usual not helpful but witty humor - I replied that I did not know how to fillet a crappie, but I was very adept at flinging crap. I thought I was funny with my clever twist of words until three days later I was literally flinging crap in our basement due to a plumbing problem, a problem that resulted in an overflow of toxic sludge into our basement. (Thankfully, we do not have one of those nice basements, ours is more like a big cement hole.) Little did I know how prophetic my flippant comment was to be. (Jade, do I get to count this for my Cella work in psychic skills?)

However, just once, I’d like my apparent gift of prophesy to bring me something a bit more glamorous and less offensive than a basement full of noxious muck. Oh say, financial abundance, or tickets to Italy, or I’d even settle for a new pair of cool shoes. It doesn’t seem to work that way though. Why is that?

Of course, we witches know the reason for this. Negative magic seems to work faster than positive magic because it works against the grain instead of with it. Or something like that. But I also wonder about the energy around what we want too. The same woman who asked about filleting fish told me of a friend who tried to get pregnant for years with her husband, no to avail. The marriage finally ended in divorce as a result of the stress. Shortly after the divorce she found herself pregnant after a one-night stand! Now, what is the sense in that?

What I think is that magic needs a bit of humor to be successful. Joy. Laughter. Delight. My flinging crap statement was funny. It made me laugh. It made me feel good. It made my friends laugh and began a long round of emails that were goofy and silly. I don’t know if I really created my reality as far as my crappy basement goes, but what I do think is that when I sprinkle some light hearted fun into my magic, into my life, things seem to happen more quickly. If I am desperate in my magic, then things seem to get stuck and stagnate. For example, if I want something really badly and feel anxious around what I am trying to manifest or the magic I am trying to create, that seems to be a sure way to obstruct the magic I am doing.

How about you? How does joy, laughter, lightness of being play into your magick? Do you find that you have more power in creating that which you are not as attached to then in creating things you are more desperate about?

Share your thoughts at rcgi@yahoogroups.com.

May 2, 2008 -- Kip Parker

So...who would have thought, 20 years ago, sitting in the backroom of the Alternatives Corner Bookstore on Long Island, that today we Democrats would be choosing between a black man and a woman in the Presidential primary?

In those days, I was in my late 20’s. Every Thursday night, I would make my way to West Hempstead to attend the Thursday night discussion group, hosted by the venerable Becky Bly. We talked and argued and learned and laughed. We raised our consciousness. We bonded and became a community. A lesbian feminist community. It was the middle of Regan’s second term. There were two women in the Senate; Nancy Kassenbaum of Kansas, and Paula Hawkins of Florida. The indefatigable Barbara Mikulski would join them the following year.

I remember being in my old Jeep with my friend Lauren after one such group. We were on the way to "the bar". We were talking about how we would like to se the world. I remember saying that someday, somehow, some way; a woman would run the country. When that happened, the world would be a better place. I remember Lauren saying that she thought a black person would be elected before a woman would. We discussed the state of the American culture, and disagreed about which would come first, and which would offend America more.

And today, here we are. The Indiana primary is in four days. I will not tell you how I will cast my vote, or try to sway anyone either way. I am simply commenting on the state of our culture, and the "progress" of our struggle. I find it amazing and gratifying that my 16-year-old daughter thinks of Hillary as the establishment candidate. When I was her age, the establishment consisted of people like Reagan and Nixon. I see progress.

In my personal life, I see progress too.

In those days, I was a drug-addicted thug. I was a street kid who played lots of pool at the bar, got into lots of fights, slept with any woman who would agree. 1986 was the year I began my long journey to my self. It was the year following my first trip to Michigan, my discovery of Dianic witchcraft, my first time meeting Jade River and Lynne Levy, my first Thursday night discussion.

If you could travel back in time and walk into that bar, and if you could tell my friends there that in 20 years I would be living in the wilds of Indiana, raising children, and preparing to be ordained by RCG, they would laugh like hell. If you told them that in 20 years, we would be choosing between a black man and a woman in the Democratic Presidential primary, they would ask you for some of whatever you were smoking.

The world turns. The journey continues. I look forward to the next 20 years.

April 20,2008- Chasing Squirrels~The Musings of a Goddess Mother

I recently read a great book called, Eat, Pray, Love: A Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia, by Elizabeth Gilbert. It’s a funny and provocative account of a woman who travels for alone one year in search of her self and the deeper meaning of life. Although I really enjoyed the book and highly recommend it to others, it left me feeling the usual sadness that so many spiritual books do.

Here’s the reason: After reading the book I was inspired to start meditating and exercising again. Oh yes, and I started planning my next exotic trip - and then I remembered. There’s a reason why I don’t meditate, exercise, or travel anymore. Those are solo acts, or at least things that are difficult to do with kids in tow. As a mother of young children I sometimes feel like a dog on a short leash watching the squirrels just out of my reach ~ I am able to see the squirrels and imagine the fun of chasing them, but unable to get off my tether. Like a dog, I too feel eager to run after all the coolest, latest, exciting Goddess festivals, workshops, or exercise routines, but although I can walk away from my kids, it is never too far or too long before I am yanked back. For better or worse, they are my center. And some days that’s a beautiful thing. Other days I dream of cutting the cord and become melancholy for the days before my life went from a solo act to a quartet.

Apparently, the spiritual journey is a solo one ~ or so I’ve been led to believe. Which is probably how it should be. Yet this fact creates a bit of a conundrum for me ~ on the one hand, I am on this intentional spiritual journey, but on the other hand I am a mother. And when you are a mother, especially to young children, the journey is anything and everything but solo. Lonely at times, very lonely, but never, ever solo. So how do I go about a solo spiritual journey I read of other people having when I am never solo?

That, of course, is the nature of motherhood. You sort of know it going in. Although I don’t think there’s anyway to understand the level of intensity that comes with mothering. But by definition, mothering is a duet. It is the creation of life within, birthing this new part of your self, that is both of you and not of you, and then nurturing it. By definition it is one becoming two; the lone traveler taking on a hitch-hiker. But again and again when I look at famous women, or spiritual pioneers, or read about women that I admire for their strength, endurance, spiritual fortitude, compassion, intelligence, and wisdom, it is almost always women who chose not to have children, or chose to have children, but not raise them. Now I know that there are women out there who have done both - but generally they don’t reach their fullest potential while raising children. The two seem isolated and separate.

And then I think - who am I kidding? Even before I had kids I was tethered to them. All mothers and all women are connected to their creations long before they have manifested. All life is a journey towards our creative potential - no matter what form it takes. It is this creative potential that is the center of our lives, even before we know what it is, name it, create it. It is there, manifesting as desire and passion long before the creation is birthed.

So I am sitting here in my office. Josie is reading, Dave is doing some house work, the boys are playing in the new sand in the sandbox. I am "free" for now - or have the illusion of it. For how long, who knows, (hopefully long enough to finish this blog, as it is over due!) but as I sit here I look around at my house and I have this sort of epiphany. What if the spiritual journey isn’t solo? What if the cords tethering us to our desires, creations, children aren’t leashes, but umbilical cords leading us back to the Mother herself? It’s then that I realize. I’ve never been alone. Not before I had children, and I won’t be after they are gone. I don’t have to chase after squirrels to have a spiritual experience ~ I am having one right now. And here’s what I realized: the spiritual journey is never, ever solo. It only looks that way. The Goddess is always with us. Always. In. all ways.

Musing on the spiritual journey by Jenny June Sterling - Goddess mother of three, 10 year old Josie, 4 year old Zeke, and 3 year old Oliver~ seeking the joy and spiritual lessons of being a mindful goddess mama.

April 2,2008 - The Nature of Service

by Kip Parker

Like anyone who is seeking Ordination, I was required to do my Internship time. While I was in Madison, I wrote the following blog, filed it away, and promptly forgot about it. After rediscovering it today, I thought I would post it.

So... sitting here at the Motherhouse, during my time of Internship, I am drawn to consideration about the nature of service. After all, I have for many years signed my emails and correspondences with the phrase "In Her Service, and so Yours." Upon reflection, I realize that my idea of serving Her has changed radically over the years.

As a young hotblood warrior, my idea of service came from the annals of the Marion Zimmer Bradley series about the planet Darkover. In my mind, I was a fierce young guild member who would ride off into the mountains wearing riding leathers and my sword, slaying the hated misogynist bandits, and righting the injustices of my world.

Over the years as I grew, I took on political issues that believe in. I carried hundreds of picket signs, wrote countless letters to editors, congressional representatives, Senators and others. I marched on Washington and New York and other cities and towns. I was arrested many times during demonstrations over war, poverty, choice, HIV, equal rights, unfair laws and practices and other issues.

In joining WTI and beginning my work as a scholar, my sword began to drip ink instead of blood or sweat or rage. I began to write.

And while all of these ideas and actions and plans were noble and courageous, I performed a service today that may have been just as vital as any of the others.

Today, I fixed the Motherhouse toilet. It was running all the time, and sometimes, the water would just not re-fill. Now, while I count myself butch, I am no plumber, as my closest sisters well know. I am FAR more likely to call a service person than to try to fix something myself. But there I was, doing my service time, and it needed some attention. I must say I am a little proud that I figured out exactly which thingy was shirking its duty and was able to replace it. As I put the lid back on smiling at myself, the thought hit me that I was doing Her Service. Perhaps not the glamorous and laudable quests of my youth, but Service just the same.

And so I send a respectful salute to all of those who toil in anonymity: Those who do the unglamorous and sometimes plain grimy tasks, Those who face their fears and do it anyway, Those who try knowing they may well fail, Those who soldier on through despair and hardship, keeping the faith and enduring much. I salute you and commend your Service. You are as much as warrior as the young hotblood with the sword. Thank you.

March 17,2008 - Honoring the Maiden ~Un-medifying Our Lives

By Jenny June Sterling

Each month my daughter, who just turned 10 last month, plan a "date". This is time just for us to connect separate from her ever-exhausting brothers. It is nice, and we’ve come to look forward to our time together. Our only rule is that whatever we do cannot involve shopping...so we’ve had manicures, traveled to museums, gone out for coffee and looked at books in a bookstore, had lunch in fancy restaurant, etc. Last month, in February, we went to the opening of an art exhibit called, Project Girl.

Project Girl creators, Kelly Parks Snider and Jane Bartell, put together a multi-media exhibit designed to help educate girls on how to un-medify their lives. The exhibit includes visual, literary, digital and video artwork and is an "intentional use of art as an agent for social change". It debuted at Madison, Wisconsin’s Edgewood College in March of 2007 and they kicked off their traveling exhibit in Beaver Dam Wisconsin - which is where Josie and I went to see it and meet the artists.

It was a moving and profound experience for both Josie and I. The information wasn’t necessarily new to me, but it was presented in new and unique ways and it gave Josie and I a wonderful and stimulating format to discuss the ways that media and our culture portray girls and women.

The exhibit opens with a collage in tryptch form (three large panels) called, Corporate Curriculum. The images and accompanying literature talk about the toxicity of media and the business that is behind it. Did you know...

• We are exposed to 3,000 media messages each day!
• Each one of us will spend three years of our lives watching television commercials....just commercials!
• Children ages 2-7 watch TV alone and unsupervised 81% of the time.
• The average American watched over 4 hours of TV per day.
• 56% of children ages 8-16 have a TV in their bedroom.
• By the time a child is 18 they will have witnessed 20,000 murders on TV and more than 45,000 acts of violence towards women.
• The average American youth spends 900 hours in school and 1,023 hours watching TV each year. (This is why the artists call it a corporate "curriculum")
• Corporations spend $15 BILLION dollars per year marketing specifically to children age 8-12.

The corporate world takes their brainwashing of our children seriously. Child psychologists who were trained to support and help children are now employed by corporations to help ensnare them. Corporate advertisers have intentionally contrived to wedge themselves between parents and their children. They want to control not only what a child wants to purchase, but what they think is "cool" and even more insidious, they strive to control what our children’s values are! Market researchers have found that children ages 4-12 influence some $565 billion of their parents purchasing each year and they are referred to as the "superstars of the consumer constellation". Advertisers speak of the "nag factor" or of "pester power" - and any parent of a young child know the power they are tapping into! The entire industry can be distilled into this quote by Business Week: "Instead of transmitting a sense of who we are and what we hold important, today’s market-driven culture is instilling in [children] a sense that little exists without a sales pitch attached and that self-worth is something you buy at a shopping mall."

But the media "hit" has been specifically hard on young girls. The media has created an obsession with thinness, objectified women’s bodies, created images of girls who are powerless and over-sexualized, and created girl versus girl competition while all the while focusing girls attention on consumerism as the answer to all their problems. The statistics speak for themselves:

• 80% of females in the US are dissatisfied with their bodies.
• 42% of 1st through 3rd grade girls want to be "thinner"
• 40% of 9-year-old girls have dieted
• 81% of 10-year-old girls are afraid of becoming fat
• 91% of women in college campuses report dieting "always"
• 80% of women say they are dissatisfied with their shape and appearance
• Twenty years ago, the average model weighed 8% less than the average woman
• Today, the average model weighs 23% less than the average woman
• Only 5% of all women in the world have the body type like the models used in media advertising
• A study of 500 female models found that almost half were malnourished according to the World Health Organization standards
• 5-10 million women are struggling with serious eating disorders.

With these alarming statistics we need to take a good hard look at media’s influence on our children - especially our girls. How is a mother of a "tween" (another media invented concept) supposed to counter a multi-billion dollar industry stock full of trained professionals/predators? How are we supposed to counter the images of girls that are air-brushed and contrived to sell impossible standards. Corporate advertisers want to make us feel badly enough about our selves so that we NEED to purchase whatever product they are selling to feel good about ourselves. As Goddess women, how are we supposed to honor the Maidens - in both ourselves and in our communities - if we/they are subjected repeatedly with intentional images designed to lower our/their self esteem and invalidate our/their true power?

It is with these thoughts that I enter into the Maiden’s season of Spring. Research has shown that it is during our Maiden years that girls lose their voice. Specifically the age of 11. I look at my daughter and tears form in my eyes - is this the last year she will be in tune with her inner power? Will something diabolical happen to her during this next year to silence her inner wisdom and cut her off from her unique and special feminine gifts? Not if I can help it! The only power I can imagine strong enough to face the billion dollar industry of corporate terrorism against girls is the power of the Mother.

So...I call Her forth this Spring - and I call Her forth in all of the readers out there. The power of the Goddess as Protectress of her creations and of all girls everywhere. I call forth our inner wise women to deconstruct the media messages that destroy the souls of our children, especially the Maiden. Turn off the TV, take any and every opportunity to talk with girls about the power of the media and the lies they perpetuate. Consciously examine the media messages and look deeply into the messages they are really trying to sell us. Resist. Resist. Resist! Do not all the corporate messages designed to strip us of our true power and beauty go unquestioned!

This Spring, let’s translate our passionate love of the Goddess and for women and girls everywhere into a blatant refusal to allow our cultures dysfunctional values take away our daughters self-esteem and power.

Blessed be to all of you this bright Spring Equinox - may each of you be blessed with Miracle of the Maiden!

March 1,2008 - Kip Parker

So...Porch Dawg. That’s what my friends call me. ON the surface, it’s a remnant of an irreverent joke we made while attending a comparative religions weekend in Chicago. We had noticed that at one temple, all the leaders were given lengthy and regal titles, like "High Esteemed Director of the Bathroom Break". During the post-visit meeting, we were getting silly, and we started making up ridiculous titles for on another. My title was "Most Revered Canine Guardian of the Sacred Temple Portico"—which is essentially a dog lying on the front stoop of the Motherhouse. Hence the name porchdawg—or if you are Susan Grossman, "porchie".

I have embraced the concept, knowing that in the joke there was a grain of truth. Because in truth, that’s where I like to be. Whatever is going on inside the temple is probably important, and I heartily support those who are doing that work. However, I want to be lying on the porch; greeting friends and watching for anything else that may disrupt or interrupt the goings on.

And like Jen, I find comfort and safety in the shadows. The Dark Ones do not frighten me. I feel an affinity to Hecate. I remember once during a WTI weekend, we were making paper mache masks and painting them and decorating them with what we thought of as our own essence. I still have mine. It is blue-black, kind of plain, with a couple of feathers at the temples and some dark blue glitter scattered across the surface.

Anyway, in thinking of the Dark and its comforts, I am always greeted with the picture of an injured warrior in a dark cave, tending to her wound and healing for the next battle. To me the shadows are a place of healing and comfort. A respite.

You all know that I fancy myself a bard. A teller of stories. Therefore, along this theme, I have written a parable to be used in my next book. Hope you enjoy it.

Soon again, we will gather. We will go to the circle between the worlds as we have so many times.

In this circle, there is no time, no place. We are between. Each of us has been coming here through the ages, gathering, connecting, and doing the work of the Mother. We are a tribe. A family. A congregation. It has always been so.

In 3778 BCE, I was initiated into a group called the Hechtas; the closest translation in today’s language is to call them the born-to. During my initiation, you said that this group had always been with our tribe, and that you were happy to admit me again to the group. That next morning, we all went out on a hunt and I brought down meat. We dragged it to the fire of the Hearth Queen so that all would eat. That is how it has always been with us. We have each worked at our tasks and shared the result. We have taken care of the tribe and been taken care of by the tribe, always. The Hearth Queen has guided our hearts and minds.

IN 2745 BCE, I stood in the bow of a reed boat that we sailed up the river to bring news and trade goods for our tribe from distant sisters. I looked up to the top of the hill and saw you standing there, and knew I was home. No matter how tired and dirty we were, we always experienced a rush of warm happiness at the sight of the Hearth Queen, standing with her arms raised to the sky.

In 1345, we rode our horses to the foot of the hill amid great panic and noise. We climbed laboriously up to the temple to lay our swords at your feet in defense of the people. An army that was bent on removing us from existence had attacked our city. We fought bravely, down to the last person. But we failed. We saw our families and tribe sisters and daughters slaughtered, raped, carried off. Our temple and libraries burned to the ground. We who had vowed to protect our city were decimated. WE had failed you. In the end, there were few of us left, our heads bowed, our tears and blood mixing on the dusty ground. In our desolation, we sought out the Dark ones and asked them to take us.

We sent survivors forth into hiding in small groups, knowing not to put all of our precious seeds in one basket. The well-known warriors scattered and vowed to stay away from the others (even their lovers and families) knowing we would be pursued and fearing of drawing the enemy once more to the innocents. Many of us wandered, alone, fighting when we could, running when there was need.

For many generations after that, those born to protect sunk into oblivion, depression and addiction. We who had come home to this circle between the worlds for so long remained absent. Our terror and our shame and our overwhelming sadness kept us away. We were scattered across the globe. Like lone wolves, coyotes, or birds of prey, we led solitary existences. Some of us lived alone in the woods, in the mountains, in the desert. Some of us were just as alone in a crowded city. Even when surrounded by people, we were alone. Some of us had withdrawn so far from ourselves that we did not know why. We simply felt an underlying sadness. A hollow, echoing loneliness that nothing would fill up.

Many of us continued to fight. We became activists and radicals, carrying picket signs and writing letters. Our anger burned and we took it out on the patriarchy in any way that we could. But even as we joined resistance groups, we kept ourselves in the shadows and at the perimeters.

Then thirty or so years ago, two things happened. Out in the woods overlooking the Pacific, high on a hill, a woman stood surrounded by her closest allies. She raised her hands to the shook the ethereal world with a resounding cry: ‘The Goddess is Alive! And Majik is Afoot!’ And all around the world, wolves and coyotes and birds of prey lifted up their heads. Their ears pricked up. Those of us who were in the wilderness alone did not know who or what or why, but each of us knew something had happened. Something momentous.

Soon after, out in the woods in the middle of the continent, another incident occurred. Another woman stood, with her arms to the sky, surrounded by her closest allies and she shouted ‘I declare the family, the tribe, the congregation of the Goddess to be RE-Formed!’ And in the woods, and on the mountains, in the cities, ears perked up again. She commanded us to return.

Still, it took many turns of the world for us to gather. Some are still not here. But one by one, we staggered and limped and swaggered into that little office in Madison.

I personally would go to the Michigan festival and watch her. Not in a stalking way. Just appraising. I needed TO KNOW that she was the real thing. Slowly, I was convinced. And one day I sent an email.

As we began to surface, the Hearth Queen rejoiced. She knows us well, and loves us dearly. And as each of us arrives on her doorstep, she takes both our hands in hers and kneels looks us in the eyes and says ‘I acknowledge you. I will never judge you or reject you. You belong here, and I welcome you home.’

For a long time, we stood in the background or outside the door, smoking cigarettes and watching the horizon. Or we came inside, set up chairs, and ran errands, still unsure of our place in the tribe. But slowly and with lots of help, we have emerged again as full members of the family.

Today, most of our horses have an 8-cylinder engine, and my personal sword drips ink. Yet again, come April, I will ride my horse to the base of the hill and climb through the mysteries and up to the temple to present to the Hearth Queen today that which she has always had: my service, my loyalty and my sword.

As it has always been, may it ever be.

In Her Service, and So Yours,
PorchDawg

" You ask me what I bring to this community. And to explain that, I must tell a tale. For I am the Bard, and that is th’ way of it. My thanks in advance for your attention and grace. "

The hooded lumbering figure gestured to include the entire circle. Her ice blue gaze embraced each woman as it passed, and left a lingering sense of connection. Some swore they could smell musk in that moment.

"There is a species of special birds in the North of Wales. These birds seem immune to the cold winds of the sea, and in truth, they prosper in that cold rocky land. All the humans think that the birds are enchanted- that perhaps fairies or spirits of some kind have taken a liking to them. For they see them, darting in and out of the cliffs, flying inland and swooping down in the barnyards and gardens. They assume the birds are hunting grubs or insects that prevail in the trees and tilled areas and around the animals. But they are wrong. As wrong as wrong can be."

Silence rung through the room as the Bard continued her walk round the circle. She spoke not a word. But the crowd was not fooled. They knew she would continue.

"This tribe of feathered friends was enchanted indeed. They were infused with Majik not from a fairy or a gnome, no. They were infused with the majik of their own making. This tribe lived a set of customs that made survival possible. That was their majik. It was the majik of interdependence. Every member of this tribe carried out her sacred duty to the community willingly and happily. After hatching, a baby in the tribe is fed, cleaned, kept warm and protected from predators by every other member of the tribe. The very old and injured are cared for as well. Once a baby in the tribe reached the age of flight, she begins to follow her bigger sisters from the nest. Sisters of some species may kick the baby away from their heels, forcing it to go out into the world and survive on its own. But in not this tribe. In this tribe the sisters tolerate the baby’s presence, and allow it to follow them on their routine. The sisters fly to barnyard, garden or forest and gather feathers, sticks and leaves for nesting and protecting the newest egg or baby of the tribe. And so the baby learns that her role in the tribe is to bring back feathers and leaves and sticks to protect the next baby. And when that baby reaches its age of flight, this one will know that it should allow the new one to follow.

And so, in this tribe, all who need are cared for by all who can. And those who can have already experienced that care, and could again if injured or during very old age."

The Bard stopped suddenly in front of the Hunt Queen. The onlookers could see electricity pass from one to the other, their eyes locked.

"and that" the Bard said quietly "is what I give to the congregation. Today I have reached the age where I can begin to bring back feathers. It is my turn, and I stand up here, to take my place. Because you did not kick me away. But rather you showed me, by your actions, what I should do when I reached the age of flight. By your actions, you taught me. Now I will do what you taught me, and teach the next in so doing. Today I bring feathers."

With those final words the Bard turned, pulling a pouch from the depths of the robes, and handed feathers to each woman in the circle.

Feb 15, 2008 -- Grayson’s Gift ~ An Invitation from the Dark Mother~

Kali Mama. I was trying to think of a name to use for my blog and the play on words between Kali Ma, the Goddess of Destruction, and Kali Mama, my life as a rogue Goddess mother, seemed to fit. While at times Mothering has been a blissful experience for me, the truth is that it has also been riddled with as much darkness as light, doubt as faith, despair as hope, as much fear as love. To me, Mothering has been as much about destruction as creation.

Plus, the Dark Mother has been a constant in my life since I was in my early 20’s. Over the course of my life, I have felt her icy grip on my shoulder several times. Eight times to be exact. I’ve had eight pregnancies, but I have only three living children. Josie, my oldest child, was my fifth pregnancy, but not my firstborn. She was, in fact, my second born child. The stories of my first three pregnancies are for another blog. It was my fourth pregnancy, however, which forever bound me to the Dark Mother. And though my relationship to the Dark Mother is an intense one filled with grueling challenges requiring infinite patience, surrender, and faith, it is a bond that I am grateful for and honor deeply.

My firstborn child was actually my fourth pregnancy. I conceived Grayson Ambrose in the fall of 1996. He was due on the Summer Solstice and I knew he was going to change my life. Of course, I imagined those changes involving diapers and late night feedings and all the things that caring for a newborn entails. Yet, the Dark Mother had other ideas for me. She stretched her fingers through the veil and wrapped me in her great arms. I was blissfully ignorant of this, however, until I felt a warmth between my legs that revealed itself to be blood. I was just 17 weeks pregnant. My midwives immediately put me on bed rest and after a series of ultrasounds revealed that 1. I was having a boy and 2. my placenta was prematurely detaching. If it detached too much, this child, my son, would not survive. I was restricted to my bed 23 out of 24 hours, and remained so for three long weeks.

During that time I prayed and meditated and bonded with Grayson. I also drew Tarot cards daily. The Death card came to me 9 out of 10 times, no matter how well I shuffled the deck. Okay, Kali Ma, I heard you - but still I refused to listen. No. Surely, she would not take my baby. It was a metaphor, not the literal death that the Tarot was speaking of, right?!

I was home, alone, when Grayson arrived. He was 20 weeks old and life had already escaped him, probably from a lack of oxygen as the placenta had detached too far to support him. I birthed him by myself and in one single, intense moment I literally embodied all three aspects of the Goddess. The Maiden - not yet a Mother. The Mother - birthing her child. And the Crone - holding death in my hands. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. I was Kali Ma. No doubt about it.

Grayson’s birth/death was an invitation to my spirit. On February 12th, when I birthed Grayson into this world, I crossed the threshold and birthed my soul into a new phase as well. It was at that moment that I embarked upon my serious Shamanic and Goddess work. It is a journey I am still on today.

I wrote an article shortly after he was born/died. I include it today in honor of his 11th birth day. May each of you find the strength, insight, and support to turn the deepest dark moments of your life into the gifts that they surely are meant to be.

Blessed be.

Grayson’s Gift

Grayson Ambrose was born on February 12, 1997 at exactly 6:15 pm. I know because I looked that the clock the exact moment his little body emerged from mine. It was an extra-ordinary experience, as I imagine most birthing experiences are. But this one was different. After Grayson’s emergence into this world there were no tears of joy, no calls of congratulations, no late night feedings of my new baby. Grayson was stillborn. His emergence into this world marked not only his birth but also his death.

Grayson’s death was not totally unexpected. Three weeks before we lost him I started bleeding and was ordered to strict bed rest, getting up only to use the bathroom. Being an incredibly active person, I was skeptical of my ability to lie physically still for 23 out of 24 hours a day. But I would do anything to ensure a healthy pregnancy and have a healthy baby, so to bed I went.

The first day was kind of fun. I wasn’t worried about losing Grayson, and was convinced that by the next day the bleeding would stop and everything would be just fine. By the second, without so much as a tv to watch (I’ve always been strongly opposed to television) I was bored to tears. By the third day, as the bleeding got worse not better, I was in a state of panic. It seemed that as my external world was void of constant physical activity and stimulus, my internal world ~ my mind ~ went into overtime. I had nothing to do all day but think. The thoughts that surfaced first and with the most power were fear laden ones. In fact, I think every fear I ever held came to the surface that third day. It started with fears of losing the baby, then came the fears of being an inadequate mom, and from there is mushroomed into more general fears of worthlessness, of loss, of rejection. I started recalling old memories I had long ago buried or stuffed away ~ memories that brought up old pains and fears. By the middle of the third day I had created so much anxiety inside my Self I was in a state of extreme distress.

Normally when I become overwhelmed with fears and anxieties I deal with them in a very external and direct way. I go out and "do" something about it. Since I had been ordered to strict bed rest the only thing I could "do" was change my perceptions of fear. Of course, I did not realize that at the time ~ but that was exactly what occurred. At the height of my panic attack I forced myself to read. The idea was that if I didn’t think about things for a while, they would go away. It was a real chore keeping myself focused and just as I was about to give up I read a sentence that literally stopped my mind completely. It was so simple, so direct, and so perfect; it had to be a message from Spirit. It said, "We deal with life in one of two ways: out of love, or out of fear."*

Since all my fears were right at the surface this statement hit me deeply, and I was able to see the profound truth in these words. Suddenly it was so apparent; the underlying element in all of my fear was simply the absence of love. Instantly, I felt my heart open, my fears melt away, and my power to co-create my reality restored. Standing in a place of love (rather than fear) I realized that there is nothing to fear - not even death - and I as finally able to receive the bounty of the Universe.

During the next two and a half weeks, as my condition worsened, I remained strong and hopeful. All the energy I had formerly put into fear of losing Grayson, I now put into developing a bond with my son. I became acutely aware of his movement inside of me and of his special little soul. I played music for him, I talked to him, I journeyed with him. I sent prayers of thanks to the Universe each morning as I awoke, and each evening as I went to bed ~ thanking Spirit for one more day with my son.

Also during this time I stood simply in awe of the amount of love and support, both for Grayson and I, as well as for Grayson’s father and my partner, Dave. Not a day went by when a friend didn’t call or stop over. Friends near and far brought me flowers, cooked food for me, did my dishes, changed my sheets, and sent me great big huge amounts of love! It was truly incredible. My relationship with Dave changed as well. Out of fear I had pushed Dave away, and slowly, as I stood more firmly in a place of Love, and walked more surely the path of heart, my love for Dave was rekindled and our relationship was strengthened.

The night we lost Grayson, I was at home and all alone. The entire birthing process took place in less than 5 minutes. I knew immediately that he would not be alive when he came into this world and the grief of that knowledge is indescribable. I see now that it was a GIFT to be alone and in the comfort of my own home as I birthed my son. It was the only life process that we would share together. In one solitary, timeless moment I stood at the triple crossroads of Maiden, Mother, Crone. I was the Maiden ~ not yet a Mother, Mother ~ birthing my child, and Crone ~ holding death in my hands. I was Kali Ma. No doubt about it. I thank Spirit daily for the strength to have stayed home ~ a hospital in its sterile environment and cold tables would’ve made a difficult situation more difficult. (And since Grayson was so young he could not have been saved by medical intervention.)

Dave and our friends were there immediately after his birth ~ they held me and cried with me and helped me to say good-bye to my son. Grayson was only 5 months old (in the womb), but he was a perfectly formed little boy, and seeing his face and holding his little body was a gift beyond words.

We had Grayson cremated on Valentine’s Day. This didn’t seem sad to me, rather it seemed perfect. Though Grayson’s life was short he gave me the gift of Love. He taught me how to open my heart and showed me an entire universe inside of my own Self, one I never knew existed because I was too busy looking outside of myself for answers and for love. He taught me that life is a dance to which we are the choreographers. He showed me the love that surrounds me constantly in the face of my loving partner and in the faces of my friends and family. And though I will never celebrate his first birthday with him, or watch him take his first steps, I know that in those two and a half weeks of conscious bed rest I spent an entire lifetime with him. I shared more with my son in those weeks than some people do in an entire lifetime.

In the days that followed Grayson’s death, we cried. And as we let our tears fall, we also let go of our fears and our pains and the walls that we had created. What has grown in its place is an open heart full of love and trust, and the belief that all acts are truly sacred and that even in our grief, Spirit is guiding us to new levels of consciousness and healing.

In loving memory of Grayson Ambrose
February 12, 1997
Our arms are empty, but our hearts are full.

Jenny June
Zigzag, Oregon
February 1997

*The book that I was reading with the quote that touched me so was, Conversations with God: Book One, by Neale Donald Walsch.

February 1, 2008 - Kip Parker

So....
This morning our city is pretty well closed down by snow. The kids schools are closed. Typically, my partner Deb insisted upon going in to work anyway. She is a Nurse Practitioner who runs a clinic at a local community college. They have dorms and she felt that some students may ned her today. So I am home with the kids and dogs.

She just called, saying the college is closed and that the power there is out. There are no appointments, so she is returning home. But her car is stuck in the parking lot.

I tell you all of this because of the echoes, and how they relate to Imbolc. I got off the phone with her and put on my long sleeved shirt and jeans. As I bent to lace up my big boots, I heard the faint echo of something......the jingling of the bells on a war horse's harness? ...the clanking of steel as armor is strapped on? ...I smiled at myself. Ever the warrior. Whenever I "suit up" for anything, I carry that feeling of a warrior preparing for a battle. It is as deep and abiding as the Wheel of the Year for me. I do not have specific memories of past lives and events, but I do have quiet echoes and impressions to which I have learned to listen. Today my challenge is the weather.

As I ready myself to face the storm, she calls again. She has dug herself out and is on the way home, safe. No need for me to mount my horse and go rescue her. Just like all other Priestesses, she is perfectly capable to take care of herself. The need to protect and care for her is mine alone, though I know she cherishes the sentiment.

Today the wheel of the year turns, and the darkest of the winter has passed. Today is the day of birth....the birth of ideas, of intention, of a new moment in time. Brigid's Day. I smile, lighting a candle on our altar. I feel a deep knowlege that a new era begins this day.

We must walk confidently into this new era with the calm assurance of our history and experience. We must above all remember who we are. We can face this new season with joy and hope, knowing that if we remain true to ourselves and one another, the Light will shine for us all.

I will light a fire this morning and make coffee, making the hearth ready for Deb's return. I will channel Hestia this morning. Then I will ask the kids to light the fireplace. so we can celebrate Imbolc.

May your holiday and your season be filled with light and joy. May you find happiness and peace; may you know yourselves. And most of all, may you Remember. My heart is with you, as always, my Tribe.

In Her Service and So Yours
---The Porchdawg.

January 15, 2008 - Kali Mama ~ The Adventures of a Goddess Mother

It’s only 9:00 in the morning and already I’ve: unloaded the dishwasher and loaded it again, switched the wash to the dryer and then loaded the washer again, fed three hungry children, one cat, two dogs, and several fish, cleaned up spilled juice, kissed a boo-boo, put dinner in the crockpot, and reminded my 9 year old daughter, Josie, for the fourth time that she can’t call her friends to play before 10am. I’ve also negotiated no less than three spats between my three year old son, Oliver, and my four year old son, Zeke. The first was over whether or not Oliver likes maple syrup (Oliver said he did, Zeke insisted that he didn’t), the second argument was over the correct name of the truck that went by our house (Zeke said "front loader", Oliver was adamant it was a "backhoe"), and the third was over the correct way to wear a diaper, (Oliver, always the instigator, insisted that it went on backwards. Go figure). In between all of this, I’ve managed to drink almost an entire pot of coffee and eat something that slightly resembles breakfast.

Who says stay at home moms don’t work?

Of course, it’s no wonder that stay-at-home mothers go crazy. At least the ones who have, ummm, shall we say "spirited" children. I used to judge mothers who lived on coffee and Prozac. Now I fear I am become one of them.

The problem with the Mothering phase of the Goddess is that there is no way out. Mothering is a relentless occupation that is a mind-boggling...both in its sheer beauty and in its grueling relentlessness. What we aren’t told by our culture is that the gift of Motherhood comes wrapped with guilt and tied with a bow of vulnerability. I look at the three beautiful souls I brought into this world, such wonderful perfect beings - and suddenly all of my imperfections and failings (of which I have many) seem to be magnified in the light of their purity and innocence. There is no good case of self-esteem and self confidence that motherhood can’t cure. In other words - kids have a way of peeling away the layers of our souls to reveal the good, the bad, and the down right ugly.

And the problem with that is that our children look up to us as though we are the Goddess herself. That’s a pretty big bra to fill!. It’s too much responsibility. There is too much room for error. There is too much at stake. In the end, there is a boundness between a mother and her child. This boundness is both a burden and a gift. On my dark days I fight the suffocating onus of our relationship. I feel like a failure at this job of raising kids and I grieve in a way I never knew was possible. On my powerful, happier days I revel in the miracle of the life that is in front of me, and I celebrate the richness of our lives together.

Do you think that the Goddess Herself feels this way? Does she have dark days where even her great powers say under the weight of her creation? Does she grieve for who she was before she was "Creator"? Or does she accept her responsibility as inevitable? As women, we are born to create - in one way or another. And then we are bound to the creations we have manifested. How does this boundness to our creations change us? Alter us? Change the world around us? Perhaps this is the essence of the Mothering phase of the Goddess, this concept of being bound to what we create and then having that creation mirror back to us the infinite within ourselves.

Today, as I prepare for another long day of taking care of home and hearth and children, I won’t have time to light a candle to the Goddess, or prepare a ritual, or to meditate. I won’t have the luxury of a reading poetry or even answering emails - what I will have, as sure as the sun comes up, is the faces of my children - smiling, crying, laughing, yelling - to remind me of the creative force in my life that has defined me in ways I never imagined. Today, between sips of coffee and dirty diapers, I pray for the strength to see the magnificence behind the mundane and to pass on more light to my children than darkness.

By Jenny June Sterling - Goddess mother of three, 9 year old Josie, 4 year old Zeke, and 3 year old Oliver~ seeking the joy and spiritual lessons of being a mindful mama.

January 1, 2008 - Kip Parker

So...here we are. Tonight is the secular New Year. While it is not "our" holiday, we are going over to our daughter Lauren’s house to have dinner and a holiday observance.

We have come to the same comfortable compromise with Xmas. We celebrate the Solstice in our house, and any family member of friend who wishes to attend is welcome. We also attend the Xmas observances of our various extended family units at their homes. We go to my mother in law’s house on Xmas eve, where they pray, eat, and play bingo. On Xmas day, I go to Aramas’ house to see our daughter Chelsea. Later in the day, the kids go to their dad’s house where Xmas is celebrated by going to church.

I used to chafe at attending the Xmas gatherings of the muggles in our extended family, but within the last year or two, I have found a peaceful perspective. My point of view is evolving these days. I am far more accepting of those who have differing opinions and beliefs than ever before.

Another facet of this new comfort is the realization that I am culturally American. ( I know—DUH)

While I do not share the religion of most cultural Americans, this culture is ingrained in me as much as anyone else. Therefore, I will go tonight, drink Champaign, and shout Happy New Year.

I have even been thinking about what resolution I can make as we rocket one more time around the Sun. I think the biggest issue facing humanity is Global Warming. I have watched with horror as the ice caps melt and the climate changes. It is January 1 tomorrow, and the ground in our garden is not frozen hard yet! As a witch, I consider it my religious duty to protect our Mother in any way possible.

It gives the Crede a completely new meaning for me! I am now looking at my everyday life and wondering what harm I am doing. And while I do not feel competent to make global changes, I am a huge believer in personal responsibility. So, I first look to my own lifestyle.

What about that individual yogurt container? If I simply buy a large tub, and recycle or reuse it, I can save a little waste. I am much more conscious about turning off lights. I go out the front door instead of opening the garage’s electric door each time. (Walking that extra 10 feet wont really hurt me, will it?) I am building fires more often on cold nights instead of turning up the heat. I continue to buy clothes at second hand stores. I am exploring the construction of a simple window solar heating box. We bought an exercise machine that does NOT require electricity. Our bodies power it instead.

In addition, I am writing letters to my local politicians, advocating LED lighting for our city. I am writing letters to the editor about the new baseball stadium complex they are building to revitalize our downtown, and I am advocating using green building techniques wherever possible.

In short, I am becoming more aware. I am expanding my narrow little perspective to include the things I have always said I believed in. I am, in our oh-so Christian America becoming more truly pagan. Go figure.

Dec 15, 2007 - Kali Mama: ~The Adventures of A Goddess Mother

CHOCOLATE CHIPS FOR BREAKFAST

Oliver, my three year old son, had only been up about 20 minutes when I found him aimlessly walking around the kitchen.

"What do you want, honey?", I asked.

"Chaw-co-lat" he said in his little sleepy kid voice.

Chocolate.

I know the feeling.

However, being a mindful mama, I replied, "How about some cereal or toast first?"

"NO! I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeed chaw-co-lat, MAMA!" was his indigent reply.

What woman could argue with that? Some morning, you just have to chuck everything and give the kids chocolate chips for breakfast.

And isn’t that the perfect metaphor for life? Sometimes we have to throw caution to the wind and trust that the universe will not stop moving as a result. The truth is, I rarely take things too seriously. Actually, I probably throw too much caution to the wind. Sigh. Okay, I admit it. I flung my entire reserve of caution out the window years ago.

Not that I don’t use discretion. We don’t eat chocolate chips for breakfast every morning. But even though I consider myself to be a mindful mama, conscious of all of the nuances of child development, eating organically, recycling, teaching my kids good Goddess values, I really am not too obsessed about things. I didn’t play Beethoven for my kids in utero. I believe in bike helmets in theory, but rarely make my children wear them. And I’ve been known to allow my kids to each something that fell on the floor long after the 5 seconds are up.

I am not completely neglectful though. I don’t let my kids play with matches or attend Catholic mass. It’s just that modern parenting’s battle against any possible accident or anything painful or negative has gotten in the way of sun and spontaneity. If I tried to find a shred of common sense in most mother’s my age, I’d die for lack of finding any.

My neighborhood moms reflect the divergent styles of parenting. Some attack motherhood as if they were a CEO of a large company - scheduling the child’s first three years of life down to the minute. (I am not kidding!) These moms have standing play dates for "social development" and daily schedules posted on the wall outlining every minute detail of the child’s day (broken into 15 minute increments!). If the internal compass is not working, they always have their schedule to fall back on. These moms generally flow with a freshly polished sheen, even they are only in jogging suits, and have kids who have a glazed over look in their eyes. If you look long enough, there seems to be a sadness underneath their obsessive happiness and organization.

Other moms have a very laissez-faire style of parenting. Some bordering comatose. Unlike the CEO mom’s have every day scheduled down to the last detail, these moms rarely know what day it is or where their kids are. These moms generally look scattered or overwhelmed and they just can’t seem to keep their children’ under control - or so they say.

Hmmmmm. I am not sure where I fall on this scale. I am too lazy to be a control freak, but too conscious to completely abdicate basic parental responsibilities. It’s just that I can’t sustain the fight against growing. I the sensible things - I keep sharp knives out of reach, they don’t go swimming alone, and they take multi-vitamins daily (okay, most days). But if I try to mitigate from every possible tragedy or if I try to give them every possible advantage under the sun I feel as though I am waging war on life itself. Accidents will happen no matter how prepared I try to be. I can lay a path paved in gold for my children, but one way or another they will have to walk their own path at some point. And truth be told, I think that they will be better for clearing their own path (with my gentle guidance).

Of course, all mother’s intentions are the best. I know this. I do not judge or blame other mothers. We are all simply trying to find our way in this maze of motherhood. Loving our children isn’t always enough. Sometimes we have to insist they were a bike helmet, other times we have to let them eat chocolate chips for breakfast.

By Jenny June Sterling - Goddess mother of three, 9 year old Josie, 4 year old Zeke, and 3 year old Oliver~ seeking the joy and spiritual lessons of being a mindful mama.

Dec 1, 2007 - Kip Parker

So... I was reading the other day and came across a mention of the story about the Garden of Eden. I am not sure why that reference stuck with me, but it did. It was tangential to the material I was reading. Anyway, I had a flash of insight regarding the Eden story. The voice in my head said "Its not in the past...it’s a prophecy!"

The more I considered this, the more sense that it made. After all, most legends, religious stories, tales and myths are but parables for bigger ideas.

In the Eden story, Adam and Eve find themselves in an amazing and abundant garden where everything they could ever need or want exists. They are warned by their creator not to partake of the fruit from the tree of life. They are, however predictably, convinced by the snake to partake of the fruit. When the creator finds out, they are banished from the garden.

What if our Planet is the Garden? What if Adam and Eve are simply literary symbols of humankind? What if the fruit of the tree is a symbol for addictive consumerism? What if the addictive consumerism would lead eventually to the destruction of the garden itself and so human kind is forced to find a new garden (planet) elsewhere? What if it is not the recounting of a historical incident, but a prophecy?? NOW IT IS NOT SUCH AN ANCIENT TALE, IS IT?

Perhaps this tale like so many others has been co-opted by Christianity in order to assist in the subjugation of women! I think we need to reclaim the story! Re-Member it as our own and reframe it to fit what we Know!

With a little brainstorming, we could turn it into.... a prophecy that seems to be coming true today! Of course, in OUR version the snake could be the one who warns the people that the path they are taking leads to destruction. We could reframe the idea of original sin, taking the ages of guilt from womankind.

In our version, original sin is disrespect of the Mother Planet. It is greed and rampant addictive profit chasing, leading to conquest, war and environmental collapse! It is uncaring destruction of our Mother Planet and the habitat for all of the creatures She nurtures. And the penalty is severe. By our own hand, we may be ejected from this wonderful garden!

Yes! I think I like our version MUCH BETTER!

We could end it by asking those of faith to heed the lessons of the Mother. I can see it in print now:

And Goddess Said to Eve, "Sing, love, laugh, play. Be joyful living in the bounty of this beautiful Planet I have created for you. But be mindful of the fragility of all creatures and things on the material plane. They can be quickly destroyed by unthinking action. So I bid you to reuse, recycle, rework, rethink, live simply, chase not power or richness, share your wealth with all who could benefit. Live as one large family, respecting all creatures and things as My creations. Heed these words and live forever in paradise. "
  Amen.

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