Fuel for the Heart Fire

Warning: Some of the pictures in this post are very hard to look at.  You may want to skip it if you’re feeling super emotional today.

A couple stories from middle-class America that make me weep: Birth Rape, Circumcision 

For many years, I have avoided things like this.  I turned my head from pictures of suffering children, because I can’t bear to look at them.  I gave money to charities, and I have a sponsored child in Uganda.  But I couldn’t read stories about heartbreak and tragedy unless there was a happy ending because someone else had already stepped in.  I could barely get through stories of children or babies or women suffering—whether it was from circumcision (male or female), or abusive relationships that left women feeling like death was the only option, or bullied children, or children malnourished in Africa because their mothers weaned them too early because of their own malnutrition or unethical culture dumping, or any myriad of things that have left me shaking in fury and sobbing with empathetic grief.

         

       

Last week was epiphany week.  As I turned away from the picture of sick and starving child in Africa that was in my textbook for an English class (its placement was intended to showcase the strength of emotional argument, pathos), I suddenly forced myself to turn back.  I looked at that naked little girl, her bones sticking out, a tired and miserable expression on her face; I looked at the gentle hand of her mother that caressed her stick-like leg; I willed myself to accept the emotion that comes with seeing the effects of war, devastation, and human rights violations.  I let myself feel the anger, the grief; I refused the crushing weight of hopelessness.  I channeled my feelings into a special fire in my heart, feeding the determination I have for the course of study that I’ve chosen.

It’s not just about traveling and learning, fulfilling my lifelong dreams—it’s about relieving suffering, changing oppressive culture, spreading love and light in dark pockets of the world that have been filled with anger and grief for too long.  It’s about being strong and connected and having hope in spite of it all.  I have privilege, I have means, I have health and strength.  My maternal instinct will not sleep, and it will not go quietly into the night.

A word on the pictures: I found much, much worse and chose not to use them because it can become another form of exploitation.  Each picture is linked to a site that explains what it is and the horrible story connected to it.

Gestation

gorgeous identity

of beautiful Me

residing in a cocoon of my awareness

how imminent is the writhing of labor?

leap into the time river

shed me

become Me

I have a dream

Alison walked solemnly to the table covered with the snowy white cloth.  Her sixteenth birthday had been celebrated exactly 8 days ago with the usual cake and ice cream, and her friends from church and school had showered her with little gifts.  Amidst the piles of sparkly shower gel and earrings and colorful notebooks was a brand-new lavender leather-bound set of scriptures with her name engraved on the cover in silver script.  She looked back at them now, sitting on the pew with her father and baby brother.  Her father smiled widely at her, pride beaming from his face.  She quietly smoothed her best church skirt, then lifted her hand hesitantly to the pristine fabric in front of her.  Her hand caressed it gently, the deep blue-black of her skin contrasting sharply as she followed the contours of the water trays underneath.
Alison’s ordination to priestess had left her humbled and awed at the feeling of power she had felt during the blessing.  Her mother and father had both laid their gentle hands on her head, though her mother was voice.  
It was her mother that she now went to join sitting behind the sacrament table. Organ music had started playing, and the murmur of people crowding into the chapel filled the room, along with the warmth brought by the extra body heat.  Alison could smell the bouquet of lilies sitting by the pulpit, its fragrance almost as heady as the sensations coursing through her.  She felt nervous, exhilarated, terrified that she’d get something wrong and have to do it again, anxious to begin, and fully happy to be worthy to perform such an important rite.
She took her place carefully beside her mother, and pulled out the card with the blessing typed on it to study.  She really didn’t want to have to redo it because of a silly mistake.  The bishop started the meeting and Alison tried to listen to the announcements and sustainings, but couldn’t focus.  Her head whirled with thoughts on power and priestesshood and the sacrifice of Christ as he knelt in agony in the garden of Gethsemane.
As the strains of the sacrament hymn filled the chapel, Alison and her mother quietly lifted up the white tablecloth and began to tear the chewy bread into bite-size pieces and fill the exposed bread trays.  The song finished, though the organist played an extra verse so they would have time to finish.  Finally, it was time.  Alison knelt carefully, and her mother slid out the microphone for her, and she prayed:
O God and Goddess, the Eternal Father and Mother, we ask ye in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it; that they may eat in remembrance of the body of your Son, and witness unto ye, O Goddess and God, the Eternal Mother and Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of your Son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given them, that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.
There were tears in her eyes as she finished, but she stood up composedly and helped her mother hand the trays to the young men and women standing reverently in front of the table.  She sat down, feeling drained physically, but spiritually on fire as she watched the sacred emblems being passed to the families waiting in the pews.  The deacons and deaconesses and teachers lined up at the back of the chapel, and her mother stood up, offering an arm to support Alison to stand as well.  The sacrament passers filed back down the aisles and handed their trays back.  The water was uncovered and Alison’s mother knelt and prayed:
O Goddess and God, the Eternal Mother and Father, we ask ye, in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this water to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of your Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto ye, O God and Goddess, the Eternal Father and Mother, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.
The solemn young women and men stood to receive the trays of water, and Alison—not bothering to fight back the quiet tears that streamed down her face—passed them with a trembling hand.  She sat with her mother, and her mother embraced her.

A word on plagiarism..

I have not been as careful as I ought to be when borrowing pictures from the vast resources of the internet.  I intend to edit them all so that when you click on them, they will take you to site from which I lifted them.  I also intend to add a permanent statement to that effect somewhere on my page (whenever I figure out how...).  I truly don't mean to use pictures without giving proper credit where credit is due--or at least going one step back in the chain of borrowing :)

To any artists or bloggers I may have stolen from: I'm sorry!  May only good things happen to your websites as a result of my unintentional theft!

And just for variety, a New New Testament scripture

11 Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another, even as also ye do.

 12 And we beseech you, sisters, to know them which labour among you, and are over you in the Lady, and admonish you;

 13 And to esteem them very highly in love for their work’s sake. And be at peace among yourselves.

 14 Now we exhort you, sisters, warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all women.

 15 See that none render evil for evil unto any woman; but ever follow that which is good, both among yourselves, and to all women.

 16 Rejoice evermore.

 17 Pray without ceasing.

 18 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of Goddess in Christ Jesus concerning you.

 19 Quench not the Spirit.

 20 Despise not prophesyings.

 21 Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.

 22 Abstain from all appearance of evil.

 23 And the very Goddess of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray Goddess your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 Thessalonians 5

Today's she scripture, courtesy of Jena!

Alona 48: 11-18

11 And Moronia was a strong and a mighty woman; she was a woman of a perfect understanding; yea, a woman that did not delight in bloodshed; a woman whose soul did joy in the liberty and the freedom of her country, and her sisters from bondage and slavery;

 12 Yea, a woman whose heart did swell with thanksgiving to her Goddess, for the many privileges and blessings which she bestowed upon her people; a woman who did labor exceedingly for the welfare and safety of her people.

 13 Yea, and she was a woman who was firm in the faith of Christ, and she had sworn with an oath to defend her people, her rights, and her country, and her religion, even to the loss of her blood.

 14 Now the Nephites were taught to defend themselves against their enemies, even to the shedding of blood if it were necessary; yea, and they were also taught never to give an offense, yea, and never to raise the sword except it were against an enemy, except it were to preserve their lives.

 15 And this was their faith, that by so doing Goddess would prosper them in the land, or in other words, if they were faithful in keeping the commandments of Goddess that she would prosper them in the land; yea, warn them to flee, or to prepare for war, according to their danger;

 16 And also, that Goddess would make it known unto them whither they should go to defend themselves against their enemies, and by so doing, the Lady would deliver them; and this was the faith of Moronia, and her heart did glory in it; not in the shedding of blood but in doing good, in preserving her people, yea, in keeping the commandments of Goddess, yea, and resisting iniquity.

 17 Yea, verily, verily I say unto you, if all women had been, and were, and ever would be, like unto Moronia, behold, the very powers of hell would have been shaken forever; yea, the devil would never have power over the hearts of the children of women.

 18 Behold, she was a woman like unto Apphia, the daughter of Metea, yea, and even the other daughters of Metea, yea, and also Alona and her daughters, for they were all women of Goddess.

And a barrier falls.

This morning, as I was looking through the page of sacred symbols to find a good description of how I'm using the spiral, I found the triquetra.  Now, I've seen it before in many places, but I've never given much thought to the symbolism of it.

 Triquetra
The triquetra (pronounced try-KET-ra, Latin for "three cornered") is a Celtic knot with a triangular design symbolizing all trinities including the Triple Goddess (Maiden, Mother & Crone); the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth, and the realms of Air, Earth and Sea which, to the ancient Celts, represented the entire Universe. To Christians, the triquetra has been used to symbolize the Holy Trinity (Father, Son & Holy Ghost) In fact, many cultures and religions have considered the number three to be holy or divine for millenia. A symbol of three interlocking circles looking somewhat like a three-leaf clover without out stem has been found on religious statues in India that were made 5000 years ago.


As I read this, my eyes stuck on the Air, Earth and Sea, and I felt a tearing sensation in my heart.  My mind flew to every picture I've ever collected of Ireland that I've gazed at in yearning.  About one third of my ancestors are Irish, and I've always closely identified with them.  I've wanted to visit and maybe even live there for as long as I can remember.  I tucked that dream away--not realizing how deeply it had embedded itself--when I joined the military.  Then I re-tucked it away when I got married to someone who had pretty much zero interest in living anywhere that he couldn't go snowboarding.

Earth, Air, and Sea

I took this opportunity to check the study abroad options for my school.  I probably shouldn't have looked, because I started crying and hyperventilating as the thought "this is impossible" kept running through my head, over and over.  "We don't have the money." "Sprout can't be away from me for that long." "Tree can't take care of Sprout by himself if he's going to school full time."
As I read through Women Who Run With the Wolves, I search myself for answers to the sometimes troubling questions that are posed.  Where have I broken?  When did my wild self get so suppressed?  Why do I struggle with cycles of depression and anxiety so often?  Why does the thought of going to school terrify me because I am so used to freezing up at difficult or lengthy assignments?  Today, I was able to answer myself with this: If I never get to at least see Ireland, a part of me will stay withered and dead.
I need to travel--it's my passion, my goal.  I have a wanderlust that must be satisfied in order for me to truly fill the space I have been given.  The driving force inside of me that points me to Ireland is only part of it.  Tree told me to try to make it happen anyway, darling that he is.  So maybe it is possible, if I can just believe it.
It's a good experience to realize something deep inside yourself needs to be fed.  I recommend doing it with a box of tissues and a pair of hugging arms nearby though...