October 23, 2015October 2, 2019 Mago Work Admin

(Art) Hetaira by Kaalii Cargill

The Goddess in all Her faces weaves Her way through my life, calling, guiding, demanding, nourishing. In 2014, I made four life-size Goddess panels, and each one demanded an immersion in form and essence. Even as I began to form my vision of Her, She entered, and the form changed . . .

Hetaira: This face of the Goddess is not one of passive “beauty”. This is the face of deep, luscious beauty, soft, strong folds and layers of grace, sensuality, and connection to the wellspring of laughter, lust, and inspiration . . .

She is crafted from fabric chosen for color and texture – blood red, labia purple, black lace – and sewn into folds and creases to create a fusion of a Magdalene-type robe that segues into ripe, feminine, embodied sensuality.

I adapted Her for the cover of the Mago Books anthology – She Rises, Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? – removing Her ethnicity to allow Nature to shine through . . .

Meet Mago Contributor Kaalii Cargill

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(Tribute 1) Barbara Mor, “Relentless Love”: Letters 1988-2002 from a Writer’s Best Friend by Jack Dempsey

…& who is jesus what else does he do can he sing can he plant corn i saw a picture of him once on the dome of the sky looking down dark & fierce at the green earth & who is jesus what else can he do can he scrub floors can he make the bread they say he suffered 9 hours of pain for the world tell that to any mother what man son of what father king of what desert saver of what flesh can he mold pots can he make the rain come can he find his way home naked after being raped can he wail like janus can he burn in fire after 2000 years of dying can he laugh & hand Death a beer can he smash the last mirror can he know me who is this jesus what is he: next to any woman’s blood-red truth no wound in a man is big enough to birth a world to return an earth so now here is our old mama in the junkyard… (from “A Song A Song For Tralala,” 1975-1997) Through a grapevine of serious and hence little-known writers, I have only just heard of the passing (January 24, 2015) of the best friend we ever had—Barbara Mor. Before the barest bones of Barbara’s life, how we became close, and some of the soul-sustaining things she wrote to me over many years, I want to emphasize that Barbara Mor taught us with her life and work that what we do matters, in the midst of a civilization-gone-mad whose overwhelming mission has been the suicidal turning of living things into controlled and commodified corpses. Between the lines of all she wrote I find a warning and a hope. If we do not work at the root of the problem we only make it worse. If we don’t look full-bore into the hatred of life at that root of “traditional tradition,” we can’t see, or feel, or think, or remember what we’ve truly been and really are (that is what it intends), and so find a way to change our course—which is still possible. What dooms us now is certainly not nature and our human share of its evolution, but our artificially-instilled sadomasochistic addiction to the stupid, corrupt and vengeful ideas of nature and human being that history itself (His-Story: that lie of the text-obsessed charlatans) has foisted on us. On that basis, I’m sure that Barbara—in all her volcanic anger, born of her loving will to help us heal ourselves and the Earth—would agree with another kinsman of ours, Terence McKenna, who observed that the prehistoric tribal shaman had become the modern artist, taking us back to recover the way forward, combining scientist and seer, explorer and healer, activist and artist; and, that “if the artist cannot find the way [to our healthy further evolution], then the way cannot be found.” While some facts here about Barbara’s life come from published sources and from her letters, these are vetted directly by her only son. Born October 3rd, 1936 in a southern Californian San Diego that she called “once beautiful,” Barbara described her grandparents’ heritage as Black Irish/Welsh with touches of French and German. According to her 1995 interview with Charles Cantalupo, her mother “was a jazz pianist before she got married”: “My mother sat me down and taught me how to play the piano when I was four.” In the 1940s, they also shared “going to the movies—the great musicals, right?—and getting the sheet music and coming back and playing it….Sitting on the bench, playing the music, I met the first poetry to come into my life.” They also shared many trips to the San Diego Zoo, where “very young” Barbara felt so close to the animals that she “sensed…the feeling of being tattooed with pictures of the beasts,” and they began to fill “all the critical dreams throughout my life…a leakage between the beast, the image of the beast, and something that becomes my body….[My] luck, my destiny, this feeling of mysticism.” But, when Barbara was seven, her parents divorced: when she turned 12, her mother died, and she lived with her father and step-mother through her teens, until she finished high school. After a marriage that lasted only about one year (with no children), Barbara struck out for new horizons. She was writing seriously already, because in September 1955 (just before she turned 19) she met film star James Dean, who saw enough promise to tell her “It’s important to me that you keep writing.” After some time in the Santa Cruz mountains and L.A., Barbara was living in “Beatnik” Baja by 1960 “with a Beat artist.” Here—courtesy of Cantalupo’s interview (Poetry, Mysticism, and Feminism from the Nave to the Chops: Harlow-Essex, Spectacular Diseases print ed., 1995)—we can listen to Barbara talk about the growth of her young-life spirit and imagination. Their roots we saw in the presence of powerful wild animals, whose beings wrote themselves into her, dreams and body, though she knew them only through a rail of theatrical iron bars. The other great felt presence and guide had been her mother’s jazz and all the sensory richness of learning to make a piano sing out, increasing her range for managing multiple rhythms and wedding them to consummate language. As in “Gershwin, Hart, Cole Porter: gorgeous stuff.” “I got that jingle in my head, and I grew up with this lyric pop music as the first paradigm in my mind. And that has given me an inferiority complex.” Barbara now the Baja Beatnik found that she had to outgrow the superficial “light and cute” aspects of her pop culture’s training (told by a first college professor, “Don’t ever try to do anything too serious”). But, by now there was “literate” rock and roll to help her on, “Bob Dylan, The Beatles,” from whom she got “that Dionysian, mystical power.” The poetry of academic journals had begun to pale for her: That’s the way I am a …
(Poem) We Belong Here by Mary Saracino

Mesa at Jemez Springs, New Mexico, photo credit: Mary Saracino We belong here. The seeds we sow, the harvest we reap create our cultural legacy, rooted in ancient memories of plants, and place, and people, woven together by time and heritage. We are of this earth, made of soil and soul. We are of this land, as much a part of it as the stones and trees, the sky and water. We share our stories to remember, bequeathing our inheritance to our sons and daughters, honoring our gifts, celebrating our intergenerational bonds. We belong here, and here belongs to us, our blood and bones, our minds and hearts, our eyes and hands, our sweat and tears, blessing the fields and one another forever and ever and ever. https://www.magoism.net/2013/05/meet-mago-contributor-mary-saracino
(Art) Apsara I and II by Lydia Ruyle
(Tribute) My Father becomes a Beaver by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright The year my father died I fell in love with beavers. All summer I watched them at dawn and dusk gnaw down the poplars, drag them to the plume, observing keenly how the trees slid so easily into the stream… as the kits grew, little furry heads accompanied their parents carrying whittled sticks in their mouths to help shore up their ever expanding lodge. I always sat quietly so some evenings around dusk the kits would swim right up to me. Occasionally one would slap a leathery flat tail before diving deep. When the ‘call’ came on All Hallows Eve my father sounded sad and resigned. He was being operated on for colon cancer that week. The shock of finding out so suddenly choked me up with grief so intense I could barely respond. He had told no one he had cancer. We hung up. A trip to NY and to*** the hospital was distressing. I saw my dad twice. The first time he barely acknowledged me; that night he looked into my eyes and called me “his girl,” words he had never used to describe me, his daughter, during our entire life – time together. Two days later, after returning to Maine, I awakened from a dream with the words, “your father has become a beaver” just as the phone rang. My father had died minutes before. A second frantic trip to NY was cut short. My mother had decreed there would be no funeral. If anyone needed to have a memorial of some kind it was my father who had spent his entire life doing his best to care about his family and other people. He was an extrovert that tried too hard to please. Although, sometimes overly kind in public, privately he had a problem with explosive rage. As a child I was terrified of him – I never knew when mindless chaos would erupt and it destroyed any sense of safety I might have had being with him (I so desperately needed to feel safe. I had been an unwanted child; almost aborted it turns out). Yet in retrospect, I remembered that my dad was the one who held my head while I was throwing up, carried me in his arms when I fell asleep after a long car trip. My father took me to the hospital, the circus, read to us at night, helped his children climb the circular stairs of the Statue of Liberty, bought me my first prayer book when I chose to become Episcopalian, told me that when he prayed it was always to Mary… It didn’t help that my mother and her family kept her children away from my father’s Italian family. We grew up with cousins, aunts and uncles we barely knew. My mother despised Catholics and Italians and made no secret of it (why did she marry one?). My little brother and I knew enough not to cross her, and sadly, aligned ourselves with our mother although secretly we never shared her beliefs. When my brother killed himself (‘myself’ – I wrote this word first by mistake – gives the reader an idea of how close we were) it was my father who went to see his dead son, who made every necessary arrangement. I stood by him. Helping. My father burned the Navajo Hogan my brother died in, in my parents driveway. I can still remember the smell of burning skins… My mother drove me out of the house at midnight. The morning after I returned home a pure white dove appeared on the ground along with the other mourning doves I routinely fed outside the window. A white dove? I had never seen one before. I had the uncanny sense that my father was trying to communicate with me through that bird, perhaps an aspect of Mary? The dove stayed only one day, leaving me if possible, more bereft when s/he left… When I spoke to my uncle Alex, my dad’s only surviving brother, he told me another even more incredible story. He was eating pasta one night when he bit into something hard. When he pulled the object out of his mouth it was a tiny white stone dove. We had been in the process of planning a Memorial service for my dad just before this happened. The seemingly miraculous presence of the dove sealed the rightness of what we were doing, although personally I had never had doubts and either had my aunt and uncle. As soon as my father was cremated and his ashes returned, my mother pawned them off on one of my sons who promptly gave them to me. No one wanted them. The Memorial service would be held in two months time. I called my mother to invite her. She screamed “you selfish girl” and I hung up. My father adored his two grandchildren. When I contacted my sons and they informed me they would not attend the Memorial service either I was sickened. I knew from personal experience the dark power of my mother’s ability to influence young people in a negative way. My children, who loved their grandfather deeply, were making a horrible mistake that they would come to regret for the rest of their lives if they ever woke up, and I knew it. Meanwhile, I placed the ashes on a table where shafts of light lit up the plain brown box almost all day long…My father loved the sun. The little prayer book that he had given me found its way to the top of the box. I kept it open to a passage that I poured over and over during my two- month vigil … “ in my father’s house there are many mansions…” I cleared a place within a copse of cedars for my dad’s ashes, dug a hole before it became impossible to do so…It was still November…I spent thanksgiving alone except for the beavers who I had been visiting all along until the week before …
(Poem) Forest by Susan Hawthorne

I have been thinking about climate grief recently and the effect that climate catastrophe is having on so many parts of the world, so many animals and the natural environment. My other worry is the terrible effect of crossing from the wild to the human in ways that should not be happening. Rainforests are not especially hospitable to humans and there is good reason for this. They are important sinks for the planet and for the health of biodiversity. The poem below begins with a saying from the Djiru people who are the traditional custodians of the land in Far North Queensland where I live. The poem was written after Category-5 Cyclone Larry in 2006 when we were battered by 300 kph winds. At that time, cassowaries were starving and locals cut fruit to put out so they wouldn’t starve. This photo was taken in May 2020 and we have not had a big cyclone since 2011. Photo by Susan Hawthorne Forest Casuarius casuarius johnsonii no wabu, no wuju, no gunduy no forest, no food, no cassowary ―Djiru saying. A girl goes into the forest the forest is a rainforest her guide is a cassowary the cassowary knows her way through the forest she knows all the fruits of the forest she is mistress of the forest the fruits are red blue orange green and yellow the girl must collect the fruit Along comes a big wind a wind that lifts and twists the trees round and round so that their trunks are spiralled the wind hauls trees out of the earth and throws them every which way the girl shelters under the heavy black feathers of the cassowary which pin her to the ground When the big wind has passed the girl is disoriented she no longer knows which way is up she hardly knows which is east or west which is sun which is moon clouds scud across the sky but they have lost their shapes no longer are there stories in the clouds just loss The cassowary tries to comfort the girl at first there is plenty of fruit fallen fruit native plum lilly pilly quandong the girl wanders behind disconsolately from time to time she nibbles at the rotting flesh but it soon sours the bitter seed takes over from the soft flesh As the days pass the cassowary must wander further and further afield she ventures into places she’s never been before followed by the girl soon the fruit is nowhere to be found the two sit down to wait for windfall quietly they drop into sleep quietly they die ‘Forest’ is from my collection Earth’s Breath. https://www.spinifexpress.com.au/shop/9781876756734?rq=Earth%27s%20Breath Please note: Spinifex Press has a new website, so old links might not work. Please check out the new site with a Medusa photo I took in Rome. https://www.magoism.net/2013/12/meet-mago-contributor-susan-hawthone/ (Meet Mago Contributor) Susan Hawthorne, Ph.D.
(Poem) The GODDESS in Transit by Abigail Ardelle Zammit

Photo by Abigail Ardelle Zammit [Author’s Note This poem is from the sequence You May Touch If You Like, published in Portrait of a Woman with Sea Urchin (SPM: London, 2015), which was the second prize winner of the Sentinel Poetry Book Competition. The Maltese Venus is a fertility Goddess variously known as ‘The Sleeping Lady’ and ‘The Fat Lady’, statues and figurines of which have been found in many Maltese Neolithic temples, amongst which, the Hypogeum of Ħal-Saflieni, a sanctuary and necropolis located in Paola, the earliest remains of which date back to 4000BC. You may read the whole Goddess sequence, as well as other poems set in Malta during WWII by purchasing the collection online: https://abigailardellezammit.net/poetry-books/] https://www.magoism.net/2023/05/meet-mago-contributor-abigail-ardelle-zammit/
(Essay) 36 Steps Toward a Gift Economy by Genevieve Vaughan

To change society we must think a different way about the world we live in: 1. We must realize that market exchange is not natural, real or necessary. It is an invention of patriarchy. The illusion that some religions find life to be is created by the disalignment of our behavior, and constructions of reality, with the deeper logic of nature. Women are more “natural” because they are in alignment with this logic while patriarchy is an aberration and an illusion. Our disalignment and refusal to practice and value this deeper logic create our unhappiness and our problems. 2. Realize that market exchange creates negative relations which foment isolation, competition, war and domination. 3. Understand that exchange – giving in order to receive an equivalent of What has been given – is artificial and is derived from a more fundamental behavior which has a logic of its own. This more fundamental behavior is gift giving, giving directly to satisfy needs. 4. Realize that gift giving creates positive relations, through direct need satisfaction which creates bonding, communication and community. 5. Exchange and gift giving constitute two ways of thinking and behaving that coexist but the gift giving way remains largely unconscious. Many problems derive from the co existence and interaction of these two logics and behaviors. 6. Exchange and gift giving constitute two paradigms or world views which compete with and complement each other. Exchange conceals gift giving, competes with it and takes advantage of its gifts. Gift giving gives in to exchange and gives value to it. Gift giving also often misrecognizes itself as valueless. 7. One of the ways gift giving is hidden in a society based on market exchange is by recognizing it only in mothering, charity, and forms of symbolic gift-exchange. For example this society likes to look at the basis of language as biological, a hard wiring of our brains. Gift giving can be seen as the basis of language at many levels, as the creation of human relations through the giving and receiving of verbal gifts, the mothering tongue. By restoring gift giving to the many areas of life in which it has been unrecognized and concealed, we can begin to bring the gift paradigm to consciousness and revise our thinking accordingly. Thus gift giving underlies the synonymity of language “meaning” and the meaning of “life”. 8. Life beyond the areas of mothering and charity seems to be governed by the ways of the “manhood agenda” which are overvalued. Nevertheless gift giving can be restored to our thinking. For example profit itself can be seen as a gift from the poor to the rich because it is constituted of surplus value, that part of the value of work not covered by the worker’s salary. Women’s free labor in the home, which would add some 40% to the GNP of the US (more in some other countries) can be seen as a gift of those practicing a gift economy to those practicing an exchange economy and to the whole system based on exchange. 9. Mothering and other types of free gift work are made difficult or even sacrificial by scarcity which is necessary for the functioning of the market. The scarcity is artificially created by the appropriation of the gifts of the many by the few, the gifts of poor countries by wealthy countries, the gifts of nature, the past and the future by the few for their profit in the present. The values of mothering are seen as unrealistic and devalued by misogyny. They are seen as the cause of suffering while women’s assertion of their suffering and the lack of satisfaction of their needs is seen as victimism. Rather the scarcity necessary for the market and the discounting of the gift Paradigm causes the suffering of women. 10. The exchange economy has values of objectification, fetishism etc and has always had a problem in distinguishing what is social from what is biological. This depends on its distress as a product of masculation which interprets a social “manhood” agenda as biologically fixed. Why has this happened? 11. Masculation: All humans are born dependent so someone must care for them unilaterally from their earliest childhood. Women have been assigned this role by society due to the social interpretation of their biological capacities as opposed to men’s. Until they learn language baby boys identify with their mothers and participate with them in giving and receiving. When they learn that they are in a category which is the opposite of their nurturing mothers they have to find – or create – an identity the basis of which is NOT being like their nurturing mothers – that is not gift giving. What they find is the manhood agenda: independence (as opposed to the interdependence of giving and receiving) competition (as opposed to cooperation) domination (as opposed to communication at the same level) stoicism (as opposed to emotion). This false agenda has been taken as the human agenda instead of mothering. It has been projected into our institutions and deeply influences the way we construct reality. 12. Emotions are the maps towards gift giving. Manhood requires dominating the emotions. So does the market. 13. Hitting, which also bridges the gap between people (though negatively) and is a way of creating relations (of dominance), is the masculated replacement for gift giving. It replaces gift giving at many levels from violence in the family to war. 14. Gift relations create community, males want the independence which seems to be given by the market. (Though if we extend our interpretation of gifts and recognition of needs we can see that we satisfy others need for independence by not giving to them.) The market supplies a post masculated way to do gift giving. It allows the head of the family to support the family with a salary, and to own and provide the means of giving, the means of production of gifts. Similarly capitalists own the means of production of commodities and the …
(Poetry) The Hawk and Squirrel in the Garden by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Carolyn Lee Boyd A summer snowfall of white feathers A dragon sleeping on a perfect square of suburb A cloudlike portal to a parallel mythic realm above heaven, Such were the ponderings of the weekend Gardener, The Divinely appointed caretaker of this tiny speck of soil, As she first spotted, while walking home from her office job, The mystery, the creature overspreading Half the grass leading up to her yellow-painted, Picket-fenced so ordinary house. What could it be? It was, in the Gardener’s eyes, so immense with its wings spread Appearing several times its actual size due to its creation Of a protective realm of sovereignty around itself Maybe an ancient shapeshifting fantasy So out of place She thought In her own homely and unconsecrated place and time. It was a hawk who rose from the grass and beneath, In its claws, a squirrel struggled. The Gardener witnessed the small being’s last few breaths While captive high above the Garden She had made in her backyard of fragrant herbs and flowers for smelling, Berries and nuts for feasting, soft beds of leaves for sleeping To entice through the gate Squirrels and chipmunks and woodchucks. Now thirty feet in the air and soaring to the west The hawk and its prey disappeared in the pastel blue sky. What the Gardener calls her Garden was once covered by glaciers Which receded, leaving an Arctic tundra That warmed and, at least 10,000 years ago, According to artifacts still emerging at just the right moment To tell the stories that need to be heard, Humans set their feet upon the ground to dwell, To live, to be birthed and give birth, to make stories and sing, and to die. First the land was hunted and fished Just enough to feed the First People who lived here. Then it was ripped open by European plows And planted with only apple trees, the animals, birds, insects, grasses Shut out by wire and wood fence, poisons and grasping tools. Finally, a century ago, after the house was built, The land was lovingly cultivated by Generations of women who each made it her own vision of paradise. The last in this line of women, the Gardener, Envisions the land to be a calm, peaceful, lovely place That embraces neither the fierce, majesty of the hawk Nor the violent death of the squirrel. I am the Spirit of this land, Holder of both the Gardener’s everyday realm And the almost infinitely complex world of the Garden’s Real nature and all the beings who live in it From bacteria to humans, from fern spores to maple trees three feet in diameter, from sparrows to owls. Propelled by the sight of the hawk and squirrel Into an instant of understanding that the Garden was not only What she had created and conceived it to be But also a place much more than she could imagine And all she had ever desired, I levitated the Gardener’s soul into the air And she saw her Garden with the eyes of the hawk. She witnessed, in her orderly beds, The native and storebought flowers and herbs planted by her own hand. And, amongst them, with wild abundance, More species than are known to human science Grown from seeds dropped from traveling birds or on the breeze Snakelike runners under the ground, roots burrowed deep in the soil Coming to life now that they are welcome. Woodchucks, foxes and cubs, squirrels, chipmunks, coyotes, and Millions of dragonflies, butterflies, mosquitoes, grubs, ladybugs Billions of one celled beings that are part of the Massive ecosystems that are plants and animals. All connected to hundreds or thousands of other beings by chemical communication By sound, taste, smell, and instinct and intuition. By my Spirit. The taking of the squirrel was just one of millions of interactions Exchanges of life and death that happen everyday so that The entire web may exist in balance and well being. Birth, growth, life, and decay, the dance that enlivens the universe Within that one-eighth acre landscape. She closed her eyes and began to truly listen To the cacophony of all the beings in that small area of ground Each with its own voice and its own rhythm Seemingly, each struggling to make itself heard Amongst the chaos of so many other beings. But then she listened even more deeply A united song began to emerge That of the Spirit of the Land itself. My Voice. All the rhythms and melodies of all the beings As well as the soil, air, sun, and water that call the Land home Emerged into one rhythm and melody. “I can hear it!” the Gardener exclaimed, “With my own ears, I can hear it!” She had heard it every day since she had moved into the house But never perceived it because She had been taught that no realm existed In the world of daily human life Where such a song could make galaxies far away reverberate. Then she heard her own voice And it was clearly a part of this symphony An essential element of the music and without it The Land’s song would be not just different But incomplete, not fully alive. She began to sing with her throat So anyone walking down the sidewalk On their way home from work or school could hear. She sang to the land, sang to it a love song and a lullaby A chant of praise and thanksgiving. She told the Land of her longing to be part of its true being for so long And all the while she had never been apart from it. The Land, My voice, listened and responded, altering its song to harmonize even more closely with hers. At that moment she knew what the Spirit of the Land was, Who I was. I am the relationship between all the living beings, I am that eternal aspect of them all, including the Gardener, That exists beyond physical birth, life, and death. I am …
(Poetry) Simple Poem by Phibby Venable

Maybe if I do it right, unlimited and loose Keep my arms outstretched in this oddly festive life A piano piece in my fingers slipping a note A gallery where the sun plays a brilliant touch of light. A tapestry unfolding, in and out of trees Morphing to a silent doe in a downpour of rain Long ago I urged my bones to bend with empathy I saw an ocean everywhere in the blue hills of fog I gazed across mountains, a dragon’s tail long. So much in the wetness, grateful toward birth Warm cocoons opening in breathlessness. https://www.magoism.net/2015/01/meet-mago-contributor-phibby-venable/

(Special Post 4) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing eight sequels (all nine parts) are a revised version of the discussion that has taken place in The Mago Circle, Facebook group, since September 24, 2017 to the present. Themes are introduced and interwoven in a somewhat random manner, as different discussants lead the discussion. The topic of the number nine is key to Magoism, primarily manifested as Nine Magos or the Nine Mago Creatrix. Mago Academy hosts a virtual and actual event, Nine Day Mago Celebration, annually.] Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Here is how Goma is known among the ancient Chinese. She is called The Mysterious Woman of the Nine Heavens (Jiutian xuannu). Nine Heavens refer to the confederacy of nine states, Danguk or Nine Hans. Statue of Jiutian Xuannü, Wikimedia Commons https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jiutian_Xuann%C3%BC Another icon of Jiutian Xuannu below. https://www.tinyatdragon.com/blogs/spiritual/jiu-tian-xuan-nu-mysterious-lady-of-the-nine-heavens?fbclid=IwAR0n1Ld6tmxqTec23Pzg3DxRjEQ-DbjdGF1DU_Jjlt4eMbHdTOO9Jd7ePnc Lizzy Bluebell: Oh – now I see what the Buddha riding the deer was carrying; her Gourd. A very interesting link, thanks.”…these statues in Taoism are not for worshipping or praying. They are like a container, a magic tool, which is used to program the energies into profiles and be used for different things in Taoist magic. The outsiders cannot understand too much, and so these “Taoist secrets” are often hidden from the public in the old days or even today.” Lizzy Bluebell: Very informative passage on the power of the NINE:”Nine is the pattern of giving off power, or using up the energies of things to give off powers, just like a flashlight burning it’s battery up for the light. Sky is the pattern that relates to any pool of resources or elements that are considered the proactive party that is “starting” something or the giving side of a situation.Remember that we talk about patterns in Taoism, and it applies to everything including our FU talismans words and these special terms like Jiu Tian / Gau Tin.A practical example for this term can be used as in if you are trying to go to the kitchen and cook something for lunch. Your “sky” here is all the things in the kitchen, and ground is the kitchen itself where you put the food into “process” them. So the 9-sky stage is to have picked out the food you like and let them show themselves to let you know which one is the best to use, maybe some just smell better or some look fresher to you. Nothing has been done yet, but you are now able to “start” something because you can at least feel and sense the food’s potentials and power.” Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Lizzy Bluebell, Oh it is gourd. Yes, I forgot about the gourd symbol for Mago/Magu. It is a container for the elixir from which one drinks. It is a common pictographic/literary theme and I have images of Magu with the gourd. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Lizzy Bluebell, this is one heuristic analogy. Ancient Magoists depicted/perceived the universe as Nine Heavens, an equivalent to Nine States on earth for it is the lens of Nine Numerology through which they saw everything. Because ancient China removed the history of Goma, they spiritualized/philosophized the teaching of Nine Numerology. If we have Goma’s history (and the mytho-history of Old Magoism), we can perceive the meaning of Nine Heavenly directly (not through theories or analogies). Wherever and whenever the consciousness of Nine Numerology surfaces is a manifestation of Goma’s rule/civilization/religion. This will remain forever insofar as humanity continues because Nine Numerology is the principle of nature including humans. I would say that the teaching/principle of Nine Numerology is Goma’s self-redemptive soteriological gift. Insofar as we understand and honor the Nine Mago Creatrix/Nine Numerology (the female divine in general), we are endowed with the power of self-redemption. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Lizzy Bluebell, the character “Xuan or Hyeon 玄” refers to the quality of gynocentric spirituality, which has been made esoteric or mystic. It refers to the spirituality of the Great Goddess (Magoist spirituality). Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Nine Hans or Nine Heavens manifests in such place-names as Kyūkoku (九国, Nine States). Kyushu (Nine Provinces) Island, Japan, seemingly a replica of Danguk (confederacy of nine states) representing the Nine Mago Creatrix, reflects the ancient glory of the Goma’s gynocentric rule. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kyushu Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Doumu (Mother of the Northern Dipper) also comes in the icon of eight arms. Doumu, Song Dynasty, Wikimedia Commons Domu, Wikimedia Commons https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doumu Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: She is often conflated with Marici seated on a boar in her iconography (affine to Gemu of the Mosuo and Durga on a tiger/lion). Here Marici is depicted as four-headed and eight-armed. Marici, Wikimedia Commons Marici (Buddhism) – Wikipedia Judy E Foster: So similar to the Indian Goddess… Helen Hye-Sook Hwang Indeed! I am afraid that we may not be able to feature some of the nine forms of Durga from “Hinduism”. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang There is more, Marici. Marici, Wikimedia Commons File:Marichi, Buddhist Goddess of Dawn, China, Qing dynasty, 18th… Marichi, Source below. Marichi (Buddhist Deity) – Kalpoktam (3 faces, 8 hands)… Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: This is new info. on the nine tripod caldrons of ancient China. “The Nine Tripod Cauldrons (Chinese: 九鼎; pinyin: Jiǔ Dǐng) were ancient Chinese ritual cauldrons. They were ascribed to the foundation of the Xia (c. 2200 bce) by Yu the Great, using tribute metal presented by the governors of the Nine Provinces of ancient China.[1] At the time of the Shang Dynasty during the 2nd millennium bce, the tripod cauldrons came to symbolize the power and authority of the ruling dynasty with strict regulations imposed as to their use. Members of the scholarly gentry class were permitted to use one or three cauldrons; the ministers of state (大夫, dàfū) five; the vassal lords seven; and only the sovereign Son of Heaven was entitled to use nine.[2] The use of the nine tripod cauldrons to offer ritual sacrifices to the ancestors from heaven and earth was a major ceremonial occasion so that by natural progression the ding came to symbolize national political power[3] and later to be regarded as a National Treasure. Sources state that two years after the […]
(Special post) Laurie Baymarrwangga, Senior Australian of the Year 2012

Posted with permission in Return to Mago on ‘Australia Day’, 26 January 2014 (Australian time), in recognition of the ill-treatment and misunderstanding of Aboriginal people that was set in train when, in 1788, white people first settled in the land now known as Australia.
(Special Post 6) Why Goddess Feminism, Activism, or Spirituality? A Collective Writing

[Editor’s Note: This was first proposed in The Mago Circle, Facebook Group, on March 6, 2014. We have our voices together below and publish them in sequels. It is an ongoing project and we encourage our reader to join us! Submit yours today to Helen Hwang (magoism@gmail.com). Or visit and contact someone in Return to Mago’s Partner Organizations.] Esther Essinger “Why Goddess, when “GD” is perpetrating so much grief? 1) First, it’s vital to know that Goddess is NOT “GD” in a skirt. It is demanded of NO one that they “believe” or “have faith”, so there can be no guilt (and no punishment! (No Hell below us, thank you John) in NOT choosing to interest oneself in these particular Stories, myths, legends and tales which center the Cosmic Female, the Universal Mother, Mother Earth /Mother Nature at their core. No evangelism happening here!

(Prose) Halcyon for the Season by Deanne Quarrie

A bird for this season is the Kingfisher, also known as the Halcyon. The Kingfisher is associated in Greek myth with the Winter Solstice. There were fourteen “halcyon days” in every year, seven of which fell before the winter solstice, seven after; peaceful days when the sea was smooth as a pond and the hen-halcyon built a floating nest and hatched out her young. She also had another habit, that of carrying her dead mate on her back over the sea and mourning him with a plaintive cry. Pliny reported that the halcyon was rarely seen and then only at the winter and summer solstices and at the setting of the Pleiades. She was therefore, a manifestation of the Moon-Goddess who was worshiped at the two solstices as the Goddess of Life in Death and Death in Life and, when the Pleiades set, she sent the sacred king his summons for death. Kingfishers are typically stocky, short-legged birds with large heads and large, heron-like beaks. They feed primarily on fish, hovering over the water or watching intently from perches and they plunge headlong into the water to catch their prey. Their name, Alcedinidae, stems from classical Greek mythology. Alcyone, Daughter of the Wind, was so distraught when her husband perished in a shipwreck that she threw herself into the sea. Both were then transformed into kingfishers and roamed the waves together. When they nested on the open sea, the winds remained calm and the weather balmy. Still another Alcyone, Queen of Sailing, was the mystical leader of the seven Pleiades. The heliacal rising of the Pleiades in May marked the beginning of the navigational year and their setting marked the end. Alcyone, as Sea Goddess protected sailors from rocks and rough weather. The bird, halcyon continued for centuries to be credited with the magical power of allaying storms. Shakespeare refers to this legend in this passage from Hamlet: Some say that ever ‘gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow’d and so gracious is the time. Hamlet, I, i 157 When I was a young mother, and my children were little, we lived in a house that had a creek in the back yard. There were small trees along the far bank of this creek and every day, a kingfisher would sit in the branches overlooking the creek. Sometimes he sat there very quietly for a very long time. Suddenly he would dive from his perch straight into the creek. Every time he did he came out and up into the air with a fish. It gave me great pleasure to watch him from my kitchen window. I love birds. I love learning about their habits because it teaches me ways of being that are closer to nature. I love drawing birds as well. When I was a young and more able, I was an avid bird watcher, out with my friends hoping for a sight never seen before. I love the story of the kingfisher and her connection to the Halcyon Days of the Winter Solstice. It is for most of us the busiest time of year. Whether it is for the Solstice or Christmas (often both) we are in a frenzy to get things done, making sure everything is just right and perfect. I celebrate the Winter Solstice. As a priestess, my days right now are very busy creating ritual. It is at the Solstice that many passage rites are happening with the women I work with. And of course, I celebrate with my family with our magical Yule Log each year. But I try to honor those seven days before and the seven days after by trying to have the frantic moments before the Halcyon Days begin and then even when busy, hold the peace and calm of that beautiful smooth sea in my mind. Peace and love and joy surrounding the Winter Solstice make it perfect. May the Peace of a Halcyon Sea be yours in this Solstice Season. Do hold the image of that little kingfisher in mind! Meet Mago Contributor, Deanne Quarrie
(Poem) Samhain by Annie Finch

In the season leaves should love, since it gives them leave to move through the wind, towards the ground they were watching while they hung, legend says there is a seam stitching darkness like a name. Now when dying grasses veil earth from the sky in one last pale wave, as autumn dies to bring winter back, and then the spring, we who die ourselves can peel back another kind of veil that hangs among us like thick smoke. Tonight at last I feel it shake. I feel the nights stretching away thousands long behind the days, till they reach the darkness where all of me is ancestor. I turn my hand and feel a touch move with me, and when I brush my young mind across another, I have met my mother’s mother. Sure as footsteps in my waiting self, I find her, and she brings arms that hold answers for me, intimate, waiting, bounty: “Carry me.” She leaves this trail through a shudder of the veil, and leaves, like amber where she stays, a gift for her perpetual gaze. From Eve (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 2010) (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch
(Music) Songs for Samhain by Alison Newvine

The season of Samhain is upon us. This playlist is an offering for this descent into the sacred darkness, and a companion for the journey into the underworld. Invocation of Witches features music by Loreena McKennitt, Marya Stark, Inkubus Sukubus, Wendy Rule, my band Spiral Muse, and many others. It is a soundtrack for ceremony and each song expresses a different face of the spirit of the witch. May this Samhain season guide you gently into the dissolution of what no longer serves, the honoring of what is complete and the cultivation of the inner space that will gestate what is yet to come. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2CFNoH9exhloz3w95P3Rlb?si=270cf01fabb8421c https://www.magoism.net/2023/10/meet-mago-contributor-alison-newvine/
The Passing of Last Summer’s Growth by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

The ‘passing of last Summer’s growth’ as is experienced and contemplated in the Season of Deep Autumn/Samhain, may be a metaphor for the passing of all/any that has come to fullness of being, or that has had a fullness, a blossoming of some kind, and borne fruit; and in the passing it has been received, and thus transforms. The ‘passing of last Summer’s growth’ may be in hearts and minds, an event or events, a period of time, or an era, that was a deep communion, now passed and dissolved into receptive hearts and minds, where it/they reside for reconstitution, within each unique being. Samhain is traditionally understood as ‘Summer’s end’: indeed that is what the word ‘Samhain’ means. In terms of the seasonal transitions in indigenous Old European traditions, Summer is understood as over when the Seasonal Moment of Lammas/Lughnasad comes around; it is the first marked transition after the fullness of Summer Solstice. The passing and losses may have been grieved, the bounty received, thanksgiving felt and expressed, perhaps ceremonially at Autumn Equinox/Mabon; yet now in this Season of Samhain/Deep Autumn it composts, clearly falls, as darkness and cooler/cold weather sets in, change is clearer. In the places where this Earth-based tradition arose, Winter could be sensed setting in at this time, and changes to everyday activity had to be made. In our times and in our personal lives, we may sense this kind of ending, when change becomes necessary, no longer arbitrary: and the Seasonal Moment of Samhain may be an excellent moment for expressing these deep truths, telling the deep story, and making meaning of the ending, as we witness such passing. What new shapes will emerge from the infinite well of creativity? And we may wonder what will return from the dissolution? What re-solution will be found? We may wonder what new shapes will emerge. In the compost of what has been, what new syntheses, new synergies, may come forth? Now is the time for dreaming, for drawing on the richness within, trusting the sentience, within which we are immersed, and which we are: and then awaiting the arrival, being patient with the fermentation and gestation. Seize the moment, this Moment – and converse with the depths within your own bodymind, wherein She is. Make space for the sacred conversation, the Conversing with your root and source of being, and take comfort in this presence. We may ponder what yet unkown beauty and wellness may emerge from this infinite well of creativity. The Samhain Moment in the Northern Hemisphere is 17:14 UT 7thNovember this year. Wishing you a sense of the deep communion present in the sacred space you make for this holy transition.
(Video) Autumn Equinox/Mabon Poetry by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

The Autumnal Equinox occurs each year in the range of March 20-23 in the Southern Hemisphere, and in the range of September 20 -23 in the Northern Hemisphere. Autumn Equinox is a point of sacred balance: it is the point of balance in the dark part of Earth’s annual cycle. Sun is equidistant between North and South as it was/is at Spring Equinox, but in this dark phase of the cycle, the trend is toward increasing dark. Henceforth the dark part of the day will exceed the light part: thus it is a Moment of certain descent … and a sacred Moment for feeling and contemplating the grief and power of loss, for ceremoniously joining personal and collective grief and loss with the larger Self in whom we are. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcZflKLkvP8 Below is the text of the video. It is based on the traditional poetry for PaGaian Autumn Equinox/Mabon ceremony[i]. This is the Moment of the Autumnal Equinox in our Hemisphere – the moment of balance of light and dark in the dark part of the cycle. The light and dark parts of the day in the South and in the North of our planet, are of equal length at this time. We feel for the balance in this moment – Earth as She is poised in relationship with the Sun … breathing in the light, swelling with it, letting our breath go to the dark, staying with it. In our part of Earth, the balance is tipping into the dark. We remember the coolness of it. This is the time when we give thanks for our harvests – all that we have gained. And we remember too the sorrows, losses involved. The story of Old tells us that Persephone, Beloved Daughter, is given the wheat from Her Mother – the Mystery, knowledge of life and death. She receives it graciously. But she sets forth into the darkness – both Mother and Daughter grieve that it is so. Demeter, the Mother, says: “You are offered the wheat in every moment … I let you go as Child, most loved of Mine: you descend to Wisdom, to Sovereignty. You will return as Mother, co-Creator with me. You are the Seed in the Fruit, becoming the Fruit in the Seed. Inner Wisdom guides your path.” We give thanks for our harvests – our lives they are blessed. We are Daughters and Sons of the Mother. Yet we take our Wisdom and all that we have gained, and remember the sorrows – the losses involved. We remember the grief of the Mother, of mothers and lovers everywhere, our grief. Persephone descends. The Beloved One is lost. Persephone goes forth into the darkness to become Queen of that world. She tends the sorrows. The Seed represents our Persephones, who tends the sorrows – we are the Persephones, who may tend the sorrows. We go out into the night with Her and plant our seeds. Persephone blesses us with her fertile promise: “You have waxed into the fullness of life, And waned into darkness; May you be renewed in tranquility and wisdom[ii].” These represent our hope. The Seed of life never fades away. She is always present. Blessed be the Mother of all life. Blessed be the life that comes from Her and returns to Her. We tie red threads on each other: we participate in the Vision of the Seed – of the continuity of Life, that continues beneath the visible. The Mother knowledge grows within us. Our hope is in the Sacred Balance of the Cosmos – the Thread of Life, the Seed that never fades away: it is the Balance of Grief and Joy, the Care that we may feel in our Hearts. NOTES: [i] Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology, p. 239-247. [ii] Charlene Spretrnak, Lost Goddesses of Early Greece, p. 116. REFERENCES: Livingstone, Glenys. PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. NE: iUniverse, 2005. Spretnak, Charlene. Lost Goddesses of Early Greece: a Collection of Pre-Hellenic Myths. Boston: Beacon Press, 1992/1978.
The Ceremonial Creative Cosmos by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an excerpt from Chapter 3 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. The Cosmos is a ceremony, a ritual. Dawn and dusk, seasons, supernovas – it is an ongoing Event of coming into being and passing away. The Cosmos is always in flux, and we exist as participants in this great ritual event, this “cosmic ceremony of seasonal and diurnal rhythms” which frame “epochal dramas of becoming,” as Charlene Spretnak describes it.[i] Swimme and Berry describe the universe as a dramatic reality, a Great Conversation of announcement and response.[ii]Ritual/ceremony[iii] may be the human conscious response to the announcements of the Universe – an act of conscious participation. Ceremony then may be understood as a microcosmos[iv] – a human-sized replication of the Drama, the Dynamic we find ourselves in. Swimme and Berry describe ritual as an ancient response humans have to the awesome experience of witnessing the coming to be and the passing away of things; they say that a “ritual mode of expression” is from its beginning “the manner in which humans respond to the universe, just as birds respond by flying or as fish respond by swimming.”[v] It is the way in which we as humans, as a species, may respond to this awesome experience of being and becoming, how we may hold the beauty and the terror. Humans have exhibited this tendency to ritualize since the earliest times of our unfolding: evidence so far reveals burial sites dating back one hundred thousand years, as mentioned in the previous chapter. We often went to huge effort in these matters, that is almost incomprehensible to the modern industrialised econocentric mind: the precise placing of huge stones in circles such as found at Stonehenge and the creation of complex sites such as Silbury Hill may be expressions of some priority, indicating that econocentric thinking – such as tool making, finding shelter and food, was not enough or not separate from the participation in Cosmic events. Ritual seems to have expressed, and still does actively express for some peoples, something essential to the human – a way of being integral with our Cosmic Place, which was not perceived as separate from material sustenance, the Source of existence: thus it was a way perhaps of sensing “meaning” as it might be termed these days – or “relationship.” Swimme and Berry note that the order of the Universe has been experienced especially in the seasonal sequence of dissolution and renewal; this most basic pattern has been an ultimate referent for existence.[vi] The seasonal pattern contains within it the most basic dynamics of the Cosmos – desire, fullfilment, loss, transformation, creation, growth, and more. The annual ceremonial celebration of the seasonal wheel – the Earth-Sun sacred site within which we tour – can be a pathway to the Centre of these dynamics, a way of making sense of the pattern, a way of sensing it. One enters the Universe’s story. The Seasonal Moments when marked and celebrated in the art form of ceremony may be sens-ible ‘gateways’ through the flesh of the world[vii] to the Centre – which is omnipresent Creativity. Humans do ritual everyday – we really can’t help ourselves. It is simply a question of what rituals we do, what story we are telling ourselves, what we are “spelling”[viii] ourselves with – individually and collectively. Ceremony is actually ‘doing,’ not just theorizing. We can talk about our personal and cultural disconnection endlessly, but we need to actually change our minds. Ceremony can be an enabling practice – a catalyst/practice for personal and cultural change. It is not just talking about eating the pear, it is eating the pear; it is not just talking about sitting on the cushion (meditating), it is sittingon the cushion. It is a cultural practice wherein we tell a story/stories about what we believe to be so most deeply, about who and what we are. Ceremony can be a place for practicing a new language, a new way of speaking, or spelling – a place for practicing “matristic storytelling”[ix] if you like: that is, for telling stories of the Mother, of Earth and Cosmos as if She were alive and sentient. We can “play like we know it,” so that we may come to know it.[x] Ceremony then is a form of social action. NOTES: [i] Spretnak, States of Grace, 145. [ii] Swimme and Berry, The Universe Story, 153. [iii] I will use either or both of these terms at different times: I generally prefer “ceremony” as Kathy Jones defines it in Priestess of Avalon, Priestess of the Goddess, 319. She says that ritual involves a repeated set of actions which may contain spiritual or “mundane” elements (such as a daily ritual of brushing one’s teeth), “whereas ceremony is always a spiritual practice and may or may not include ritual elements.” The PaGaian seasonal celebrations/events are thus most kin to “ceremony,” although I do not perceive any action as “mundane.” However, “ritual” is more commonly used to speak of how humans have conversed with cosmos/Earth. [iv] Spretnak, States of Grace, 145. [v] Swimme and Berry, The Universe Story, 152-153. [vi] Ibid. [vii] Abram speaks of “matter as flesh” in The Spell of the Sensuous, 66, citing Maurice Merleau-Ponty, The Invisible and the Invisible (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1968). [viii] Starhawk used this term on her email list in 2004 to describe the story-telling we might do to bring forth the changes we desire. [ix] A term used by Gloria Feman Orenstein in The Reflowering of the Goddess (New York: Pergamon Press, 1990), 147. [x] As my doctoral thesis supervisor Dr. Susan Murphy once described it to me in conversation REFERENCES: Abram, David. The Spell of the Sensuous. New York: Vintage Books, 1997. Jones, Kathy. Priestess of Avalon, Priestess of the Goddess. Glastonbury: Ariadne Publications, 2006. Orenstein, Gloria Feman. The Reflowering of the Goddess. New York: Pergamon Press, 1990. Spretnak, Charlene. States of Grace: The Recovery of Meaning in the Postmodern Age. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1993. Swimme, Brian and Berry, Thomas. The Universe Story: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era. New York: HarperCollins, 1992.

(Book Excerpt 3) The Mago Way: Re-discovering Mago, the Great Goddess from East Asia

[Author’s Note: The following is from Chapter 8, The Consciousness of WE/HERE/NOW.] The Budoji stories the primordial drama of Mago’s beginning. It furnishes a yet-to-be-heard story of the beginning of the Great Goddess, the taboo story in patriarchy. It is the story of the Creatrix that patriarchy has attempted to erase. It can be temporarily forgotten but can never die because it is the story that is at the root of patriarchy. Ultimately, it is The Story that is happening HERE and NOW. The merit of the Magoist Cosmogony lies in the fact that it, through storying, restores the view of the whole, the macrocosmic view of the All. The holistic view necessarily involves the Great Goddess or the First Mother in that S/HE is the Creatrix. Time is not a linear concept, flowing from one end to the other. Time is the unified Present, happening NOW. It may be said that time is circular or cyclic, as all beings are constantly in motion to enhance the process of self-creation, which causes the whole to change ceaselessly. The Present hosts an infinite number of stories that take place in the undividable One Space HERE. The beginning of the Great Goddess is still happening and we are invited to re-cognize HER STORY in the HERE and NOW. The beginning is a process, not a single isolated event that took place in the remote past.[i] All things exist in the process of becoming HERE and NOW as part of WE. Put differently, the beginning of the Great Goddess is the LIVE SCENE/DRAMA/STORY. We are part of HER STORY. Mago’s beginning is the heart that pumps fresh blood to the body of the terrestrial becoming. The beginning of the Great Goddess is still taking place HERE/NOW. The terrestrial beginning is attributed to the Great Goddess who is self-born through the sonic movement of cosmic light. The beginning story of the Great Goddess is no ordinary one. It is of power and truth, that is, metamorphic. It provides the original text to the meaning of “salvation.” HER Beginning that is happening HERE/NOW holds all from falling into cacophony. For one thing, it delivers us from the patriarchal misconception of ultimate reality that does away with the Creatrix. The holistic view of the Creatrix is capable of saving us from misconceptions and misconduct. Ultimately, it guides us to live our life in harmony with the whole, HERE/NOW. The Magoist Cosmogony engenders the consciousness that WE ARE HERE/NOW. The universe is existent without beginning or end. In one ever-existing reality, things ceaselessly appear and disappear in relation to one another on all levels. All things are in the constant movement of autogenesis striving to arrive at a new position of balance. S/HE IS HERE/NOW telling us the STORY of WE. That is the source of our metamorphosis. Notes: [i] Process thought founded by Alfred North Whitehead, Charles Hartshorne, and John B. Cobb shares a common premise on that regard, although it does not associate ultimate reality with the Creatrix. (See Book Excerpt 1 and Book Excerpt 2. Available in Mago Bookstore.) Meet Mago Contributor, Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.
(Mago Almanac Basics 1) What is the Magoist Calendar? by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Author’s Note: I have created 13 basics of Mago Almanac, which are included in Mago Almanac Planner for Personal Journey: 13 Month 28 Day Calendar (Volume 6), Year 6 or 5920 MAGOMA ERA (Equivalent to 2023 CE). These 13 basics constitute the backbone of Magoist Cetaceanism as well.] It is a 13 month 28 day luni-menstrual-solar calendar of Old Magoist Korea. Insofar as one year marks about 365.25 days, a time taken for the earth to revolve around the sun, it is a solar calendar. The fact that both the moon and the female menstruation cycle mark 28 days, which makes 13 months or 364 days for one year. This makes approximately 1.25 a surplus. Thus, we have days outside the calendar grid. Each year has one extra day on the day before the New Year’s day. The New Year of Year 1 or 5915 Magoma Era was set on the new moon date before Winter Solstice in 2018 by the Gregorian Calendar. With one extra day, the year makes 365 days. Given that the actual period of the Earth’s revolution is approximately 365.25 days, we have the second extra day every fourth year. Setting aside the extra days, we have 364 days for one year. 364 days divided by 28 days is 13. That is how we have 13 months in a year. The Magoist Calendar championing the matricentric worldview is the very indication that our Mother Earth is stabilized in her own voyages. https://www.magobooks.com/update-on-mago-books/mago-almanac-13-month-28-day-calendar-book-a/ https://www.magoism.net/2013/07/meet-mago-contributor-helen-hwang/
(Essay) Reviving and Celebrating the Nine-Goddess Symbolism by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

In my ongoing research on the Great Goddess known as Mago, I have discovered the number nine gynocentric symbolism as the most prominent current that constitutes Magoism and named it the Nona (Number Nine) Mago religion/civilization/mythology. Like other civilizational inventions such as the calendar and musicology, numerology is an intellectual system of knowing the Way of Nature/Universe/Creatrix. And the number nine is no arbitrary number but is the numeric code of the Creatrix or the Primordial Mother. It codifies the cosmogonic beginning of the Primordial Mother, that is, the Primordial Mago Household. It refers to the primordial principle of the solar/terrestrial beginning.