January 25, 2016October 2, 2019 RTM Editor

(Essay) Deeper Down Under: and Moonwalking on Uluru, by Taffy (Robert) Seaborne

This essay was originally written by the author in Spring of 2006, and was published in Gaian Voices Volume 4, Number 3 & 4

Uluru - sacred centerAustralia — Uluru – sacred centre Australia

Uluru Kata Tjuta National Park is a World Heritage Area listed for both its natural and cultural values, yet many living outside Australia still only know it by its European name – Ayers Rock. Here, even during a brief stay of only a few days, visitors can and do experience a profound sense of being in a sacred place. For the Anangu, traditional owners of Uluru, and for others who are fortunate enough to live in its presence, and who choose to dwell there in a receptive manner, it can be a place for deepening awareness of the manta – the Earth, as sacred.

Most of Uluru’s quartz-like mass is buried to a depth of almost 6 kilometres beneath the surface of the desert. Its awesome above ground appearance presents less than one percent of its total mass, but is nevertheless unlike any other natural feature throughout the vast landscape of Central Australia. Located about 400 kilometres South West of Alice Springs in the Northern Territory, it is not an easy place to get to. From any major Australian city it requires either several days travel by road, or a flight is usual via Alice Springs, then onto the Yulara tourist resort situated just 30 kilometres from the great monolith.

I was fortunate enough to be one of those piranpa – non-Anangu, ‘whitefellas’ – who got to live at Mititjulu, a community that emerged in response to Uluru’s growing popularity as a tourist attraction. As an employee of the Australian National Parks and Wildlife Service I lived close enough to be able to see Uluru from our kitchen window and I drove alongside it to work most mornings for about five years. I lost count of the number of times I climbed Uluru in the course of my work. On one occasion I climbed it during the light of a full moon, looking for so called ‘new age’ trespassers, but I soon lost any desire of meeting let alone apprehending trespassers: being on top of Uluru that night was as close as I could imagine to actually walking on the moon itself. On other occasions, as part of a rescue training program, I landed on and took off from a helipad on top of Uluru, and once I accepted an invitation to fly with the camera crew that filmed a Qantas promotion, wherein one of their commercial passenger jets does a tight and dramatic turn over the top of Uluru. These were amazing and unusual interactions for anyone to have with Australia’s most popular icon.

One evening while on what we called the sunset patrol, I had a most exhilarating interaction with another species. The last tourist had long since reached the bottom of ‘the climb’ and I was alone on top of Uluru watching Sun slowly disappear behind Kata Tjuta – ‘The Olgas’ as they are named by Europeans, about 30 kilometres to the West. I first heard the flapping of its wings, then a few seconds later it took my breath away and my knees began to shake. I was being circled and focused on by the greatest of Central Australia’s hunters walawuru – the wedge-tailed eagle. It had swept up from a gorge behind me and as it circled directly above me it came close enough for me to see the brown of its eyes. I dropped onto my knees as if wanting to worship such an awesome creature, but it was more a case of deep respect, as well as awe and a tinge of fear. I also felt that being in walawuru’s domain after sunset was not what the great eagle wanted. Some months later a similiar interaction took place between walawuru and me. On this occasion I was sitting, again alone at the top of Uluru and watching Sun going down over the horizon – Earth turning: walawuru circled, without moving in for closer scrutiny, and this time I didn’t feel unwelcome – it felt like an amicable interaction.

These walawuru and other airborne Uluru experiences were for me, doorways into gaining a far more embodied and profound consciousness of the other-than-human. There was also an opening to a particular cave at the base of Uluru wherein much awaited me: a remembering of my childhood ways of knowing and being – a remembering of the sense that everything belonged to me and anything was possible. I found there what I called my ‘Selfplace’. Nowadays I reflect on that time and space as my desert pilgrimage, the beginning of a new way of relating to other and all-that-is.

After living at Uluru for five years as Park Manager, I left that position and was able to enjoy the relative freedom of a less formal and demanding role as Senior Project Officer on the Anangu Pitjantjatjara Lands, about 300 kilometres south of Uluru. During the following three years on these AP lands I was able to ritualise my return visits to Uluru and seriously cultivate a deeper relationship with what I now understand to be one of Gaia’s most sacred places.

These ritualised return visits to Uluru in general, and to my chosen cave in particular, were the beginning of a lengthy and intense process of remembering how to listen to the manta – to Earth, and it is where I found my ‘Story Stone’, Ngayulu puli tjukur(pa). This was decades after my Welsh mother Dilys first introduced me to stone consciousness using fossils on Penarth beach – my favourite childhood playground. I received my Story Stone as an act of generosity from the subtle realms of a cosmic consciousness. I share this story in the belief that the first act of ngapartji-ngapartji (Pitjantjatjara for ‘a deep reciprocity’) is that of receiving.

Experiences with my Story Stone were instrumental in leading me to find both the strangest, and most beautiful, attractors in my life: the first – my strange attractor – was my arrival at the University of Western Sydney, where I was able to make some sense of the cultural interface from which I was emerging. There I met my beloved Glenys Livingstone – my beautiful attractor: together we are greatly inspired to carefully listen to teachers such as Thomas Berry when he says

The dawn and sunset are moments when the numinous source of all existence is experienced with special sensitivity. …Living things come into being, flourish then fade from the scene. This ever-renewing sequence of sunrise and sunset, of seasonal succession, constitutes a pattern of life, a great liturgy, a celebration of existence. …Such sensitivity to the powers of the universe resulted from the experience of the benign and fearsome forces surrounding the human community. …This sense of a benign universe found expression in the Navaho expression to ‘go in beauty’.[1]

My Story Stone and the tjukurpa – religious philosophy, of Central Australia opened new ways of knowing and being for me. It continues to be a great source of wisdom and guidance for me and my beloved Glenys as we deepen into our ‘PaGaian Cosmology’, a new and homely Earth-based Goddess religion.

The Central Australian religious observances have been described as showing

a generous diversity in their outward patterns from group to group, and from person to person. More importantly, the very nature of the religious beliefs prevented the rise of that particular kind of religious fanaticism which could have swept a small, but well organised body of men into a position of authoritarian power over a large community.[2]

Such religious practice of the people of this Land inspires me, and undergirds my observance of the seasonal celebrations of my own ancestors – re-created in this place.

Our time to celebrate Eostar – Spring Equinox – approaches. It is the season for a particular kind of ‘deepening down under’. As my beloved Glenys would say:

This is the time of Spring’s return … The story of Old tells us that Persephone beloved daughter, returns from Her journey to the underworld. Demeter stretches out her arms – to receive and rejoice. The beloved One, the Lost One, returns with new Wisdom from the depths.[3]

© Robert Seaborne (2006)

Notes:

[1] Thomas Berry, The Great Work, p. 177-78.

[2] T.G.H. Strehlow, Central Australian Religion, p. 47.

[3] Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion, p.210.

Taffy Seaborne is a former manager of Uluru (Ayers Rock) National Park, Australia’s most popular Indigenous icon. He now lives with his partner Glenys Livingstone in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney where they hold a sacred space – and have built MoonCourt – for celebrating the seasonal wheel of the year as it unfolds in the Southern Hemisphere.

See Meet Mago Contributor Robert (Taffy) Seaborne.

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(Essay) Counting to Three by Hearth Moon Rising

The following is an excerpt from Divining with Animal Guides: Answers from the World at Hand by Hearth Moon Rising, recently published by Moon Books. It is available online in paperback or ebook form and at your bookstore. When I was beginning my study of the occult I was taught to avoid even numbers in favor of the odd. Odd numbers allow for continuity, I was told. In ceremonies of some Native American tribes I observed that leaders tended to avoid odd numbers and favored the numbers four, six, and twelve. Even numbers provide stability, I was told. When I began studying feminist witchcraft I was told the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) were patriarchal because they were dualistic, and therefore inevitably fell into harmful dichotomies of good/evil, heaven/hell, enlightenment/ignorance, etc. While exploring Taoist spirituality I learned that the number two was complementary, simultaneously creating the paradoxical qualities of tension and balance, thereby leading to wisdom. When I looked into Vedic philosophy the number two was out (dualism again) and the number three was exalted because it described the infinity inherent in the cycles of creation, sustenance, and destruction. Numeric philosophy differs according to ethnicity, and there are obvious pitfalls in naively mixing and matching symbology without respecting the underlying structures. At the same time, what strikes me about the above scenarios is that they do reflect a common understanding about the nature of numbers, with the differences more reflective of cultural values than with disagreements about the basic qualities of numbers themselves. This is to be expected, since numbers themselves are real things, not cultural constructs, even if the language of mathematics is constructed. A dozen eggs is a dozen eggs, anywhere in the universe. Stating a preference for odd numbers as agents of “continuity” is professing a value for progress over tradition. Using odd versus even numbers in your shamanic practice depends on whether you view your work as promoting change or maintaining balance. Western magical traditions are built on number systems with European, Semitic, Sumerian, and Egyptian origins. Semitic cultures revere the number two, European the number three, Egyptian the number four, and Sumerian the number seven, although these systems do not revolve around a single number. If you’re thinking this could get complicated, you’re right, but we will concentrate on basic qualities of the numbers themselves and avoid getting unduly bogged down in cultural contradictions. One This is the number for the all-that-is: Creator, Goddess, or Great Mother. The wholeness of the number one is exemplified in the circle, which has no angles or sides; no beginning or end. The fundamental reality of the number one is easy to grasp intellectually, even if it is harder to understand experientially. This number must be feminine, since it contains everything and gives birth to all other numbers by division of itself. In other words, one is the parthenogenetic number. The majority of numeric systems seem to divide numbers into masculine and feminine, a practice I disagree with, but with the first number the feminine is inescapable. The number one will usually not be relevant in a predictive sense, unless you run across an individual animal that is usually paired or grouped. Then you must ask yourself, why only one? Two This is a highly unique number, because it is the only positive whole number that does not exist in the scope of totality. When one splits itself into two parts there are now two entities individually, plus the entities as a whole, making three. This is synthesis, in Taoist terms the resolution of Yin and Yang. Two is the polarity that as a whole becomes a unified field. Two is the number of the couple, yet in marital counseling the therapist views the relationship as an important third element rather than conceptualizing the couple as two individuals. Despite what I said earlier about even numbers being more stable, two is a highly unstable number. Think of a teeter totter or a pendulum: this number seeks balance but is easily pushed into disequilibrium. Two is the number of the twins, who seek both association and individuation. Stories of divine twins abound in mythology around the world. So do stories of divine couples. Before monotheism won out, the Hebrew ruling divinity was a mother-father pair, El and Asherah. The concept of masculine and feminine divinity reasserted itself later in Jewish mysticism with the Kabbalah. Another common pairing in Western mythology is mother-child (Frigga and Baldur; Demeter and Persephone) and same-sex friends (Gilgamesh and Enkidu; Athena and Pallas). With the number two, think attraction, repulsion, resolution, individuation, sameness, opposites, and a lot of contradictory concepts that are hard to wrap your mind around. I said it was an unstable number. It is also the only even prime number. Although some numbers, such as one, three, and nine, will have strong Goddess associations, I caution against automatically applying a masculine/feminine dichotomy to numbers. The number one as the totality of everything must be female, or there could be no birth; otherwise, there is no fundamental reason for sexing a number. Three Now we get to the critical number for those of European heritage, possible proof that pagan programming endures underneath all that Christianization. Ask a Jehovah’s Witness for their thoughts on the word “trinity” and you’re bound to get an earful. The Father/Son/Holy-Ghost triad (“God in Three Persons; Blessed Trinity,” as we sang in church when I was growing up) has no scriptural basis and was introduced because Europeans simply could not stop thinking in threes. “Why do we always give three referrals,” a social work colleague of mine mused aloud one day. “Why don’t we give two or four or five?” The answer is, because of the three blind mice, and the three little pigs, and the third time’s the charm. There, I just gave three answers to a question with three parts; try to stop thinking and talking in threes for three days and you’ll understand how pervasive this …
(Tribute) Catherine the Lion-Hearted by Harriet Ann Ellenberger

Where She Came From Catherine Nicholson (no middle name) was born in Troy, a small town in the Scottish Presbyterian sandhills region of North Carolina, on August 7, 1922, but her father Mike, the town druggist, registered her birth as August 8th. Catherine celebrated both days. When Catherine was four, her older sister, Edna Earle, died at home from an overdose of morphine given her during an asthma attack by a new doctor in town. The morphine had come from Mike’s drugstore, a hard fact which Catherine’s mother never forgave. She took to her bed for a year, and during that year taught Catherine to read. Catherine’s head-start on schooling and her love for literature were born out of her mother’s unassuageable grief. To escape the thunderclouds at home, Catherine spent much of her time outside the house. She read the magazines and drank cherry cokes at the soda fountain in her father’s drugstore, and watched every Hollywood movie that came to town – for free, in her uncle’s movie theatre. She played long hours with Nancy and other friends in the neighborhood: one of their best games was Plike (short for “play like you’re x … “), a form of theatre that didn’t require adult supervision or resources. And, when her mother didn’t intervene in time, Catherine gave her toys to the other children. Moving Out into a Wider World Catherine Nicholson, Flora MacDonald College graduation Catherine graduated from a small woman’s college near Troy that had been named after the 18th-century Jacobite heroine Flora MacDonald, remembered by the Scots for her courage, fidelity, and honor. Then Catherine went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill for a master’s in English literature. She taught in Winston-Salem, and later showed me the campus where she’d asked WH Auden to read. He arrived on the train from New York City, and she and her roommate invited all the beautiful, intelligent young men they knew for him to converse with. Catherine herself was working seriously on poems, but Auden never knew that. Catherine never told me when and why her passion shifted from words on the page to live theatre, but she took the extraordinary step of moving alone from North Carolina to Chicago, to study at Northwestern University under the great acting teacher Alvina Krause. Catherine earned an MA and a PhD in theatre and oral interpretation at Northwestern, writing her dissertation on the role of the chorus in Greek tragedy. It was during those years in the Midwest that Catherine made three discoveries which would shape her life until its closing: she discovered that, though she made a good actor, she made an even better director; she discovered the books of Jane Ellen Harrison, intellectual revolutionary who uncovered the violent destruction of female-centered culture which lay at the root of Western civilization; and she discovered Barbara, then an undergraduate in sociology at Northwestern and Catherine’s first real love. Making Theatre Live When I met her at the Charlotte Women’s Center in 1974, Catherine had directed university theatre for nearly twenty years, first at Randolph-Macon Woman’s College in Virginia, then at the new branch of the University of North Carolina in Charlotte, where she and the painter Maud Gatewood had begun the interdisciplinary arts program. I knew that the old lovers and friends she introduced me to thought she was a great director, but I had no idea what that meant until after we were living together and she was directing what would be her final play at UNCC, “Twelfth Night,” cast irrespective of sex. I listened to her anguish night after day after night, and I watched as she created a whole world; I watched her slowly give that world over to the actors; and I watched her withdraw to let the actors in turn make that world live for their audience. I saw how what she did caused everyone touched by it to rise far above their ordinary selves. And I saw what happened when the play was done, the collapse of the collective extraordinary back into the individual ordinary. How We Got Together and Catherine Left the University Catherine had become fascinated with me by reading my journal (she could quote chunks of it verbatim), and I had become fascinated with her by listening to her talk. Catherine’s mind was a library, and she could talk a blue streak – from morning coffee, when she would recount fabulously detailed, richly theatrical dreams, to the last drop of bourbon nearly twenty hours later. She was fifty-three, she was at the top of her game professionally, and she drank a lot. I was twenty-eight, I lived and breathed revolution and the Charlotte Women’s Center, and I was career-less, unless you counted a part-time job as a technical writer. We were in complete agreement that an ongoing love relationship would be a terrible idea. We were in complete agreement that my moving into her house would produce a catastrophe. We agreed completely, and then in early 1975, we went ahead and did it anyway. After the “Twelfth Night” performances a few months later, Catherine left her tenured teaching position, explosively. In practical terms, she could have stayed. The administration was upset about the sex discrimination suit she’d filed, but they still needed her. The gay male artists who surrounded her like a Judy-Garland fan club were alarmed by the women’s center and by me, but, given time and reassurance, they would have come around. The real reason she left, I think now, was that she had reached the limits of what the patriarchal theatre tradition could do. She’d directed Greek tragedy, knowing that the stories the old plays told were stories of the defeat of women. She’d directed Shakespeare, playing with gender roles even more than he had. She’d directed Brecht and Ibsen and Strindberg and the first North American production of Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot.” She’d been there, she’d done that, and she wanted to create something new. An …
(Bell Essay 2) Ancient Korean Bells and Magoism by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

Part II Overall Structure and Parts of the Ancient Korean Bell The ancient Korean bell takes on the female form figuratively. In other words, its female implication is expressed symbolically rather than descriptively. Unlike the ancient Greek bell that literally depicts a woman’s body (See Bell Essay 1), the ancient Korean bell characterizes female anatomy with symbols and designs. Neither limbs nor a human face is seen. Instead, breasts and nipples are stylized. The head is represented by a dragon. The belly is adorned with the relief of celestial nymphs. The female symbology that the bell invokes is not limited to the material body of the bell only, however. The legend of a female child sacrifice to the casting of the bell should be taken in the light of its female symbology. Likewise, the inscription made on the Sangwonsa Jong indicating that the commissioner was a woman needs to be taken into consideration. Foremost, the Magoist cosmogony that attributes cosmic music to ultimate creativity holds the key to unlock the very purpose of the bell: The bell is created to sound the Call of Mago, the Great Goddess. Visualizing Her, the bell emits the Sound of Mago for which its sacredness is explained. The bell, if we call it Buddhist, redefines Buddhism, Korean Buddhism, to be precise. It calls people to the arcane knowledge of the female origin. These points are to be discussed in more detail in the forthcoming sequels. In this part, I discuss the overall structure of the bell and examine some major characteristics of its parts. An ancient Korean bell consists of two parts: the bell’s body (jongsin) and the dragon loop (yongnu). The bell’s body part includes the Nipples, the Bell Breast, the Breast Circumference, Bell’s Belly, Celestial Nymphs, Bell’s Mouth, the Striking Seat, the Heavenly Plate, the Upper Support, and the Lower Support. And the dragon loop part includes the Dragon Loop and the Dragon Tube (Sound Tube). In addition, the piece of wood (mallet) that is designed to strike the bell on Dangjwa (Striking Seat) is called Dangmok (the Striking Wood). It also requires an Ullimtong (Depressed Ground for Sound Transmission) for the sound waves to travel. Each part, as a microcosm, adds to the beauty and function of the bell. Images sculpted including foliage, flower, lotus, humans, celestial nymphs, breasts, nipples, and dragon are achieved in sophistication. Artistic mastery is sublime. Behold! The bell is a metaphor of not only the body of a woman, the vulva in particular, but also what she is, her purpose! The bell transforms the female to the divine, the Goddess. Now I invite the reader to take note of the overall shape of the bell made in the form of a large Korean crock (hangari) placed upside down. The curved line drawn from top to bottom with the diameter of its mouth smaller than that of the belly is another distinguishing feature. In fact, there are quite a few features that distinguish ancient Korean bells from the bells of China and Japan. The parts that I illustrated above, in particular the nine Nipples, the Bell Breast, the Dragon Tube, Celestial Nymphs, and the Striking Seat, are its representative characteristics. As a percussion instrument, the ancient Korean bell epitomizes precision and sophistication. Everything contained on the surface of the bell is made to resonate with the inner hollow to maximize the travel of sound waves. As shown below in the figure, even the metal residue remaining on the inner wall plays a key role, creating the sound waves. Without those irregular lumps, the sound will have a far lower frequency making fewer waves. In other words, the rough surface of the inner hollow is intentional. Beauty and functionality are conjoined to create the sound of the Goddess. Functional parts such as the Dragon Loop, Dragon Tube (or Sound Tube), and the Striking Seat are seamlessly integrated with the artistry. The Dragon Loop is there to represent the divinity of the Goddess and at once to be used as a hook for hanging. The Dragon Tube open-ended upward is there to vent out the impurity of the sound. When all is said and done, it is designed not just to please the eye but to awaken the mind to seek. The bell in its mesmerizing beauty wakes up the mind of people, otherwise made dull or dormant under patriarchal inflictive routines. Buddhists might say that the reality to which the sound calls is “the way things are” or “suchness.” However, such understanding is only a tingle of the patriarchal mind that refuses to hear the deeper call. The bell awakens people to the reality of the Goddess. Each striking carries the pulse of Mago, the Great Goddess. Sources: Norugwi. [http://blog.daum.net/euijj31/11296149] Cultural Heritage Administration [http://www.cha.go.kr/main/KorIndex!korMain.action] Sin Hyeongjun. “Why is the Sound of Bell beautiful? The Delicacy of the Striking Spot… The Uneven Thickness Creates Sound Waves” Choson Ilbo, October, 9, 2001. (To be continued in Part III, Read Part I)
(Art) Winter Solstice by Yvonne Lucia

Longest Solstice night Shepherds, kings and angels’ wings herald newborn light Winter Solstice is the darkest time of the year in the northern hemisphere. But no matter where one lives, the deepening darkness of humanity’s hubris penetrates to the bone. Any hope for peace on earth, goodwill to all has been debunked as dishearteningly as a maturing child’s belief in Santa Claus. Like our ancient ancestors, we feel an unsettling anxiety as we wonder when…how…if …the light will return.
(Prose) Wise Women by Alex Purbrick

I was born into a tribe that for several hundred years burnt, tortured and drowned its wise women, its healers, its medicine women. We lost our old ways, our love of the Mother Earth, our Nature Way. Now in the 21st century I still do not see my tribe accepting and listening to the Elder women. I see Grandmothers dismissed as useless, old and ugly; portrayed as hags or evil witches. I see Mothers unsupported and exhausted, whose role as Mother has no economic status or importance in this industrial world.
(Poem) A Desert by William Matthews

Acacia In Khadra Desert Oasis from Wikimedia Commons The world is a desert exclaiming that “I need water”-Roots reaching out, desperate, only for the water to be dried by the sun’s slaughter-Burned away into vapor before a chance to enjoy a sip, even one-The sun exclaims “you don’t need it, you are mine”-As the vapor ascends, disappears, the sun scorches the mind-Insanity creeps in if your shriveled body has a brain-Dreaming of water or vapor or anything it’s all the same-Oppressed by the fire watching from on high-Snuffing out refreshment if it meets his eye-You dare not creep, search, or mine-Fear of burning away the precious find-Draw no attention, stay in your place-But deep in your roots you know your are soon to waste-You search the skies for maybe a cloud-But none in site, nothing around-Just burning, scorch, and sear-Pray my child, pray for anywhere but here-The tree is gone-The sun burned it away-It charred husk is all that remains-But my my what is this?The desert wind blows and seed is picked away with a kiss-Carried far on winds like the grains of sand-Away from the glare of the sun and the damnedable land-Coming to rest in grass to sweet-Near brooks so clear and gardens neat-Growing tall, strong, and straight-Branches outstretched with blooms so great-Children play underneath your shade-Prayers answered in the spirits own way- https://www.magoism.net/2024/01/meet-mago-contributor-william-matthews/
(Poem) Flames return by Jillian Burnett

Image credit to Jillian Burnett https://www.magoism.net/2020/08/meet-mago-contributor-jillian-burnett/
Ancestral Journeys: A Pilgrimage to the Oracle Chamber by Jude Lally

Looking over to the Isle of Skye There is a magic on the isles off the West of Scotland that I’ve never experienced anywhere else. A feeling of being at the edge of the world and at times it deepens into feeling you are at the edge of this world and peering into the otherworld. It is a place where worlds merge and ancestral voices whisper on the wind. Listening to the Bones, Honoring them in Ritual Looking Over to the Isle of Rum I have spent a long time pouring over maps, exploring the contours and plotting out the path to the Oracle’s Chamber. It’s a curious site which archeologists named which indicates how even they were affected by the air of mystery of this place. It was probably on Julian Cope’s site the Modern Antiquarian that I first read about this site. Then reading further archeological reports words such as ‘ritual enclosure’, ‘prehistoric’ began to feed the images and the daydreams. Sron-na h-Iolaire – the Eagle’s Promontory Each year I lead the Ancestral Mothers of Scotland retreat to this little isle, the Isle of Egg (whose Gaelic name translates as the Isle of the Big Women). There is always a day midweek, as by this time the woman has gotten to know the island a little that they are invited to undertake a pilgrimage. We begin the day in silence and then each woman makes her ritual journey off to a particular place to spend the day. They are encouraged to perform a small ritual as they enter into a deeper level of conversation with the land. This is often a rare opportunity for women plus there is the added layer of feeling relatively safe as opposed to being out in nature in other parts of the world (human predators being the main risk). So I decided to make my own pilgrimage on this day. It was impressive that the journey to the Chamber took 18 miles on an island that is around 5 miles long and 3 miles across. It was a very windy day and so being high on the cliffs was a little daunting, at times and I had to crouch down to traverse small sheep paths that had been made through scree slopes of landslides of rocks, boulders, and soil that had come tumbling down from the cliffs above. Often vertigo got the better of me and I slid down 20 meters or so on my backside just to stay safe and not be blown away! The view over to the Isle of Skye was stunning and I could see no signs whatever of human activity as if I had indeed slipped between worlds, or perhaps gone back in time. The site area is in an area called the ‘Struidh’ which translates as rocky. I found myself scrambling over massive boulders, which often resulted in spaces between them suddenly dropping down 6 feet or so. I retreated for a while to find an archeologist photo which highlighted the entrance so I could work out its exact location. I rummaged and rummaged in my rucksack only to see it sitting by my bedside back at the hostel. It seemed an absolutely impossible task to find a small oval opening which was probably obscured by bracken. The Entrance A sign I thought, I need a sign – such as a small bird or a mystical gravitational pull. You need a signal seemed to be the reply. I need a sign, not a signal I thought – wondering if I was having this conversation with myself. I pulled out my phone to check the time and amazingly, on the remotest part of the island I had a phone signal! There was my sign! So I quickly looked up the archeological record and saved the photo highlighting the entrance. This way I could position the eagle rock with the cliffs and be able to work out where the entrance to the chamber (on relatively flat land) was located. The interior of the Chamber ‘This unusual site is situated in the midst of a boulder field on the broken ground between the cliffs of Sron na h-Iolaire and the coast below. It consists of a substantial grass-and bracken-grown platform that measures about 20m from E to W by at least 10m transversely, on top of which there are the remains of a circular enclosure, probably a roundhouse, measuring about 6m in internal diameter within drystone rubble walls 2m thick. The wall thickens to 4m at the entrance to the enclosure where a narrow passage provides access to the interior. On the far side is the entrance to a large boulder cave that runs W beneath the enclosure wall. The main chamber of the cave measures about 7m from NE to SW by up to 3.5m transversely and 2.5m high; but there are other smaller chambers opening off to either side and at the end. The cave entrance and the sides of the chamber have been modified by the insertion of rough walling, while a thick deposit of midden material covers the floor. This includes animal bones, shells and broken hammerstones, some of which have a concretion of crushed shell to their points. Other hammerstones occur in the many small caves and voids found between and beneath the boulders nearby.’ – Archeological Report/Canmore Record. What hands collected the shellfish from the beach below? Hammerstone I sat quietly in the space. I looked at the shells and the hammerstone used to smash them. I have heard of folks who used this chamber to shelter from storms, then slowly I peeled back the layers of time and the people who came to visit this site. Looking Out to the Entrance Although I had researched this site and looked forward to visiting for over two years somehow it was more about the journey to this place – the physical and psychological barriers rather than reaching the place itself. The previous year I …
(Book Excerpt 4) “Placental Thinking: The Gift of Maternal Roots” by Nane Jordan

[This and the ensuing sequels are from a Chapter from Placenta Wit: Mother Stories Rituals, and Research, edited by Nané Jordan, Demeter Press, 2017, pp. 142-155.] PLACENTAL THINKING IN THE GIFT My favourite placental metaphor is the tree. While raising my children on the West Coast of Canada, immersed in the coastal rainforests of our home, we have frequently observed gigantic overturned trees, blown over after big storms. These have incredibly splayed root systems, which get exposed when upturned, often reaching a whole story over our heads. Huge tree roots spread through circular clods of earth. From my midwifery studies, I recognized this familiar structure—a placental structure—on a massive scale. Like the veins and arteries of the placenta, tree roots filter into soil, seeking and exchanging nutrients, water, and succor from the Earth as Mother. This is just as we reached for nourishment from the bodies of our mothers, through latticelike roots of the placenta. In this amazing organic symmetry, our bodies incarnate a treelike form. I love to mediate upon and return to this image of the tree (of life) to understand the ecology of our lives and our interconnected origins with other beings. I see this as an embodied poetics that expresses gratitude and relationship to the trees, the earth, and the gift of life itself—an experience of Indigenous philosophy in the expressive notation of “all my relations.” From this vein or root of thought, I have been developing an application of what I would call “placental thinking,” with a nod toward Sara Ruddick’s Maternal Thinking. Maternal thinking recognizes the compelling intellectual work of mothering and its practice. It dispels the notion that motherhood is biologically determined or a purely instinctual occupation. Placental thinking understands placentas as being of great value and note, and extends the metaphor of placentas into mother-centred social philosophies and understandings. An application for placental thinking grows from my reading of the maternal gift economy work of feminist, matricentric (mother-centred) philosopher Genevieve Vaughan. Vaughan’s work on mothering as a gift economy realizes that the gifting work that mothers do provides the “free” infrastructure for our entire our social fabric. The gift is understood to be a one-way process, where materials and services flow from mother to child. Gifts are given, freely, as the giver does not expect rewards. In this way, mothers provide what children require for growth and wellbeing. This is unlike the exchange economy, which requires payment or reward from the receiver for any services or goods rendered. By difference, in the gift economy, the receiver is accorded the value by virtue of being given the gifts. Gifts are not exchanged but given through taking turns in giving gifts. Vaughan expands upon her theory in The Gift in The Heart of Language. She outlines the ways in which early language acquisition is rooted in this maternal gift economy. Babies develop communication through mirroring their mothers in practices of taking turns in giving gifts. Strikingly, mothers’ gift giving is first accomplished by the placenta in utero. The placenta embodies what I would call a “gift morphology”—with its rootlike vascular system that draws nourishment from the mother into the developing fetus in a one-way gifting of life blood. The mother’s body cleans up waste products and toxins from her baby via the placenta. This job is continued postbirth as the mother feeds baby via breast or bottled milk, and monitors the baby’s urination and bowel movements. The breast itself is an almost external placenta. Each breast has a treelike structure where vascular networks are held in soft tissues that produce nutritious milk from the body of the mother. The communication for milk production is physiologically cued by the baby and the mother’s response to baby. The timing and length of feeding activates the amount of milk that is produced by the mother. Through this flow of nourishment to baby, the mother provides yet another gift morphology. This relationship now includes a new flow and flowering of language through verbal, nonverbal, and body-centred communication between mother and baby. Especially poignant are expressions of affection through touching, holding, smiling, hugging, and kissing from mother to baby, and vice versa. Babies express their needs by tone of voice and physical actions, cueing specificities of care from their mothers. Children become more and more themselves through mirroring and response, self-expression, and mothers’ attentions and interactions with them. Communication is central to building the fabric of a new person’s social life, based from these early gifting relations. This early maternal gift economy does not approximate the exchange economy, where something is only given in exchange for something else. A child requires the mother’s immediate and constant giving, or the child will perish. The gift is also present in the earth’s resources as a continual free stream of goods that humans need. Yet much of human life is being commodified through exchange and market economies. Work, services, and the “free” goods of the earth itself have costs in their exchange value. Greed is common in the market economy, especially as corporations attempt to own everything, which renders invisible the original gifts—the trees, the earth, or the mothers. I follow Vaughan’s understanding of how gift and exchange economies are interlinked systems. The market economy needs the free gifts and resources of the gift economy. Mothers produce communicative bodies that eventually become the labour force for the market economy. We grow up inside the gift economies of our maternal and family relations, and whatever levels of gifting or exchange interactions and amassing of goods and services our families and societies provide us. For example, in societies such as Canada, the common people and governments currently value primary education and healthcare as being mostly “free” for all. This does not mean that these services do not cost anything, but they are made available as gifts to all to strengthen the wellbeing of the whole population. In other societies, such services are in the hands of forces of exchange, and may become subject …

(Special Post 2) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing sequels 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 another image of the nine-headed Lernaean Hydra slain by Herakles. https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hydra_(mythology)… Glenys Livingstone: Yes, the Hercules story is more documentation of the Old Battle, of the rise of the “hero” to slay the Mother, when in the earliest of times he served with his beauty and labours. It is so interesting to see the analogies in other cultures/places as you are doing Helen, especially in Asia – it seems important work. Your perseverance is paying off, and will. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Glenys, I am re-reading a book on Chinese mythology and found a lot more on the nine Magoist symbolism. Someday, I hope to write about the topic in its own right. Glenys Livingstone: This chapter’s work is good re the Old Battle in Greek mythology: Valaoritis, Nanos. “The Cosmic Conflict of Male and Female in Greek Mythology”, in From the Realm of the Ancestors: An Anthology in Honor of Marija Gimbutas. Joan Marler (ed). Manchester CT: Knowledge, Ideas and Trends Inc., 1997, p.247 – 261. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: Now back to the female divine who is depicted with the nine heads. See the nine-headed Guanyin/Kannon/Gwaneum. Also note that her icon comes in eleven-headed (the 8 Daughters and the Triad Creatrix, which makes eleven). http://www.onmarkproductions.com/html/kannon.shtml Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: The symbol of nine dragons was adopted by imperial China. See the Nine Dragon Wall China. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nine-Dragon_Wall Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: We connect the dots. When Guanyin is depicted with nine dragons, it conveys that the nine symbolism was/is once deemed sacred. https://i.pinimg.com/originals/4a/17/b3/4a17b33d9a4ae53bad6466a0eaf11722.jpg How popular the Guanyin icon, three headed and eight armed, to this day! Simply Google “eight armed Guanyin.” Below is from the Late Ming Dynasty, China. https://www.google.com/search?q=eight%20armed%20guanyin… She comes in a different name, Ushnishavijaya, in Tibetan Buddhism. https://www.himalayanart.org/items/65445 Helen Hye-Sook Hwang: We can draw that the female deity such as Guanyin and Ushnishavijaya, just to name two, is venerated in association with the nine symbolism. Within the mytho-history of Magoism, I infer that Guanyin or Ma Guanyin is a persona embodying Goma, the Magoist Shaman ruler of Danguk (3898 BCE-2333 BCE), the head of Nine Hans (Magoist Koreans). Note that Magoist shamans or priestesses are called “Mago.” See my essay, “Goma, the Shaman Ruler of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea and Her Mythology,” in Goddesses in Myth, History and Culture (Lytle Creek, CA: Mago Books), 2018. The insight that the major Goddesses in East Asia and beyond point to the same and old divine persona is NOT farfetched, considering that the nine-headed snake or dragon representing the female sovereignty of pre-patriarchal times is slain by male heroes across cultures. Judy E Foster: I’d have to agree with you here. As usual, interesting information! Patty Kay: My meditation this morning was on a history of mysticism. While I’m in the midst of appropriating all of the wonderful beliefs I find here, I also have found a strand in my own tradition that helps me understand why all the Divine Feminine stuff makes so much sense to me. I’ve been trying to determine when the patriarchal world view took over. According to this history, mysticism began to emerge in about 800 to 500 BCE. Could it be that mysticism kept alive the ancient understanding of the cosmos? This is just speculation, but in it I’m answering my own questions. (To be continued) Join us in The Mago Circle https://www.facebook.com/groups/magoism/.
(Special Post 6) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing sequels 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 Hwang Without knowing nine numerology, it is NOT possible for us to understand the depth of Magoism, an anciently originated tradition of Old Korea/East Asia that venerated the Creatrix. “Giants” are the hallmark for the Goma, the people of Danguk (nine-state confederacy led by Goma, the Magoist Shaman queen). Those giants are not described as a singular people. They come in “81 brothers,” as mentioned below. We know what “brothers” mean, it is 81 sisters! Changing or translating a female-connoted term to the male proves its agent to be patriarchal. And Chiyou or Chiu (in Korean) is the ruler of Nine Ris (Guri), another name for Nine Hans (Guhan). Check this out: “Chiyou (蚩尤) was a tribal leader of the Nine Li tribe (九黎) in ancient China.[1] He is best known as a king who lost against the future Yellow Emperor during the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors era in Chinese mythology.[1][2][3] For the Hmong people, Chiyou[4] was a sagacious mythical king.[5] He has a particularly complex and controversial ancestry, as he may fall under Dongyi[1]Miao[5] or even Man,[5] depending on the source and view. Today, Chiyou is honored and worshipped as the God of War and one of the three legendary founding fathers of China.” “According to the Song dynasty history book Lushi, Chiyou’s surname was Jiang (姜), and he was a descendant of Yandi.[6]According to legend, Chiyou had a bronze head with a metal forehead.[1] He had 4 eyes and 6 arms, wielding terrible sharp weapons in every hand.[7] In some sources, Chiyou had certain features associated with various mythological bovines: his head was that of a bull with two horns, although the body was that of a human.[7] He is said to have been unbelievably fierce, and to have had 81 brothers.[7] Historical sources often described him as ‘cruel and greedy’,[6] as well as ‘tyrannical’.[8] Some sources have asserted that the figure 81 should rather be associated with 81 clans in his kingdom.[5] Chiyou knows the constellations and the ancients spells for calling upon the weather. For example, he called upon a fog to surround Huangdi and his soldiers during the Battle of Zhuolu. TRIBE Chiyou is regarded as a leader of the Nine Li tribe (九黎, RPAWhite Hmong: Cuaj Li Ntuj) by nearly all sources.[1] However, his exact ethnic affiliations are quite complex, with multiple sources reporting him as belonging to various tribes, in addition to a number of diverse peoples supposed to have directly descended from him.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiyou Helen Hye-Sook Hwang Below is from my article, “Goma, The Shaman Ruler Of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea, And Her Mythology,” included in Goddesses in Myth, History and Culture (Mago Books, 2018). Goma is also credited for designating queens of the bear clan to state rulers. Another account of the Goma myth reads, “She looked after numerous spiritual persons and wise persons. Accepting women of the bear clan, Hanung made them rulers (后). Goma chose queens of the bear clan to make them nine state rulers. Note that Danguk is a nine state confedearcy. That Danguk’s nine states were headed by the queens of the bear clan is, among others, corroborated by Chinese mythological accounts. Chinese myth informs that Chiu, Huangdi’s opponent in an epic war, was aided by “a tribe of giants from the far north.”[1] In Chinese mythology, Gonggong and her minister, Xiangliu, symbolized as a dragon with nine heads in the body of a snake, are depicted as an enemy of Emperor Yu of Xia (ruled c. 2200–2100 BCE). Such a story is aligned with Sinocentrism inscribed in Chinese mythology that antagonizes pre-Chinese history of Old Magoist Korea/East Asia. In Chinese mythology, Gonggong (龔工) is described as a sea monster whose minister Xiangliu (相栁 Mutual Willow) is told to have been defeated by Yu, the Great.[2] Assuming the character hu (后 xia in Chinese pronunciation) to mean a male ruler’s wife, androcentric scholars have translated the above account as “Hanung received his queen from the bear clan. And he instituted the rite of matrimony.” This proves to be a modern androcentric bias in that hu originally means a “ruler.” This is the case of the logographic character whose original meaning has changed from “a female ruler” to “a male ruler” and to “the wife of ruler” over time. Ancient Chinese texts betray ample evidence. For example, Xiahou (夏后 Ruler of Xia) and Houyi (后羿 Ruler of Yi) respectively refer to a male ruler. Xiahou refers to Yu of Xia. Other ancient Chinese texts include the Classic of Poetry (詩經商頌玄鳥), the Zuozhuan (左傳) and the Book of Document (書經).[3] [1] C. Scott Littleton, ed. Mythology: The Illustrated Anthology of World Myth & Storytelling (San Diego: Thunder Bay Press, 2002), 414. Cited in Hwang, Finding Mago, 239 in note 494. [2] Lihui Yang, Deming An and Jessica Anderson Turner, Handbook of Chinese Mythology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 214-5. [3] Goma, “Goma, The Shaman Ruler Of Old Magoist East Asia/Korea, And Her Mythology” Goddesses in Myth, History and Culture (Mago Books, 2018), 272. Helen Hye-Sook Hwang I am realizing that even ancient Chinese people depicted Chiyou as female. When her image is cropped from the whole frame, it is hard to tell. But see her in the attached image of the whole frame. In comparison with Chinese heroes (supposedly including Yellow Emperor) on the left side, she and her ally are depicted as a figure in a curvy body line. Of course, Chiyou was pejoratively depicted as she was an opponent to the future Chinese emperor, […]
(Special Post) Why I choose to be an RTM contributor by Glenys Livingstone

The contribution of my writing to Return to Mago E-Magazine has evolved since it began four years ago, into a deeply mutually enhancing relationship. The time and effort taken to write carefully and in alignment with my heartfelt passions and insights, and then to be able to publish to a receptive audience, has always been rewarding – for me personally and apparently for many who received it.

Samhain: Stepping Wisely through the Open Door by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Day of the Dead altar, via Wikimedia Commons According to Celtic tradition, on Samhain (October 31 for those in the north and April 30 for those in the south) the doors between the human and spirit worlds open. Faeries, demons, and spirits of the dead pour out of the Otherworld to walk the Earth. In the past, some would try to hurry ghosts past their houses or ward off evil spirits by setting jack o’lanterns in their windows. They avoided going outside, especially past cemeteries, lest they be snatched away to the Otherworld. In ancient times, some offered sacrifices to propitiate deities. However, others have invited in the souls of friends and family who have passed away. In Brittany, according to W.Y. Evans-Wentz’s Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries, people would provide “a feast and entertainment for them of curded-milk, hot pancakes, and cider, served on the family table covered with a fresh white tablecloth, and to supply music” which “the dead come to enjoy with their friends” (p. 218). Other cultures also have such welcoming traditions. In Korea, as so beautifully described by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang in her posts about her family’s mourning for her father (Part I and Part II), in Mexico on the Day of the Dead, and elsewhere, food and flowers are brought to cemeteries to honor those no longer in the realm of the living. Many of us live in a society where death is pushed out of sight and Samhain’s sacred traditions have devolved into Halloween, a commercialized children’s holiday. Still, it seems to me that the pandemic, climate catastrophes, and war have made death much more present in our everyday thoughts over the past couple of years than before, so perhaps this year’s Samhain offers us the opportunity to re-examine Celtic and other practices of the past and present to see what insights and meaning they may have for us. Jack o lanterns: By Mihaela Bodlovic, via Wikimedia Commons All these ancient practices respect the spirit world and its power. Whether you believe that the Otherworld can wreak havoc on us at Samhain or not, the realm where spirits dwell clearly has power. Its allure can take us away from focusing on mundane, daily challenges or, more positively, open our eyes to the value of relating to forces that can give richness and meaning to our lives. At the same time, we must remember that each domain has its own power. We can use our physical bodies in beneficial ways that those in the Otherworld cannot. We must respect the power of the Otherworld as well as our own. Some kinds of healing are only possible when we welcome those from the Otherworld into our lives in a healthy way, whether through holiday visits or every day through remembrance, meditation, prayer, or other means. I’m of an age when many of my beloveds are in the Otherworld and so I am beginning to find that the idea of being able to sit with someone I have lost is cause not for fear, but rather joy and comfort. Perhaps those who have longstanding wounds from the past can heal by remembering those we have lost at Samhain and forgiving them or ourselves or realizing that we are no longer bound to those who have hurt us and are now gone. Samhain can also reassure us of the truth of our intuitive sense that our beloveds who we grieve are with us still, in some way, on this night and throughout the year. When we participate in the celebration of Samhain’s opening of doors to the Otherworld, if only for a day, we are honoring our own participation into the great cycle of life, death, and rebirth. We are expanding our vision of ourselves to be more than our bodies on the Earth and experiencing ourselves as connected to many realms, seen and unseen, spirit and human. We are accepting that at some time we will also become ancestors, with all the responsibility that entails and the fulfillment of taking our place in the complex matrix of being that is our universe. When we interact with the souls of those we have lost in ways that are healthy for us, however we may choose and believe that happens, we can also better celebrate the realm of the living. Just as we may listen in various ways for positive messages from those whom we have lost, we can ensure that we are expressing important guidance to those who will come after us by who we are and how we live our lives. We can express that life is worth living, even with all its traumas, and that we respect both the boundaries and the doors between the worlds so that we may continue living fully in our physical bodies on our beautiful, awe-inspiring Earth. I hope my message to my descendants will be: Love your lives. Build on what we have done and do better. Leave behind what we left you that no longer serves. If you feel alone, remember that you have thousands of generations of mothers sending you unconditional love and also generations of women coming after you eager to pick up where you left off. According to Mary Condren in The Serpent and the Goddess, in the most ancient times, “Samhain had been primarily a harvest feast celebrating the successful growth and gathering of the fruits of the past year” (p. 36). While we in the north are coming into the season of death, those in the south are experiencing Beltane, the first moments of spring when the doors between the worlds are also open. The eternal cycle of life, death, and regeneration turns again. Whether you are celebrating Samhain or Beltane, know that this holy time offers us all a chance to enter into the task of maintaining harmony with those we have loved before and for bringing balance between life and death, winter and summer, and the realm of the living and …
Summer Solstice Poiesis by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Seasonal Wheel of Stones Both Summer and Winter Solstices may be understood as particular celebrations of the Mother/Creator aspect of the Creative Triplicity of the Cosmos (often named as the Triple Goddess). The Solstices are Gateways between the dark and the light parts of the annual cycle of our orbit around Sun; they are both sacred interchanges, celebrating deep relationship, communion, with the peaking of fullness of either dark or light, and the turning into the other. The story is that the Young One/Virgin aspect of Spring has matured and now at Summer Solstice her face changes into the Mother of Summer. Summer Solstice may be understood as a birthing place, as Winter Solstice may also be, but at this time the transiton is from light back into dark, returning to larger self, from whence we come: it is the full opening, the “Great Om”, the Omega. I represent the Summer Solstice on my altar wheel of stones with the Omega-yonic shape of the horseshoe. I take this inspiration from Barbara Walker’s description of the horseshoe in her Woman’s Encyclopaedia of Myths and Secrets, as “Goddess’s symbol of ‘Great Gate’[i]”; and her later connection of it with the Sheil-na-gig yoni display[ii]. Sri Yantra. Ref: A.T. Mann & Jane Lyle, p.75 Summer Solstice is traditonally understood as a celebration of Union between Lover and Beloved, and the deep meaning of that is essentially a Re-Union: of sensed manifest form (the Lover) with All-That-Is (the Beloved). This may be understood as a fullness of expression of this manifest form, the small selves that we are, being all that we may be, and giving of this fullness of being in every moment: that would be a blissful thing, like a Summerland as it was understood to be. The boundaries of the self are broken, they merge: all is given away – all is poured forth, the deep rich dark stream of life flows out. It is a Radiance, the shining forth of the self which is at the same time a give-away, a consuming of the self.In traditional PaGaian Summer ceremony each participant is affirmed as “Gift”[iii]; and that is understood to mean that we are both given and received – all at the same time. The breath is given and life is received. We receive the Gift with each breath in, and we are the Gift with each breath out. As we fulfill our purpose, as we give ourselves over, we dissolve, as the Sun is actually doing in every moment. The “moment of grace”[iv]that is Summer Solstice, marks the stillpoint in the height of Summer, when light reaches its peak, and Earth’s tilt causes the Sun to begin its “decline”: that is, its movement back to the South in the Northern Hemisphere (in June), and back to the North in the Southern Hemisphere (in December). Whereas at Winter Solstice when out of the darkness it is light that is “born”, as it may be expressed: at the peak of Summer, in the warmth of expansion, it is the dark that is “born”. Insofar as Winter Solstice is about birth, then Summer Solstice is about death, the passing into the harvest. It is a celebration of profound mystical significance, which may be confronting in a culture where the dark is not valued for its creative telios; and it is noteworthy that Summer Solstice has not gained any popularity of the kind that Winter Solstice has globally (as ‘Christmas’). The re-union with All-That-Is is not generally considered a jolly affair, though when understood it may actually be blissful. Full Flowers to the Flames Summer is a time when many grains ripen, deciduous trees peak in their greenery, lots of bugs and creatures are bursting with business and creativity: yet in that ripening, is the turning, the fulfilment of creativity, and it is given away. Like the Sun and the wheat and the fruit, we find the purpose of our Creativity in the releasing of it; just as our breath must be released for its purpose of life. The symbolism used to express this in ceremony has been the giving of a full rose/flower to the flames. Summer is like the rose, as it says in this tradition[v]– blossom and thorn … beautiful, fragrant, full – yet it comes with thorns that open the skin. All is given over. All is given over: the feast is for enjoying With the daily giving of ourselves in our everyday acts, we each feed the world with our lives: we do participate in creating the cosmos, as many indigenous traditions still recognise. Just as our everyday lives are built on the fabric of the work/creativity of all who went before us, so the future, as well as the present, is built on ours, no matter how humble we may think our contribution is. We may celebrate the blossoming of our creativity then, which is Creativity, and the bliss of that blossoming, at a time when Earth and Sun are pouring forth their abundance, giving it away. In this Earth-based cosmology, what is given is the self fully realized and celebrated, not a self that is abnegated – just as the fruit gives its full self: as Starhawk says, “Oneness is attained not through losing the self, but through realizing it fully”[vi]. Everyday tasks can be joyful, if valued, and graciously received: I think of Eastern European women singing as they work in the fields – it is a common practice still for many. We are the Bread of Life Summer Solstice celebrates Mother Sun coming to fullness in Her creative engagement with Earth, and we are the Sun. Solstice Moment is a celebration of communion, the feast of life – which is for the enjoying, not for the holding onto. We do desire to be received, to be consumed – it is our joy and our grief. Brian Swimme says: “Every moment of our lives disappears into the ongoing story of the Universe. Our creativity is energising the whole[vii]”. As it may be ceremoniously affirmed: we are (each is) …
(Essay) The Emergence celebrated at Spring Equinox by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

The Spring Equinox Moment occurs September 21-23 Southern Hemisphere, March 21-23 Northern Hemisphere. The full story of Spring Equinox is expressed in the full flower connected to the seed fresh from the earth; that is, it is a story of emergence from the dark, from a journey, perhaps long, perhaps short, through challenging places. The joy of the blossoming is rooted in the journey through the dark, and an acknowledgement of the dark’s fertile gift, as well as of great achievement in having made it, of having returned. Both Equinoxes, Spring and Autumn, celebrate this sacred balance of grief and joy, light and dark, and they are both celebrations of the mystery of the seed. The seed is essentially the deep Creativity within – that manifests in the Spring as flower, or green emerged One. the full story: the root and the flower As the new young light continues to grow at this time of Spring, it comes into balance with the dark at Spring Equinox, or ‘Eostar’ as it may be named; about to tip further into light when light will dominate the day. The trend at this Equinox is toward increasing hours of light: and thus it is about the power of being – life is stepping into it. Earth in this region is tilting further toward the Sun. Traditionally it may be storied as the joyful celebration of a Lost Beloved One, who may be represented by the Persephone story: She is a shamanic figure who is known for Her journey to the Underworld, and who at this time of Spring Equinox returns. Her Mother Demeter who has waited and longed for Her in deep grief, rejoices and so do all: warmth and growth return to the land. Persephone, the Beloved Daughter, the Seed, has navigated the darkness successfully, has enriched it with Her presence and also gained its riches. Eostar/Spring Equinox is the magic of the unexpected, yet long awaited, green emergence from under the ground, and then the flower: this emergence is especially profound as it is from a seed that has lain dormant for months or longer – much like the magic of desert blooms after long periods of drought. The name of “Eostar” comes from the Saxon Goddess Eostre/Ostara, the northern form of the Sumerian Astarte[i]. The Christian festival in the Spring, was named “Easter” as of the Middle Ages, appropriating Goddess/Earth tradition. The date of Easter, which is set for Northern Hemispheric seasons, is still based on the lunar/menstrual calendar; that is, the 1st Sunday after the first full Moon after Spring Equinox. In Australia where I am, “Easter” is celebrated in Autumn (!) by mainstream culture, so we have the spectacle of fluffy chickens, chocolate eggs and rabbits in the shops at that time. There are other names for “Eostar” in other places …the Welsh name for the Spring Equinox celebration is Eilir, meaning ‘regeneration’ or ‘spring’ – or ‘earth’[ii]. In my own PaGaian tradition, the Spring Equinox celebration is based on the Demeter and Persephone story, the version that is understand as pre-patriarchal, from Old Europe. In the oldest stories, Persephone has agency in Her descent: She descends to the underworld voluntarily as a courageous seeker of wisdom, and a compassionate receiver of the dead. She represents, and IS, the Seed of Life that never fades away. Spring Equinox is a celebration of Her return, Life’s continual return, and thus also our personal and collective emergences/returns.We may contemplate the collective emergence/returns especially in our times. I describe Persephone as a “hera”, which of old was a term for any courageous One. “Hera” was a pre-Hellenic name for the Goddess in general[iii]. “Hera” was the indigenous Queen Goddess of pre-Olympic Greece, before She was married off to Zeus. “Hero” was a term for the brave male Heracles who carried out tasks for his Goddess Hera: “The derivative form ‘heroine’ is therefore completely unnecessary”[iv]. “Hera” may be used as a term for any courageous individual: and participants in PaGaian Spring Equinox ceremony have named themselves this way. The pre-“Olympic” games of Greece were Hera’s games, held at Her Heraion/temple[v]. The winners were “heras” – gaining the status of being like Her[vi]. At the time of Spring Equinox, we may celebrate the Persephone, the Hera, the Courageous One, who steps with new wisdom, into power of being: the organic power that all beings must have, Gaian power, the power of the Cosmos. This Seasonal ceremony may be a rejoicing in how we have made it through great challenges and loss, faced our fears and our demise (in its various forms), had ‘close shaves’ – perhaps physically as well as psychicly and emotionally. It is a time to welcome back that which was lost, and step into the strength of being. Spring Equinox/Eostar is the time for enjoying the fruits of the descent, of the journey taken into the darkness: return is now certain, not tentative as it was in the Early Spring/Imbolc. Demeter, the Mother, receives the Persephones, Lost Beloved Ones, joyously. This may be understood as an individual experience, but also as a collective experience – as we emerge into a new Era as a species. Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme speak of the ending of the sixty-five million year geological Era – the Cenozoic Era – in our times, and our possible emergence into an Ecozoic Era. They describe the Ecozoic Era as a time when “the curvature of the universe, the curvature of the earth, and the curvature of the human are once more in their proper relation”[vii]. Joanna Macy speaks of the “Great Turning” of our times[viii]. Collectively we have been away from the Mother for some time and there is a lot of pain. At this time we may contemplate not only our own individual lost wanderings, but also that of the human species. We are part of a much bigger Return that is happening. The Beloved One may be understood as returning on a collective level: …
(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.
(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
(Photography & Poetry) Thoughts of Spring by Deanne Quarrie

Spring At the highest point on the tree, you stretch, reaching for the sun. Your pink petals elegant in their grace, you stand alone. Bravest of all, for leaves have yet to come to offer shade Branches bare except for furry buds that will soon follow in imitation of your daring first move. Intrepid flower of Spring, I feel like you in my yearning for the Sun!

(Budoji Essay 2) The Magoist Cosmogony by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

“Mago, the eponymous Goddess, is the head, ruler, and guardian of Mago-seong. She represents the eco-community of the Earth in the intergalactic universe.” [Author’s Note: This and subsequent essays are part of the forthcoming book tentatively entitled, The Magoist Cosmogony from the Budoji (Epic of the Emblem City), Translation and Interpretation, Volume 1, that I am currently writing. I am indebted to Harriet Ann Ellenberger, who has given me her prompt feedback and editorial advice in a most supportive manner. I am thankful to Dr. Glenys Livingstone, who has inspired me to write this book sooner than later. I am also grateful for Rosemary Mattingley, who has provided copy-editing of my essays in Return to Mago Webzine.] Chapter One (Translation) Mago-seong was the grand castle located in the highest place on earth. Revering the Heavenly Emblem (Cheon-bu), it succeeded the Former Heaven (Seon-cheon). There were four Heavenly Persons[i] at the four corners of the castle. They built pillars and sounded music.[ii] The eldest was named Hwang-gung (Yellow Gung),[iii] the second Cheong-gung (Blue Gung), the third Baek-so (White So), and the last Heuk-so (Black So). Mother of two Gungs was Gung-hui (Goddess Gung)[iv] and mother of two Sos was So-hui (Goddess So). Gung-hui and So-hui were the daughters of Mago. Mago was born in Jim-se (My/Our/This World).[v] Mago had no [human] emotion of pleasure and resentment. Taking the Former Heaven male and the Latter Heaven female, Mago bore two Hui Goddesses without mate. Like Mago, two Goddesses, without mate but by the emotion [of the cosmic periods], each bore two Heavenly Persons and two Heavenly Women. They were four Heavenly Persons and four Heavenly Goddesses in all. [i] Here “in” in Cheon-in 天人 is transliterated as a gender-neutral term, “beings.” It means “a person” but often transliterated as “a man.” [ii] The whole sentence can also be translated as “They made tubes and composed music.” [iii] “Ssi” in Hwang-gung-ssi 黃穹氏 intimates both a leader by name of Hwang-gung and the clan led by Hwang-gung. Other terms of “Cheong-gung-ssi,” “Baek-so-ssi,” and “Heuk-so-ssi” are used in the same way. [iv] Literally “hui” in Gung-hui 穹姬 and So-hui 巢姬 means a woman. Since it refers to Mago’s two daughters, I translated it “Goddess.” [v] “Jim” in Jim-se 朕世 can be transliterated as “my,” “our,” or “this.” ◊ Mago-seong (Mago Castle) was the grand castle located on the highest place on the Earth. Mago-seong, located on the highest mountain, is the primordial home of Mago, the Primordial Goddess, and Her descendants, human ancestors. Mago-seong also refers to the Earth itself (see Chapter 2). Mago, the eponymous Goddess, is the head, ruler, and guardian of Mago-seong. She represents the eco-community of the Earth in the intergalactic universe. Mago-seong’s location on the highest mountain symbolizes Mago-seong’s supremacy as the prototype of a Magoist state that will follow the cosmogonic event. Mago-seong’s location also indicates its proximity to the extraterrestrial cosmos, in particular to the Sun, the direct cause of the auto-genesis of all things on Earth. Mago-seong: Paradisiacal home of Mago and Her descendants, human ancestors. The axis mundi (world axis, center of the world) of the Magoist cosmogony.
How do you say what The Mago Work is? by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang & Mago Circle Members

It took many years for me to pronounce the communal nature of the Mago Work. Defining the Mago Work necessarily endows us with the bird’s eye view of the Great Goddess, the primordial consciousness of WE in S/HE. Early this year, I asked people to define the Mago Work and their definitions are illuminating about what this book ultimately seeks to achieve.[1]
(Book Excerpt 5) The Mago Way by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note] The following is from Chapter One, “What Is Mago and Magoism and How Did I Study HER?” from The Mago Way: Re-discovering Mago, the Great Goddess from East Asia, Volume 1. Footnotes below would be different from the monograph version. PDF book of The Mago Way Volume 1 download is available for free here.] How My Education and Experience Helped Me Study Mago The topic of Mago came to me in time for writing my doctoral dissertation for the Women’s Studies in Religion program that I was enrolled in at Claremont Graduate University. My graduate education, which I crafted to be a feminist cross-cultural alchemical process of de-educating myself from the patriarchal mode of knowledge-making, led me to encounter the hitherto unheard-of Goddess of East Asia, Mago. I came to read the Budoji, the principal text of Magoism, in 2000 and did some basic research to find out that Mago was known among people in Korea and that S/HE was also found in Chinese and Japanese sources.