October 31, 2017November 15, 2019 RTM Editor

Eyes of Goddess: Beltaine Healing Vision by Glenys Livingstone

Once cast from the sun, light streams onto planet Earth like liquid. It freely enters us as both photon and wave. In daylight, we ingest billions of photons during every open-eyed moment. As waves, light vibrates into us.[i]

Beltaine Fire Eyes. photo: Glenys Livingstone

In the Season of Beltaine/High Spring, which it is now in the Southern Hemisphere where I am, the light part of the day continues to grow; it is the time when Her photons are flooding the biosphere, She sees Her Land, which we are also. We are Her Land, at one with our Place. With this vision, the power of Her eye, Goddess as Sun brings forth life and beauty.

In Beltaine ceremony, MoonCourt, Australia, participants walk between Her fire eyes to be seen by Her. To be seen by Her is healing, wholing, restoring … as opposed to the patriarchal gaze that judges, evaluates, diminishes.

In these recent times (this era) the act of seeing has commonly become an act of dominance and possession, but it could again be a receiving … an action of listening and perception, which is an evocation, a calling forth.[ii]

Light the Beltaine fires and walk between them. Be seen by Her and restored.

Meet Mago Contributor, Glenys Livingstone.

NOTES:

[i] Laura Sewall, “Earth, Eros, Sky”, in EarthLight, Winter 2000. p.22-25.

[ii] Glenys Livingstone, Seeing Her Land: the Twin Fires of Beltaine, 2015.

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(Pilgrimage 1) A Day in the Kalash Valley of Pakistan by Krista Rodin, Ph.D.

After spending about a week exploring Gandharan Buddhist sites and art in Northern Pakistan in September 2021, I had the unexpected opportunity to visit an area that I thought was closed to foreign visitors, namely the Kalash Valley. This valley is famous for the indigenous matriarchal religion that persists even in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. When I expressed my interest in the Kalash culture my guide, Amyn, and driver, Iqbal suggested we detour to Chitral and then to Kalash rather than heading directly to Hunza, which was our next scheduled stop. I jumped at the chance. Neither of them had been there either, so this was going to be an adventure for all of us. After a long day of driving north from Mingora through Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province along the Afghan border we finally arrived in Chitral towards dusk. We stayed in the very pleasant Mountain Inn, with separate cabins and a large garden with a tree whose leaves are supposed to be good for dealing with diabetes. Locals use much of the vegetation from the surrounding hills and mountains for herbal cures, and this tree was just one example of how ancient wisdom is maintained even in tourist areas. The young man running the hotel came from Kalash Valley and was helpful in giving us information on the people and culture that we were going to visit the following day. Before heading up to Kalash, however, I wanted to stop at the Chitral Museum, which is located by their polo field. Polo is a national pastime in this region, even more than soccer or cricket. (Well, perhaps equal to cricket…). The museum is small, just a few rooms, but it did have a number of Kalash artifacts including some Gandau effigies. These are carved from a single piece of wood and are said to represent the soul of the person who has died. When an important person dies, a gandau is placed on the grave. The term is also used for the three day ceremony to install the effigy. Family members select the best piece of wood from the forest to carve the image and the name of the deceased is constantly recited during the carving process. After the image is complete, a procession takes it to the Jestakhan, where they dance for twenty-four hours before heading on to the cemetery. There are three kinds of gandaus: standing, sitting and those on horseback. Sometimes the horses have two heads, which supposedly means that the deceased was quite powerful and/or influential. Women are usually represented in a sitting position on ornately carved chairs wearing caps with four horns. According to Kalash tradition, a goat with four horns is seen as an auspicious omen. This may harken back to the earlier pre-historic traditions, as this valley was cut off for centuries. Gandao, male god & three images of the goddess Dezalic There were a number of other interesting artifacts in the museum, including one where help is needed to identify the script. There is a stone with an unknown ancient inscription, and it would be helpful if someone could identify it and let me, or the Chitral Museum, know. It would also be helpful if we could have the name and contact of a scholar who might be able to decipher it. Here is a photo of the stone: After the museum we headed up to the Kalash Valley. We had to change cars in a small village near the base of the windy narrow hilly road as the Toyota Corolla we were driving wouldn’t make it up the jeep track. The driver of an old broken down, but drivable, vehicle we hired was from Kalash, spoke the language and was able to act as a local guide. There are fourteen small villages in the Kalash Valley, each with somewhat unique traditions, but all within the same general framework. They, like many in Hunza are said to be relatives of the troops who left Alexander’s army to stay put where they were. After seeing all the mountains they had to cross, I can completely empathize with their decision. The valley is lush with water from the surrounding glaciers, fruit trees grow in abundance, as well as grapes for wine and apricots for fruit and schnaps. We visited a room where three centenarians were in the process of making the latter. It seems if one can survive the winters when young, a hearty long life is entirely possible. I was surprised that the valley is known for its wine as alcohol is not permitted in the Islamic Republic. It seems that the tribe has a special exemption as wine and schnaps are used in their sacred rituals. It is said that the cultivation of wine stems from Alexander’s Dionysian legacy. The red wine was quite good as were the grapes that people would pluck off the vines for us. The exemption is for their entire cultural heritage, not just for wine and schnaps. Centenarians making schnaps The people of the Kalash Valley have a different language and the elder generation did not speak Urdu, so the conversation had to be translated from English to Urdu to Kalash and back again. How much was lost in translation, I can’t begin to guess. The translators were quite reluctant to ask my questions or provide any responses to questions regarding the Kalash sacred traditions. Most of what I could gather was from the museum descriptions, the plaques near some of the buildings and from the internet. What I did understand was that their funeral rites entail giving the soul back to the creator; life is temporary and there is another life after this one. There are a number of annual festivals according to an agricultural calendar, and the festival of Madaik is equivalent to the Catholic All Souls Day. The departed souls live forever. The bed of the deceased is turned over on their grave so that they have their resting place in …
(Poem & Photography) The Gate by Sara Wright

Photography by Sara Wright Unaccustomed to joy his kindness barely torched her cells still under fierce attack from too many anti –bodies. What registered was quick – silver shining a clasp so easily undone… A golden sun illuminated two leaf strewn paths gilded in bronze. Welcomed by Hemlocks at Mary’s House , she conjured partridgeberry a creeping vine hugging mossy granite boulders, crimson berries on display. He couldn’t know that his act of generosity opened a floodgate to hope. Below, the river eyed an orange clad hunter stalking his prey with outright suspicion. The stars that night repeated the story… Orion pursues the Great Bear on her Spiral Journey until he slips beneath the horizon for another year. In many ancient and some extant goddess traditions November is considered to be “the space in between”. In the Celtic tradition the old year comes to a close with All Hallows and the Feast of the Dead, a three day festival that ends with All Souls day on November 2nd. The new year doesn’t begin until winter solstice… During this dark month a starry firmament wraps her cloak around us. This is a time to reflect and dream, to create intentions, to let go of what is no longer needed. It is a time to acknowledge and deal with rage and sorrow, limitations, aging, illness, the loss of family and friends – I could go on and on here. If we can lean into this month with an open yet wary heart new insights illuminate the night and this is my cyclic intention for this month. Not to get caught by extremes, or to act out dark feelings, but to own and take responsibility for them as best as I can. November is a double-edged month. Hunters abound. Stars spiral around the night sky telling an ancient story of the hunter and his prey, perhaps highlighting that relationship between the two is part of ‘all there is’. The fact that humans project this story onto the stars suggests this pattern has persisted for millennia and involves all life, and all species, at least those on earth. I am so grateful to be learning to accept this cycle for what it is. When I wrote this poem it was to honor the kindness of one man who literally created a gate through which I could pass in order to reach Mary’s House, my refuge. It wasn’t until afterwards that it occurred to me that this incident occurred during the first week of November just after All Soul’s day. Or that in more than one sense a gate had become permeable, and I had been invited to come and go at will … I want to stay awake to what is – embracing gratitude and grief in equal measure. I lean into the darkness with gratitude, believing my grief opens me to greater compassion for myself and for others, while taking deep pleasure in the low light and long shadows, crystal raindrops on bare trees, and the slow rise of the sun… (Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright https://www.magoism.net/2014/12/meet-mago-contributor-sara-wright/
(Prose) Metamorphosis by Deanne Quarrie

Sometime between the ages of 35 and 55, give or take, a woman enters a phase in her life that can only be described as metamorphosis. Yes, most call it peri-menopausal or menopausal, but truly such changes occur in each woman’s life at this time and it truly is a metamorphosis. It is that time in her life when she stops producing as much estrogen but the production is often haphazard, sporadic and certainly unpredictable. This affects every aspect of her life. She might notice her eyes being dry in the morning, feeling like grating sand when she tries to open them. Her bleeding times may come on at different intervals or not at all. She may bleed more – she may bleed less. She may experience hot flashes – you ask, “What does that feel like?” Imagine a wave of hot air hitting you in the back of your neck and head – instantly causing you to break out in a sweat. You might even get red in the face! All of this, of course, is without warning, and happening at the most inconvenient times. You will often exclaim, “Is it hot in here?” Night sweats – now these are fun! You will find yourself waking up in the wee hours of the morning, sometimes able to go back to sleep but often not. It may take awhile for you to notice that along with this wakefulness come the drenched bed covers and sleepwear! Ye gads! This, my sisters, is the best of it. There is more you ask? Oh my, yes! Let’s talk about the mood swings! Imagine PMS every day – now, not all day – but all of the emotional expressions of PMS become your regular friends. Bitchiness, bad temper, impatience, foul moods, unexpected tears, and a general “leave me the heck alone” feeling! Your friends and family will wonder what is happening to the sweet, levelheaded woman who used to be in their lives. Actually, this is a very beneficial process of pushing aside all of the garbage we load ourselves down with and the phony fronts we feel we have to put on to be what is expected instead of who we really are. This process is truly a shedding – you are the Sacred Snake of Becoming! My whole world as I knew it, my relationships with friends and co-workers – everything changed for me when peri-menopause set in. I had spent my entire life up to that point controlling every emotion, making sure that what surfaced for others to see was “acceptable” to others. Having been raised in a very “British” home, emotions were something not displayed in front of others. Not silly laughter, not anger, and certainly not tears. I had a hysterectomy (uterus only) when I was 43. Because I had healthy ovaries, I knew that one day I would experience menopause as does every woman. But somehow, because I no longer had a period each month, it took me awhile to figure out who this new woman was that I was becoming. Everyone had always known me as steady, level, un-flappable. Never seen before were the sudden eruptions of temper or the instant fits of weeping. Even more important was the fact that I also, did not know this new woman emerging. It was frightening, to say the least. Fortunately, I had just recently found the Goddess and so when I figured out what was going on with my emotions, I decided to accept this new me and ride the ups and downs, the ever turbulent roller coaster of my life. I also decided to do it without hormone help and was far too new at this to even consider herbal assistance. It did not take me long to figure out that my anger would not kill me or anyone else. I also learned that I did not die from my flowing tears. I am not sure why I thought I would. Perhaps I had transferred my earlier fear of parental wrath into fear of the emotions themselves. One thing I did know, I was free of that paralyzing fear – free of embarrassment and free to fully experience the “feeling” me, the emotional woman I had buried deep inside. Gone were the muscle spasms of pent up tension. Gone were the headaches I had suffered for years. Gone too, were those I thought to be friends but who were not accepting enough to accompany me with love on this ride. Surprise, surprise, I have never missed them! If your friends wonder – share that with them. Tell them that you are the Sacred Snake shedding Her skin! You may even feel like “hissing.” This is your time of metamorphosis and in the end, a magnificent Crone will appear. Guaranteed! Oh, did I tell you that your hair will mysteriously disappear from all over your body as well? Ye gads, someone ought to tell you that pubic hair is not forever! Nor are thick eyelashes or shapely eyebrows. Those will suddenly grow in every direction imaginable. You might even get nose hair! The good news is you won’t have to shave your legs near as often and if you are like me – you will just quit shaving altogether! All of this is your practice zone for the Crone that is coming. The Crone who won’t give a darn what people think. This is your training ground for letting go of all of those “people pleasing” ideas. This transitioning time will allow you to test the waters for being outrageous and of course, will give your friends and family a taste of what is yet to come! This is your time to shed all the cumbersome clothing and the clinging trappings of a sedate life and learn to fly – even if one day you might need a cane! My advice for you is to accept this as a normal part of your life. Welcome the surging emotions for …
(Essay) Religious Rites for a Girl in Bozen 1930’s By Claire French Ph.D

[Editor’s Note: We are grateful for the life and work given by late Claire French, Ph.D. and entrust that she is in the bossom of the Great Mother ever.] A translated excerpt from the author’s book: Meine verkehrte Welt: von Bozen nach Australien Mutti, who was still staying with me at Bozen, was heartbroken because I did not receive the Lord’s Supper according to the Lutheran rite as she herself had received it, dressed in black like a penitent sinner. She could not bring herself to be present at the Service and felt as if she had betrayed the whole Reformation. I felt very sorry for her. In the meantime there was some important shopping to be done, and that was the duty of Patin, my godmother. I needed a white Communion dress (but not a long one as the Italian girls used to wear for the occasion) a veil with a wreath of orange blossoms, a large Communion candle, a Missal and a rosary. Everything had to be of the best quality and was bought in the most expensive shops under the Arcades. I can remember that shortly before the great day I was to be presented to the Dean, which was a great honour. Sr Direttrice explained to me the prescribed etiquette. I was to bend my knee to the Dean and kiss his amethyst ring. This was asking too much for my Lutheran upbringing. I just could not bring myself to do it and feigned to be sick. The nuns were putting it down to my excitement and did not insist. On the great day I climbed the stairs to the chapel feeling as if I was ascending to paradise. My teachers and class mates as well as Patin and Uncle Othmar followed. This day of my First Communion had the effect of an initiation. From this day on the Sunday Mass and Fr.Gandolf’s sermon to us children always made a deep impression on me. So did the atmosphere of the church, which was built in Neo Romance style from big blocks of purple porphyry. The main altar was overshadowed by a large gold monstrance containing the consecrated oblate. The holy vessel looked like a huge mandala to remind us of Christ’s everlasting presence. The inside walls of the church nave were decorated with mosaics in the Romance style and the high set windows left it in semidarkness. Each time I entered this church I was filled with a deep devotion. In those early years I had not yet learnt about meditation, but I must have practiced it unconsciously. As I had been told that the church had been built by my late paternal grandfather and my late uncles, it was to me like my family’s own temple. After the service we arrived home to a festive luncheon which Mutti had prepared, but I noticed that she had been crying. That dampened my happiness. Uncle Othmar and Patin had made it a condition that I shared a room with my Grandmother, Maria Wieser nee Danay, a septuagenarian who had born eleven children and had lost eight of them. She was lamed because of a broken hip and lived now at her daughter’s home. Tied to a wheelchair she was visited daily by Sister Clara, a private nurse of the Third Order of St.Francis. Soon we became good friends. Father Eugen from the Franciscan monastery was Grandmother’s confessor and each first Friday of the month he brought her Holy Communion. At these occasions Sister Clara acted as substitute altar boy and I admired the way she recited the ritual prayers in flawless Latin. Soon I had memorised the whole Confiteor and would have loved to be an altar girl. Yet at that time, decades before the Second Vatican Synod, altar girls were never heard of. Father Eugen laughed at me and explained that Sr. Clara occupied a special position, but as a mere girl I would never be allowed to serve at the altar, no matter how perfect my Latin was. For the first time I was filled with rage and anger to be born a mere girl, a second class person. Surely that could not be God’s will. My passionate feminism in later life had its origin in this injustice. Patin was not a very affectionate person and neither was Uncle Othmar. So I tried to find a little loving kindness elsewhere. In the basement of the house there lived Uncle’s mother, Josepha Leitner, a widow from Bichlbach in Ausserfern, a Swabian speaking enclave in the Tyrolean speaking country. She was over eighty and had lost her elder son in Russia and her two daughters Theresa and Rosina had died of the Spanish flue. I called her Grosstante, great- aunt, and she gave me all the love her old heart could give me. In return I loved her more than all my other Tyrolean relatives. Meet Mago Contributor Claire French Ph.D.
(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.
(Poem) The Truth of Vikings by Donna Snyder

The music in her head makes her scared as if Vikings still brandished their blades from the decks of ships fierce as dragons afloat in an ageless riverThe leaves are chill flames Cold rains obscure the water’s source Hiding it away like the secret of a woman’s aging bodyShe is apples and pears She ripens in her own sweet skin Only the moon can match the luster of her opalescent bellyHer mouth makes shadows Her fingers are a doorway and her hair a burning bush Iconic as a religious artifact still sticky and sweet insideShe is on route to the end of being on the back of a red swan She is on the way to nothingness made tolerable by ritual and fire and the howling of inconsolate womenThey no longer believe that love will save them from sorrow There is no home now they wail there is no safe placeDeath tastes like winter flowers She knows this because she knows things she is not supposed to knowShe stands so close she can hear warriors telling each other secrets The truth is that neither love nor death diminishes you The way to truth is a life suffered The way to truth is a drunken waltz She stands so close her howl is lost in the roar of the music inside her head She is wordless before the fact of Vikings Rain and a woman’s sluggish heat Truth is found in a harsh yellow light This poem was published on The Montucky Review http://montuckyreview.blogspot.com/search/label/Donna%20Snyder
(Art & Poetry) A Glorious Catastrophe by Lucy Pierce

I never asked for it, the box you gave to me at my birth, the ask that my vast, wild, eternal nature should squeeze itself inside and make a home for itself. So excruciatingly crippling, the conditions of service. Maybe it never really mattered after all that I wasn’t ever quite lovable enough, or desirable enough for you. Not pleasing or pretty enough, never quite malleable and subservient enough to win the prize of your gaze. Maybe I was really just born to be this glorious catastrophe of heat and hair and blood and sweat, trying to hide itself from the cruel gaze of the predator, swirling through time like a force of nature, untamable, unknowable, unpossessable, sovereign and free, if only she knew. Maybe I don’t care anymore, that I don’t actually want what you’re selling, that I am not and never was for sale, that I have nothing to sell that you would want to buy. Unwanted, unhinged from the world, an act of revolution, like a thunderstorm or a wildfire or a weed that sprouts in the gaps of the pavement. Because I always was and ever will be a little piece of everything. I am birth and death and all that comes between, the amniotic fluid and the first breath, the black shroud and the dark earth, exquisitely grotesque, primal and fierce, delicate and fine. Maybe I don’t even want you to love me any more. Maybe I just want to find the way to claim a greater playing sphere than the one you allocated to me. One that has a place for all the parts of me, unbound from the contortions of suppression. If you only knew how big I was, if only I could let myself truly know that unfathomable fact, unshackling the edicts of safety you placed on me. I am not safe, I am a turbulent channel of rampant love and pain, a catastrophic deluge of compassionate rage and sensual harbor. I am unfurling my torrential magnificence into the co-creative field of the universe, I am weeping in the darkness of my exile. I am a grief-stricken burgeoning, a primal harbor for lost parts and misplaced dreams, I am big enough to hold all the brokenness and all the hope, a majestic annihilation of reason, a formidable imperative of tenderness. I do not fit in your box and I have all the scars to prove it. I will not prune myself for you, be clipped by your infantilising whim. I am hair and juice, snot and tears, blood and bone, woman born, all the years my age and powerful, unkempt and fertile, life-giving warrioress, bloodcurdling protector of the vulnerable and the weak. No I am not pretty and I will not be shamed and as you cast me aside I feel the primal undercurrents of creation scoop me up and feed the ancient rivers within, of this formidable longing to unshackle Her vibrant potency, Her ferocious transmutation, transcending the captivity of feminine identity, the psychic imprisonment of fear and belittlement, that a colonizing culture enforced upon Her. I exalt the mossy crevices you would manicure and poison, I relish the succulent decay you would sanitize and bleach, I trust in the blood-swelling, bone-crunching, nectar-flowing, sweat-drenched brutality of her primordial love, so tender and fierce. I will make of Her my home. I don’t want to please you anymore, I just want to love myself and breath my devotion, in all my magnificent messiness, a potent mix of all the things a life can be, born only this once, as this particular catastrophe of love and grief, untamable after all the trying, only able to be loved completely by a consciousness as vast and unknowable as it’s own self. I can rest there, in that knowing, that even though the world would not have me as I truly am, I know that the place from which I came will take me back, unapologetic and shining. She will understand that I was just an ugliness too exquisite for the world of small boxes, a beauty too primal and pungent, too real and honest for the world of masks. (Meet Mago Contributor) Lucy Pierce.
(Art & Poem) Candelmas/Imbolc by Sudie Rakusin & Annie Finch

IMBOLC DANCE From the east she has gathered like wishes. She has woven a night into dawn. We are quickening ivy. We grow where her warmth melts out over the ice. Now spiral south bends into flame to push the morning over doors. The light swings wide, green with the pulse of seasons, and we let her in We are quickening ivy. We grow The light swings wide, green with the pulse till the west is rocked by darkness pulled from where the fire rises. Shortened time’s reflecting water rakes her through the thickened cold. Hands cover north smooth with emptiness, stinging the mill of night’s hours. Wait with me. See, she comes circling over the listening snow to us. Shortened time’s reflecting water Wait with me. See, she comes circling From Calendars (Tupelo Press, 2003) Art is included in Celebrating Seasons of the Goddess (Mago Books, 2017). (Meet Mago Contributor) Sudie Rakusin (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch
(Prose) What is the healing question? by Nane Jordan

What would you ask Hélène Cixous, if you had the chance? I am reading Cixous, and writing my-self. My research program is also very much about being here in France, in the French university system (via Paris 8), immersed in language and culture. And attending Cixous’ monthly seminar, with an opportunity to speak with her, maybe even to discuss, clarify and dialogue. But what question do I ask?

(Special Post 5) 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.] Annie Finch For me, Goddess is completely different from God–Goddess means acceptance of the sacred WITHIN the physical instead of transcending the physical; acceptance of death and life as equally sacred; and the holiness of changing cycles…. Annie Finch, Maine anniefinch.com Marie de Kock Why Goddess spirituality? Goddess spirituality is crucial for our survival and the survival of our planet. I’m referring to every woman’s connection and relationship with her own Spirit which resides in her heart, and her own divine ability to create, which springs from her womb. The womb is infinitely more than a reproductive organ; it is a replica of the Cosmic Womb or Mago. From that profound pool of infinite silent knowledge, women can access the solutions so urgently needed to recover the equilibrium the world with its God spirituality has lost, and women can dream the solutions into being. It is the intelligence of the heart and intelligence of the womb that humanity needs in order to balance out the ill effects of our noisy ‘rational’ left brained society. Women carry the keys to the wisdom within them. Female spirituality is the door. Marie is in Chile for now http://ninenormalwomenwithwings.com Leslene Della-Madre Goddess among many things to me is a verb–Goddessing. “Goding” isn’t the same. She is Love in action in all things–she is the cosmic gen-Her-ator bringing life into form from primordial chaos, the twin serpents of coming and going. She is the plasMA of the YoniVerse filling space with her divine essence creating great beaded necklaces of galaxies all connected to each other by electric pathways. She is the All and Eternal. Leslene Della Madre, California USA midwifingdeath.com Diane Horton Sacred Goddess Sisterhood Each of our stories as women who have come to embrace the Goddess are varied and interesting. Certainly interesting to each other, as our spirits long to resonate with another who has had a similar journey. Mine began while I was still a member of the Episcopal Church and a Christian. But relative to many, it was not that long ago, just 18 years. Some women have been knowing and worshiping the Goddess for more than 30 years, some have only just come to the reawakening and re-membering recently. Some of us call ourselves witches, some priestesses, or both. Some do not identify with either of those words and simply say they have immersed themselves in the Divine Feminine, or that they worship the Goddess. Some will say they are Pagan or Wiccan or Dianic Wiccan. Whatever we call ourselves, or do not call ourselves, we are all Sisters in Goddess, those who worship the Great Mother. And though our numbers are growing, seemingly almost daily, we are still in a minority. We need those who are articulate to voice our views and we need wise teachers who can share practices, philosophy and knowledge with those who are eager for such spiritual food. One of the great things about this Goddess Path is that, although there is much written and oral knowledge to be had for those who seek it, the deepest part of this path is experiential. Personal experience with Goddess, deep within ourselves, and having our eyes opened to Her all around us all the time, seeing and feeling Her magic in our lives, knowing Her love and nurturance in our hearts. We have no dogma, no set of rules or commandments, no rigid ideology. We have our own hearts to guide us into all acts of love and pleasure, compassion, humility and reverence which are Her rituals. When we express strength, hold our power and honor life, as well as giggle and laugh, those are Her rituals, too. There are the Women’s Blood Mysteries, which set women apart from men who worship the Goddess, but that should serve to unite women in a strong eternal bond, not alienate men. There is no place for hierarchy. We are all women equal to each other as daughters of the Goddess. We cannot, we must not, allow the patriarchal mindset to contaminate Feminine Spirituality. No hierarchy, no duality, no controlling others. If we want to see a world in which the Divine Feminine is prominent, the world that many of us believe is coming, we need to take a good, hard look at ourselves in the mirror of our Sisters’ eyes and all of us individually commit ourselves to Unity, Sisterhood and Unconditional Love. That does not mean we will never disagree, and sometimes disagree vehemently, but it does mean we do not allow those disagreements to fracture us as a body of women or to damage or destroy our Sisterhood. There are many teachers who have their own followings of students, their own coursework, their own publications and newsletters, their own festivals they work all year to organize and make manifest. This is a good thing! Especially with the national economy the way it is now many, many women cannot afford to travel very far from their homes, so the fact that there are festivals in diverse parts of the country is no doubt just as the Goddess desires. Those who know of Her and hear Her call are greatly benefited by all of these in mind, heart and spirit. We all need each other. We who can spread this information far and wide need to do so, not just think of and promote the one group or project we are involved in ourselves individually. This is the BIG PICTURE. This is how the movement moves forward. This is how the Goddess gathers Her women (and men). Unification of purpose. Standing together. Supporting each other in concrete ways. We are Women of Goddess. Her spirit […]
(Special Post 1) "The Oldest Civilization" and its Agendas by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: The following discussion took place in response to an article listed blow by the members of The Mago Cirlce, Facebook group of Goddessians/Magoists from May 6 to May 10, 2016. Readers are recommended to read the original article linked below that has invoked the converation.] “The Danube Civilization: Oldest in the World” in The Ancient Ones upon the ruins of our ancestors, published April 3, 2016.
(Special Post) To Contributors: Strengthening Our Roots by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

Dear Contributors, Do you know that Return to Mago (RTM) E*Magazine is entering its fifth year this fall? And, thanks to our collective effort, we are still growing! As of today, our contributors have grown to more than 130 in number and our readership is from about 140 countries around the world. We have some hundred email followers as well as Wordpress blog followers. We draw 3000-4000 clicks per month on average; that is no small accomplishment for a Goddess blog that is named after a yet-to-be heard word, Mago (the Great Goddess), and that began from scratch.

(Video) Winter Solstice Breath Meditation by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Winter Solstice/Yule Southern Hemisphere – June 20 – 23. Northern Hemisphere – December 20 – 23 Winter Solstice is a celebration of the Mother/Creator aspect of the Triple Goddess in particular – as both Solstices may be, as dark or light come to fullness. Winter Solstice Moment celebrates the ripe fullness of the Dark Womb, and the gateway from that fullness back into new growing light. It is a Birthing Place – into differentiated being, and Her birthing happens in every moment in the breath, and is seamlessly connected with all layers of being – of self, Earth and Cosmos. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDsVZzXtoyM The Text in the Meditation[i] Take a deep breath and let it go. Notice the Void at the bottom of emptying your breath … feeling it, and feeling the Urge to breathe as it arises. And again … feeling it over and over – this breath that arises out of the full emptiness in every moment, birthing you in every moment. – Recall some of the birthings in your life, your actual birth – see it there in your mind’s eye … you coming into being – your Nativity, your Nativity. Recall projects you have brought into being, new beings within yourself, perhaps children, new beings in others, how you have been Creator and Created – even at the same time … who was birthing who? Staying for a while with the many, many birthings in your life. – recalling now Earth-Gaia’s many birthings out of the Dark everyday … the dawn is constant as She turns. See Her in your mind’s eye – the constant dawning around the globe, the constant birthing. Recall Earth’s many births right now of all beings – as day breaks around the globe – the physical, emotional, spiritual births. Her many, many birthings everyday, and throughout the eons. recalling now Universe-Gaia’s many birthings – happening in every moment – right now in real time and space … supernovas right now, stars and planets being born right now. Her many, many birthings in every moment and throughout the eons. – recalling now Universe-Gaia’s many birthings – happening in every moment – right now in real time and space … supernovas right now, stars and planets being born right now. Her many, many birthings in every moment and throughout the eons. Come back to your breath – this wonder – none of it separate … the Origin Ever-Present, birthing you in every moment – out of Her Fertile Dark, in real time and space. Feeling this breath, Her breath. NOTES: [i] Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology, Winter Solstice ceremonial script, p. 195-196. Reference: Glenys Livingstone, PaGaian Cosmology. Music: Fish Nite Moon by Tim Wheater, permission generously given Images: – Birth of the Goddess, Erich Neumann, The Great Mother, pl. 155. See https://pagaian.org/book/cover-goddess-image/ – Winter Solstice window, MoonCourt Australia 2016 – some sources unknown
A Southern Hemisphere Perspective on Place by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from the Introduction to the author’s book PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion, which was an outcome of her doctoral research/thesis entitled The Female Metaphor – Virgin, Mother, Crone – of the Dynamic Cosmological Unfolding: Her Embodiment in Seasonal Ritual as Catalyst for Personal and Cultural Change. This doctoral work was in turn a documentation and deeper research of the Seasonal ceremonial celebrations that the author was already engaged in for over a decade. The whole of the process is here named as her “Search”. photo credit: David Widdowson, Astrovisuals. The site of seasonal ceremonial celebrations will always be significant. In my case, the place in which I have created them has been notably in the Southern Hemisphere of out Planet Earth. The fact of my context being thus – the Southern Hemisphere – had contributed in the past to my deep internalized sense of being “other”, and dissociated from my senses, since almost all stories told were based in Northern Hemisphere perspective. Yet at the same time this context of inhabiting the Southern Hemisphere contributed to my deep awareness of Gaia’s Northern Hemisphere and Her reciprocal Seasonal Moment: thus, awareness of the whole Planet. My initial confusion about the sensed Cosmos – as a Place, became a clarity about the actual Cosmos – which remained inclusive of my sensed Cosmos. PaGaian reality – the reality of our Gaian “country” – is that the whole Creative Dynamic happens all the time, all at once. The “other”, the opposite, is always present – underneath and within the Moment. This has affected my comprehension of each Sabbat/Seasonal Moment, its particular beauty but also a fullness of its transitory nature. Many in the Northern Hemisphere – even today – have no idea that the Southern Hemisphere has a ‘different’ lunar, diurnal, seasonal perspective; and because of this there often is a rigidity of frame of reference for place, language, metaphor and hence cosmology[i]. Indeed over the years of industrialized culture it has appeared to matter less to many of both hemispheres, including the ‘author-ities’, the writers of culture and cosmos. And such ‘author-ity’ and northern-hemispheric rigidity is also assumed by many more Earth-oriented writers as well[ii]. There has been consistent failure to take into account a whole Earth perspective: for example, the North Star does not need to be the point of sacred reference – there is great Poetry to be made of the void of the South Celestial Pole. Nor need the North be rigidly associated with the Earth element and darkness, nor is there really an “up” and a “down” cosmologically speaking. A sense and accountof the Southern Hemisphere perspective with all that that implies metaphorically as well as sens-ibly, seems vitally important to comprehending and sensing a whole perspective and globe – a flexibility of mind, and coming to inhabit the real Cosmos, hence enabling what I have named as a ‘PaGaian’ cosmological perspective, a whole Earth perspective. It has also been of particular significance that my Search has been birthed in the ancient continent of Australia. It is the age of the exposed rock in this Land, present to her inhabitants in an untarnished, primal mode that is significant. This Land Herself has for millennia been largely untouched by human war, conquest and concentrated human agriculture and disturbance. The inhabitants of this Land dwelt here in a manner that was largely peaceful and harmonious, for tens of thousands of years. Therefore the Land Herself may speak more clearly I feel; one may be the recipient of direct transmission of Earth in one of her most primordial modes. Her knowledge may be felt more clearly – one may be taught by Her. I think that the purity of this transmission is a significant factor in the development of the formal research I undertook – in my chosen methodology and in what I perceived in the process, and documented; from my beginnings as a country girl, albeit below my conscious mind in the subtle realms of which I knew little, to the more conscious times of entering into the process of the Search. In this Land that birthed me, ‘spirit’ is not remote and abstract, it is felt in Her red earth[iii]. Aboriginal elder David Mowaljarlai described, “This is a spirit country”[iv], and all of Her inhabitants, including non-Indigenous, may be affected by the strength of Her organic communication. It took me until the later stages of my research to realize the need to state the importance of this particular place for the advent of the research: the significance of both the land of Australia, and the specific region of the Blue Mountains in which I was now dwelling, as well as the community of this particular region, which all lent itself to the whole process. The lateness of this perception on my part, has to do with the extent of my previous alienation; but the fact that it did occur, is perhaps at least in part attributable to the unfolding awakening to my habitat that was part of the project/process. The specific region of the “Blue Mountains” – as Europeans have named them – is significant in that I don’t think that this project/process could have happened as it did in just any region. David Abram says, “The singular magic of a place is evident from what happens there, from what befalls oneself or others when in its vicinity. To tell of such events is implicitly to tell of the particular power of that site, and indeed to participate in its expressive potency[v]”. Blue Mountains, Australia: Dharug and Gundungurra Country The Blue Mountains are impressive ancient rock formations, an uplifted ancient seabed, whose “range of rock types and topographical situations has given rise to distinct plant communities”[vi]; and the presence of this great variation of plant communities, “especially the swamps, offer an abundance and variety of food sources, as well as habitats for varied fauna”[vii]. I feel that this is the case for …
(Art & Poem) Candelmas/Imbolc by Sudie Rakusin & Annie Finch

IMBOLC DANCE From the east she has gathered like wishes. She has woven a night into dawn. We are quickening ivy. We grow where her warmth melts out over the ice. Now spiral south bends into flame to push the morning over doors. The light swings wide, green with the pulse of seasons, and we let her in We are quickening ivy. We grow The light swings wide, green with the pulse till the west is rocked by darkness pulled from where the fire rises. Shortened time’s reflecting water rakes her through the thickened cold. Hands cover north smooth with emptiness, stinging the mill of night’s hours. Wait with me. See, she comes circling over the listening snow to us. Shortened time’s reflecting water Wait with me. See, she comes circling From Calendars (Tupelo Press, 2003) Art is included in Celebrating Seasons of the Goddess (Mago Books, 2017). (Meet Mago Contributor) Sudie Rakusin (Meet Mago Contributor) Annie Finch
Samhain/Deep Autumn within the Creative Cosmos by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an edited excerpt from Chapter 4 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. Traditionally the dates for Samhain/Deep Autumn are: Northern Hemisphere – October 31st/November 1st Southern Hemisphere – April 30th/May 1st though the actual astronomical date varies. It is the meridian point or cross-quarter day between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice, thus actually a little later in early May for S.H., and early November for N.H., respectively. A Samhain/Deep Autumn Ceremonial Altar In this cosmology, Deep Autumn/Samhain is a celebration of She Who creates the Space to Be par excellence. This aspect of the Creative Triplicity is associated with the autopoietic quality of Cosmogenesis[i] and with the Crone/Old One of the Triple Goddess, who is essentially creative in Her process. This Seasonal Moment celebrates the process of the Crone, the Ancient One … how we are formed by Her process, and in that sense conceived by Her: it is an ‘imaginal fertility,’ a fertility of the dark space, the sentient Cosmos. It mirrors the fertility and conception of Beltaine (which is happening in the opposite Hemisphere at the same time). Some Samhain/Deep Autumn Story This celebration of Deep Autumn has been known in Christian times as “Halloween,” since the church in the Northern Hemisphere adopted it as “All Hallow’s eve” (31st October) or “All Saint’s Day” (1st November). This “Deep Autumn” festival as it may be named in our times, was known in old Celtic times as Samhain (pronounced “sow-een), which is an Irish Gaelic word, with a likely meaning of “Summer’s end,” since it is the time of the ending of the Spring-Summer growth. Many leaves of last Summer are turning and falling at this time: it was thus felt as the end of the year, and hence the New Year. It was and is noted as the beginning of Winter. It was the traditional Season for bringing in the animals from the outdoor pastures in pastoral economies, and when many of them were slaughtered. Earth’s tilt is continuing to move the region away from the Sun at this time of year. This Seasonal Moment is the meridian point of the darkest quarter of the year, between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice; the dark part of the day is longer than the light part of the day and is still on the increase. It is thus the dark space of the annual cycle wherein conception and dreaming up the new may occur. As with any New Year, between the old and the new, in that moment, all is possible. We may choose in that moment what to pass to the future, and what to relegate to compost. Samhain may be understood as the Space between the breaths. It is a generative Space – the Source of all. There is particular magic in being with this Dark Space. This Dark Space which is ever present, may be named as the “All-Nourishing Abyss,”[ii] the “Ever-Present Origin.”[iii] It is a generative Place, and we may feel it particularly at this time of year, and call it to consciousness in ceremony. Some Samhain/Deep Autumn Motifs The fermentation of all that has passed begins. This moment may mark the Transformation of Death – the breakdown of old forms, the ferment and rot of the compost, and thus the possibility of renewal.[iv] It is actually a movement towards form and ‘re-solution’ (as Beltaine – its opposite – begins a movement towards entropy and dissolution). With practice we begin to develop this vision: of the rot, the ferment, being a movement towards the renewal, to see the gold. And just so, does one begin to know the movement at Beltaine, towards expansion and thus falling apart, dissolution. In Triple Goddess poetics it may be expressed that the Crone’s face here at Samhain begins to change to the Mother – as at Beltaine the Virgin’s face begins to change to the Mother: the aspects are never alone and kaleidoscope into the other … it is an alive dynamic process, never static. The whole Wheel is a Creation story, and Samhain is the place of the conceiving of this Creativity, and it may be in the Spelling of it – saying what we will; and thus, beginning the Journey through the Wheel. Conception could be described as a “female-referring transformatory power” – a term used by Melissa Raphael in Thealogy and Embodiment:[v] conception happens in a female body, yet it is a multivalent cosmic dynamic, that is, it happens in all being in a variety of forms. It is not bound to the female body, yet it occurs there in a particular and obvious way. Androcentric ideologies, philosophies and theologies have devalued the event and occurrence of conception in the female body: whereas PaGaian Cosmology is a conscious affirmation, invocation and celebration of “female sacrality”[vi] as part of all sacrality. It does thus affirm the female as a place; as well as a place.[vii] ‘Conception’ is identified as a Cosmic Dynamic essential to all being – not exclusive to the female, yet it is a female-based metaphor, one that patriarchal-based religions have either co-opted and attributed to a father-god (Zeus, Yahweh, Chenrezig – have all taken on being the ‘mother’), or it has been left out of the equation altogether. Womb is the place of Creation – not some God’s index finger as is imagined in Michelangelo’s famous painting. Melissa Raphael speaks of a “menstrual cosmology”. It is an “ancient cosmology in which chaos and harmony belong together in a creation where perfection is both impossible and meaningless;”[viii] yet it is recently affirmed in Western scientific understanding of chaos, as essential to order and spontaneous emergence. Samhain is an opportunity for immersion in a deeper reality which the usual cultural trance denies. It may celebrate immersion in what is usually ‘background’ – the real world beyond and within time and space: which is actually the major portion of the Cosmos we live in.[ix] Samhain is about understanding that the Dark is a fertile place: in its decay and rot it seethes with infinite unseen complex golden threads connected to the wealth of Creativity of all that has gone before – like any …
(Poetry & Photo Essay) Pongal by Susan Hawthorne

I am a secularist rather than a ritualist, but I can’t help but be drawn into the celebrations that people make when they honour the passing of the seasons. Even as a child I felt the disconnect between Christmas and the hot dusty days of summer. When Christians invaded and colonised Australia they brought their holidays but did not consider changing the dates to match the seasons. I was in India recently, invited as a speaker at the Hindu Lit For Life Festival in Chennai where I had lived ten years ago. The last day of the festival was the first day of Pongal. A friend, feminist economist Devaki Jain, who had grown up in Chennai eighty years earlier invited me to join her in a car ride to see Pongal celebrations in the streets. This is a Tamil festival dating back at least a thousand years, a sun festival, welcoming the next six months of the sun’s journey, also a harvest festival. During this time many women produce beautiful drawings, known as kolam. In my book Cow I wrote a poem about kolam which I think says more than I can explain here. what she says about kolam where they are drawn and when is all important early morning is auspicious it sets the shape of the day the hard ground is cleaned points of white grain sprinkled she works quickly she knows her design for the day runs the powdered grain from point to point it is a mandala a yantra a sign so the forces of the universe align themselves with her intentions Back to Pongal. The festival goes for four days. On the first day, which is called Bhogi, people are on the streets with the fruits of harvest, piles of tumeric and stacks of sugar cane tied in bunches. My friend, Devaki, bought flowers to take back to her room in the hotel. The second day, called Thai Pongal, I was invited to a harvest lunch at the house of my friend Mangai who is a playwright, theatre director and human rights activist. The word ‘pongal’ means ‘boiling over’ or’ overflow’ and I saw this in the cooking of the sweetened rice dish into which each of the twelve people present poured some water and milk as it almost overflowed the pot. This sweet rice dish was added to the collection of other dishes on the table. I cannot tell you what they were, but the meal was delicious. After lunch everyone relaxed, someone sang, we talked and caught up on news. The third day, is called Maatu Pongal, and cattle are at the centre of celebrations on that day. I don’t know if this line up of cattle had anything to do with the day’s celebration but there they were tied up alongside a very busy main road. These were not cows and I did not see any cows with decorated horns and flowers on their heads. on that day as I have on other occasions. On the fourth day, Kaanum Pongal, things begin to wind down. One of my co-speakers at the festival said she would be visiting family members on that day. The kolams are drawn again, sugar cane is consumed and people go back to their daily lives. What I liked about being in Tamil Nadu during the Pongal festival is that it felt absolutely right. The time of the year, the connection with harvest, so I did not feel the discomfort I so often feel in the midst of the out-of-season commercialised holidays as they are celebrated in Australia. Susan Hawthorne’s book Cow is available worldwide from distributors in USA, Canada, UK, from all the usual online retailers or from Spinifex Press. http://www.spinifexpress.com.au/Bookstore/book/id=215/ © Susan Hawthorne, 2019 (Meet Mago Contributor) Susan Hawthorne.
(Prose & Photography) Equinox Reflection by Sara Wright

Photography by Sara Wright I gaze out my bedroom window and hear yet another golden apple hit the ground. The vines that hug the cabin and climb up the screens are heavy with unripe grapes and the light that is filtered through the trees in front of the brook is luminous – lime green tipped in gold – My too sensitive eyes are blessedly well protected by this canopy of late summer leaves. The maples on the hill are losing chlorophyll and are painting the hollow with splashes of bittersweet orange and red. The dead spruces by the brook will probably collapse this winter providing Black bears with even more precious ants and larvae to eat in early spring. I only hope that some bears will survive the fall slaughter to return to this black bear sanctuary; in particular two beloved young ones… Mushrooms abound, amanitas, boletes morels, puff balls, the latter two finding their way into my salads. The forest around my house is in an active state of becoming with downed limbs and sprouting fungi becoming next year’s soil. The forest floor smells so sweet that all I can imagine is laying myself down on a bed of mosses to sleep and dream. The garden looks as tired as I am; lily fronds droop, yellowing leaves betraying the season at hand. Bright green pods provide a startling contrast to fading scarlet bee balm. Wild asters are abundant and goldenrod covers the fields with a bright yellow garment. Every wild bush has sprays of berries. My crabapple trees are bowed, each twig heavy with winter fruit. Most of the birds have absconded to the fields that are ripe with the seeds of wild grasses. The mourning doves are an exception – they gather together each dawn waiting patiently for me to fill the feeder. In the evening I am serenaded by soft cooing. One chicken hawk hides in the pine, lying in wait for the unwary…Just a few hummingbirds remain…whirring wings and twittering alert me to continued presence as they settle into the cherry tree to sleep, slipping into a light torpor with these cool September nights… Spiders are spinning their egg cases, even as they prepare to die. I can still find toads hopping around the house during the warmest hours of the day. Although the grass is long I will not mow it for fear of killing these most precious and threatened of species. I am heavily invested in seeing these toads burrow in to see another spring. My little frogs sit on their lily pads seeking the warmth of a dimming afternoon sun. Soon they too will slumber below fallen leaves or mud. I am surrounded by such beauty, and so much harvest bounty that even though I am exhausted I take deep pleasure out of each passing day of this glorious month of September, the month of my birth. Unlike many folks, for me, moving into the dark of the year feels like a blessing. Another leave -taking is almost upon me, and I am having trouble letting go of this small oasis that I have tended with such care for more than thirty years… I don’t know what this winter will bring to my modest cabin whose foundation is crumbling under too much moisture and too many years of heavy snow. In the spring extensive excavation will begin. A new foundation must be poured and this work will destroy the gardens I have loved, the mossy grounds around the south end of the house that I have nurtured for so long. In this season of letting go I must find a way to lay down my fears, and release that which I am powerless to change. Somehow… I have no idea what I will return to except that I have made it clear that none of my beloved trees be harmed. I am grateful that Nature is mirroring back to me so poignantly that letting go is the way through: That this dying can provide a bedrock foundation for another spring birth. As a Daughter of the Earth I lean into ancient wisdom, praying that this exhausted mind and body will be able to follow suit. (Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright.

(Italian language essay) Corea: la Musica cosmica di Mago by Luciana Percovich

[Author’s note: From Colei che dà la vita. Colei che dà la forma. Miti di creazione femminili, Venexia, Roma, Italia, 2009] Capitolo 3 Corea: la Musica cosmica di Mago Mago Nell’Età del Primo Cielo, esistevano solo la luce del sole e l’acqua. Quando Ryoe Ryul (la Musica cosmica armonizzata) risuonò più volte, emersero le stelle. Da Pal Ryoe (la Musica cosmica otto volte avvolta), si generarono Mago e il paradiso di Mago (Mago Sung). Fu un evento che ebbe luogo nell’Età Cosmica di Mezzo chiamata Jim Se (il Suo/Loro mondo). Mago preparò l’età che si chiama Ultimo Cielo. Mago non provava sentimenti né di piacere né di dolore. Nell’Età del Primo Cielo la grande cittadella di Mago stava sopra il SilDal (la Terra reale) e vicina all’HeoDal (la Terra ideale). Anche queste erano emerse dalla musica. Quando il Jim Se ebbe compiuto i suoi cicli per molto tempo, prima dell’Ultimo Cielo (il Nostro/Questo mondo), Mago generò da sola due figlie, Kung Hee (volta) e So Hee (nido) e affidò loro l’Oem Chil Jo (le cinque note e i sette toni). E mentre praticavano l’arte di vivere, dalla terra sgorgava il latte; Kung Hee e So Hee generarono ciascuna due figlie e due figli. In seguito, Mago affidò Ryoe (la Musica cosmica femminile) alle quattro nipoti femmine e Ryul (la Musica cosmica maschile) ai quattro nipoti maschi. Il paradiso di Mago, Mago Sung (la cittadella di Mago), che onorava l’Emblema celeste, seguì al Primo Cielo. Le quattro coppie, chiamate Hwang Gung (volta gialla), Baek So (nido bianco), Chun Gung (volta azzurra) e Heuk So (nido nero) furono posizionate ai quattro angoli della città. Ed esse costruirono i tubi (flauti) e composero musica. Il ciclo dell’Ultimo Cielo si srotolava. Ryul e Ryoe tornavano a risuonare. Si formò Hyang Sang (la rappresentazione dell’eco), suoni e musica si mescolavano. Mago tirò la grande cittadella di SilDal e la immerse nella regione dell’Acqua celeste. L’energia del SilDal salì e coprì la nuvola d’acqua. Quando il corpo del SilDal si espanse, comparve la terra in mezzo all’acqua. Terra e acqua stavano parallele, sorsero le montagne e le correnti si allungarono. La regione dell’Acqua celeste divenne terra e le due nuove regioni di acqua e terra ruotarono ripetutamente, finché il sopra e il sotto si rovesciarono. Da qui iniziarono numeri e calendario. Energia, fuoco, acqua e terra si generavano, mescolavano e equilibravano in mutua relazione. Da quel momento la luce separò il giorno dalla notte e le quattro stagioni. Piante e animali crescevano in abbondanza. C’era tanto lavoro da fare sulla terra… Poiché non c’erano altri se non i quattro uomini e le quattro donne celesti che amministravano la musica originale e la rappresentazione dell’eco, le cose apparivano e sparivano rapidamente senza tenersi in equilibrio. Mago allora mostrò loro come procreare dalle ascelle. Fu allora che i quattro uomini celesti si unirono alle quattro donne celesti. E ciascuna generò tre figlie e tre figli: gli antenati umani che apparvero per la prima volta sulla terra. Tutti gli abitanti di Mago Sung avevano disposizioni di cuore e di mente pure e sincere e conoscevano l’armonia. Bevevano il latte che sgorgava dalla terra e il loro sangue era energia pura. Avevano oro nelle orecchie e sentivano la musica celeste. Correvano e camminavano a loro piacere, erano liberi nei movimenti. Alla fine della loro vita, diventavano polvere dorata. L’essenza dei loro corpi si conservava. Con l’hon (spirito dell’aria) risvegliato, sapevano parlare senza voce e muovendo il baek (spirito del corpo) sapevano agire senza forme. Vivevano sparsi tra le energie della terra e la lunghezza delle loro esistenze era infinita… Quando ogni clan raggiunse il numero di 3000 … Ji So (nido di ramo), del clan dei Baek So (nido bianco), non riuscì più a bere il latte della terra. La sorgente del latte era così piccola e affollata che Ji So perse il suo turno più volte. Così Ji So per la fame assaggiò l’uva e invitò altri a farlo e fu così che un gruppo fu mosso a provare questa nuova esperienza… Il loro sangue e il loro corpo cominciarono a diventare torbidi, crebbero loro i denti, gli si aprirono gli occhi … stavano perdendo la loro natura celeste. Cominciarono a morire e la morte non fece più parte della vita. Nacquero creature bestiali. L’ordinato calendario cadde nel disordine. La comunità si divise e quelli che mangiavano l’uva lasciarono Mago Sung con vergogna, disperdendosi in luoghi diversi … . Fu allora che Mago chiuse i cancelli e ritirò le nuvole attraverso cui la gente poteva restare in sintonia con la Musica cosmica.
(Book Announcement 5) Introduction (part 3) by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Editor’s Note: This Introduction is from She Rises: How Goddess Feminism, Activism, and Spirituality? Volume 2.] Pre-order available now! Engendering the Gynocentric Economy In the sense that the She Rises collective writing project does NOT begin with a ready-made blueprint, it is distinguished from a standard anthology. More to the point, this book is a book of the Goddess. By saying that, I do not mean that it is just about the Goddess. It is created in a gynocentric way and it serves a gynocentric purpose. Motivations matter; the task of the She Rises collective writing was first undertaken as a way of enhancing the Goddess/Mago Movement in 2014.[i] It has taken place spontaneously by the hand of volunteers. It relies on the gynocentric economy, a system of enabling the life of all beings operated through voluntary collaboration and egalitarian coordination. As an extension of the Gift Economy that Genevieve Vaughan advocates, the gynocentric economy is based on the voluntary sharing of one’s available resources for the whole.[ii] Gift-givers not only give what we can give freely but also enable a whole new (read non-patriarchal) mode of doing economic activities. In other words, they summon gynocentric reality to take place. Gynocentric economy secures free gift-giving activities and at the same time is shaped by the latter.
(2018 Mago Pilgrimage) Peak of Nine Wells in Yeongam (Spiritual Rock), South Jeolla by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note: This essay comprises a summary report and its unfolding awakenings to be unraveled in sequences. I dedicate this essay to my 2018 Mago Pilgrimage companions, Narayani Ankh, Kate Besleme, Hyunsuk Jee, and Julie Jang. Learn more about Mago Pilgrimage.] Hike Report The town, Yeong-am (Spirit Rock), emanates an aura from its Magoist natural, historical, and cultural legacies. Among them, what grabbed my attention include Wolchul-san (月出山 Moon Rising Mountain), Dogap-sa (Dogap Temple), and Gurim Village, known for the birth place of Doseon Guksa (State Master Doseon), a prominent Buddhist monk, the 9th century of Silla (827-898). I was most attracted to the Peak of Nine Wells (九井峰 Gujeong-bong) as well as the Loom Cave shaped in the form of a vulva, part of the Moon Rising Mountain ranges. Our goal was to hike the Peak of Nine Wells (hereafter Gujeong-bong). We took the seemingly shortest trail, through Cheonwang-bong (Peak of Heavenly Ruler), the highest peak of Moon Rising Mountain, 809 km above sea level. It took about 8 hours for the entire hike took about 8 hours and it was one of the two most strenuous and significant ones that I have taken. About 30 years ago, I climbed Mt. Halla in Jeju Island and had received the vision of my life. No longer a youth, I had a much clearer vision about my life and the act of high altitude hiking this time. With my two companions, Narayani Ankh and Kate Besleme, who showed no sign of hesitation or tiredness in the beginning and throughout the course, I embarked my day’s journey. With occasional breaks, we were able gain distance and progress. Beautiful streams adorned the valley. Rocks were emitting the oldest song of the earth. Our talks continued and deepened, when we had breath to spare. It was such a blessing that I had these two co-hikers from elsewhere! My mind zoomed in and worked in detail. All thinking and feeling became registered. Impromptu, I began to count my steps up on stiff wooden stairways. My counting one, two, three… and thirteen carried me to the top of the stairs. The 13 counting chant worked; There was no medium between me and WE/HERE/NOW. We were gifted a 360-degree bird’s eye view on Cheongwang-bong. Several ridges with the depth of Magoist history came within a vision. We took a small lunch break. On a high mountain top wherein all remains visibly related, everyone becomes kin. On Cheongwang-gong, we were instructed by the rangers we met along the journey about the ridge path to Gujeong-bong. Gujeong-bong would be about another one and half hour hike away from us. We passed by a few masses of gigantic boulder formations for which Wolchul-san is known for. Among them was the standing stone called the Phallic Rock, a name that I suspected to be original. For standing stones are called the Rock of Mago Halmi in other regions of Korea. In any case, the very existence of the Phallic Rock (남근바위 Namgeun Bawi) heralded the appearance of the Loom Cave, a misnomer for the Yoni Cave (여근바위 Yeogeun Bawi). Heart beatings escalated as we approached our destination. We finally reached the Loom Cave, which closely resembled the vulva. The cave was made of a huge boulder, three times taller than an average person in size. A small pond sat inside the entrance made the cave a real yoni of nature. I was pulled into the state of trance, as we made a final climb up the stairs around the left side of the Loom Cave. I was able to see that the Peak of Nine Wells is located on the top plain of the Loom Cave. It is part of the yoni cave! I saw a number of wells pocketed in various sizes of ponds. They numbered more than nine, about 13, variable in number in that a couple of them were made in between adjacent boulders. The biggest well was larger than one meter (3.3 feet) in diameter. Moderns do their typical things in a time like this, indeed odd out of other options or necessity to share with others: I took photos of the wells and my companions, which were absolutely beautiful as they were. However, mental imprints were not able to be contained then and in nature. WE/HERE/NOW embraced all on the spot, perhaps like a black hole. Casual conversations wouldn’t continue. The silence and the oneness fast permeated our time/space. Our minds worked on layers. The deepest mind was stored in the reservoir of the unspoken. Descending is good as a time/space of tuning/balancing oneself to the power of WE/HERE/NOW. There wasn’t much time left for us to return, while the sun was still out. We hurriedly descended a different tail. I was no longer the same person I was prior to the experience of hiking Gujeong-bong. No need to dig up and count the number of branches in one’s root. To live means to grow and evolve, as we are meant to be. To be continued. (Meet Mago Contributor) Helen Hye-Sook Hwang.