May 21, 2019October 2, 2019 Mago Work Admin

(Altar Art) Ancient Mother Mandala #4 by Nuit Moore

Sacred sculpture/altar art by Nuit Moore

Ancestral iconography, mother back to mother back to mother infinity.
The Venus of Willendorf.
What engagement do you feel with this ancient primal expression of the origin of humanity?
What faint echoes do you hear?
Or is she loud and clear?

(Meet Mago Contributor) Nuit Moore.

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(Book Excerpt 2) Nun too Clever by Elaine Drew

[An excerpt from the the mystery novel Nun Too Clever, which looks at what life as a queen was really like for the fairytale maiden who landed the prince.] “You discovered a body, Your Excellency?” “Indeed I did.” “Where?” “At St. Wihtburh’s.” Had the bishop been saving this news to spring on me? Everyone knows that the abbey is under my protection. My mother was its founder. The thing that most unsettled me, though, is that a childhood friend is cloistered there. “What happened?” I asked. “I came across her in the stable. The nuns were at prayer—I had to take my own horse. They really don’t have enough servants there. So very disturbing.” “The lack of servants or the death, Your Excellency?” “Surely Your Royal Highness has been informed?” Was His Excellency gloating? He was one of those people who believes that information is power, and he wasn’t eager to lose his edge. I was too rattled to care. “Who?” I asked. “Her name was Elfwinne. A fairly recent arrival. From Mercia, they said.” I could breathe again. I hadn’t met the girl. Or thought I hadn’t, at the time. At least it wasn’t Athelflad. Death is ordinary enough, but not the way he described it. Stumbling across a body in a stable is unusual. It must have been an accident. The bishop agreed, although he couldn’t say for sure. Whatever the cause, short of murder, the matter could have waited to receive my attention. Nevertheless, it provided an excuse to get away from a tiresome evening. “Forgive me, Your Excellency. My lord,” I said, nodding to my two nearest table companions. “I must leave. St. Wihtburh’s—” “No need to burn your wits on my account,” said the old warrior. “It is my Christian duty,” I said, “to offer the sisters my support in view of this tragedy.” Was the girl’s death a tragedy? Probably not. The bishop knew this as well as I did. I hoped his vanity would shield him from realising I wanted to escape. It didn’t. He raised an eyebrow. He was offended. Before he could protest, I commanded a lad to saddle my horse. I cantered from the hall to gallop for the abbey. It was not a long ride, and I knew the route well, but hearing of a death had unnerved me. The fitful moonlight flickered on the woodland’s gnarly trees, bringing to life fearsome creatures. Ghouls writhe and monsters lurk in a forest at night. When I got to the abbey, shaken by my imagination, I wandered the grounds looking for Athelflad. I wanted my friend to fill me in on the sister’s death before I talked to the abbess. I’ve learned from sitting at the centre of power for the past ten years to get all the information I can get before I talk to anyone in authority. Stakeholders have more to lose and, therefore, more to hide. It took a while to find Athelflad. Candlelight in an outbuilding tipped me off. My friend was sitting at a writing table in the dilapidated little scriptorium, long neglected. The sisters found medicine more interesting than writing. Athelflad bent over a scrap of parchment scratching out letters. Had I been blindfolded, I could have recognised my friend by the subtle fragrance of incense that surrounded her. I knew she hadn’t come here to write; she wasn’t a writer. She came to the scriptorium and doodled when she wanted to be alone. Her face was drawn; her normal sparkle had dimmed like the December sun. The unsteady candlelight made it hard to read her expression. Without preliminary—we’d been friends too long for that—I asked her about the death. “It was shocking, Cynethrith. It was so unexpected.” Athelflad couldn’t quite collect her thoughts. “Tell me about the sister you lost.” “She was a gentlelady named Elfwinne. She had recently come to us. You might remember her from the old court. I heard she was a favourite before Egbert was crowned.” I remembered an Elfwinne, and not fondly. At first I didn’t believe that Athelflad was talking about the girl I had known, a malevolent little imp. The one I remembered had spent her days toadying to our previous queen, a poisoner who had dispatched her own husband with one of her concoctions. Accidentally, some thought. And it probably was, because the morning after her husband’s death the queen disappeared, Elfwinne in tow. It took years for Egbert and me to put the kingdom back together after King Beorhtric’s disastrous reign. “You say she was a gentlelady and a nun? That’s not the Elfwinne I remember.” “Don’t speak ill of the dead,” sniffed Athelflad, who never stops trying to make me a better person. The way she chided me this time, though, reminded me of a parent telling a child not to be too greedy at dinner. It was something said without thought. She toyed with her quill. Her mind was elsewhere. (To be continued) https://www.magoism.net/2013/07/meet-mago-contributor-elaine-drew/
(Essay) Women, Power, and Religion in Ancient Athens by Harita Meenee

If there ever was an intimate connection between state and religion, we can see it quite clearly in ancient Athens. The very name of the city is attributed to a goddess—Athena, its protectress and guardian. There are different versions of how this came to be as she competed against Poseidon, the angry god of the sea and earthquakes. A fascinating story about this fight comes surprisingly from a Christian writer, St. Augustine: At the time of Kekrops [legendary king of Athens] an olive tree suddenly sprung up on the hill of the Akropolis and a spring gushed out near that spot. Kekrops asked the oracle for advice and received the response that the spring suggested Poseidon, while the olive tree pointed to Athena. Kekrops called an assembly of all the citizens, male and female, to vote on the question; for at that time and in that place the custom was that women as well as men should take part in discussions about the affairs of state. When the matter was put before the people, the men voted for Neptune [Poseidon], the women for Minerva [Athena]; as it happened, the women outnumbered the men by one; thus, the victory was given to Minerva. Then Neptune was outraged and devastated the territory of Athens flooding it with sea-water (…). To appease his anger (…) the women suffered a threefold punishment: they were never to have the vote again; their children were never to take their mother’s name; and no one was ever to call them “Athenian women.”[1] This amazing myth reveals a telling connection between religion and politics. Also, it states quite bluntly that there was a time when women had significant rights: they participated in the decision-making in a democratic way, they had the legal status of Athenian citizens, while the naming of children was likely to be matrilineal. The essential truth of this legend is confirmed by archeological and anthropological evidence, showing that egalitarian societies did exist in prehistoric times, while in some parts of the world they survived even until recent years.[2] Furthermore, the matrilineal naming of children is attested among several ancient peoples, such as the Lykians of southwestern Anatolia, the Egyptians and the Etruscans. It is also evident in the Hellenic colony Lokri Epizephyrii in Southern Italy, as well as in the area of Western Lokris in Greece.[3] Even in modern Greece, where, as a rule, children take their fathers’ surnames, a number of surnames clearly originate in female names. The tale preserved by St. Augustine also demonstrates that Athena was worshipped mainly by women—it was their vote who made her patron (or rather matron!) of the city. Yet at the same time this story shows how religion was used to justify women’s oppression: their subordination was presented as a kind of punishment inflicted through the wrath of a male deity, as plainly stated by St. Augustine. Far-fetched as this may sound, it is also reminiscent of another story used to marginalize the female sex in more recent times: the punishment of Eve, who is portrayed as angering God within both Judaism and Christianity… Women were indeed deprived of many rights in class-divided, patriarchal Athens; yet the power of the goddess never failed. Athena remained strong and independent—unlike other goddesses, she was never defeated, raped or forced into marriage. The best-known monument of ancient Greece, a testimony to the glamour and wealth of classical Athens, is none other than her temple, the Parthenon. The word derives from Athena’s title Parthenos, “Virgin,” a term originally denoting a woman’s unmarried status rather than her physical virginity.[4] The goddess’s huge statue, made of gold and ivory, was the work of Pheidias, one of the most famous sculptors of antiquity.[5] Many were her titles and attributes in ancient Athens: Polias, “Goddess of the City,” Promakhos, “Defender,” Boulaia, “Of the City Council,” Ergane, “Industrious” etc.[6] Splendid festivals, like the Panathenaia, were organized by the state in her honor. Women always retained a special place in her rituals, as her priestesses and worshippers. They took part in formal processions, wove herpeplos (mantle), carried her sacred objects and ceremonially washed her wooden statue. They also tended the fertility of the earth in festivals like the Skira and the Arrephoria, since women always maintained a mystical connection to the land and the magical energy of the goddess.[7] Although, according to myth, they suffered the loss of many rights because of their devotion to her, they knew better than to hold that against her. Besides, oppression is usually rooted in political, social and economic conditions rather than in religious beliefs used to justify it. The wealth and power of ancient Athens was largely based on the exploitation of women and slaves—female as well as male ones.[8] Aristophanes, the greatest comedy writer of antiquity, pointed in his own way at women as the possible solution to the problems of social injustice and war.[9] It seems that memories of a more egalitarian and peaceful world, in which the female gender played a major role, were still alive in his time. Intertwined with these memories was old, wise Athena.[10] For the women of the city she was a mighty goddess of peace and freedom, dear to their hearts, rejoicing in their celebrations, or so grandpa Aristophanes tells us. Thus, the female chorus in hisThesmophoriazousai makes a touching invocation to her: Athena Pallas, the dance-loving goddess, it is custom to call to our dance, the virgin, unmarried maiden, holding our city, she alone having evident power, she, the keeper of its keys. Appear, you who properly despises tyrants. The womenfolk are calling you; come to us bringing Peace, who loves festivities.[11] (This was originally published here: http://hmeenee.com/1794/8501.html) (Meet Mago Contributor) Harita Meenee.
(Prose) Mary’s Garden by Sara Wright

Photo by Sara Wright Opening the doors to mist ‘Mary’s Garden’ each morning is entering a magic realm. My nose sniffs the scent of fertile woodlands even as I gazed out at an impossibly deep white shroud for months, and presently peer out at pale green earth, bees, and budding trees. All the original contents of Mary’s Garden, mosses, lichens, liverworts, hemlock seedlings, stones and pieces of bark are buried or supported by the richest detritus and soil that I gathered with such care from a protected forest of thousands of acres just before the snow set in last November. There is a small pond in the center of the four-sided container, edged with emerald moss. Two of my animal fetish friends, a Zuni bear and frog live among the greenery. All throughout the winter this lively miniature woodland created a living link to ‘my’ beloved forest, a place I longed to be part of but could not traverse during winter months. Mary’s garden has been a source of endless enchantment and comfort during the coldest winter days. I have created and kept woodland terrariums since I was a child, but always returned the plants to their original homes in the spring. Mary’s Garden will be an exception. Unless/until the plants outgrow their home, I will not be returning them to the wild. What I learned this winter from entering into relationship with the living beings of this small space is that terrariums, if attended to with keen attention and kept long enough, have very distinct seasons. In January I noted the first new growth. Sphagnum moss puffed up and out. Ferns I never planted gradually began to unfurl ever so slowly. New lichens, some with tiny trumpets appeared on an old piece of bark. Two hemlock seedling developed emerald bristles on the tips of their needles; the ground hugging partridgeberry began to tentatively sprout round leaves. Changes were slow and steady. Each gem could be easily missed unless observed daily! Most recently, less than a month before they will appear outdoors, twin flowers emerged, unknown seeds are sprouting from healthy moss beds, fungi continue to come and go, shield lichens appeared, new usnea cascades from old hemlock heartwood. One birch bark shaving supports a new treelike species of liverwort. What I find so compelling is that now that the ground is bare, and green shoots are appearing in my outdoor garden my love for this terrarium pulls me through its doors each morning with the same urgent call. Every plant is asking only to be seen and cared about…and I am only too happy to oblige. Many times a day! Not only has my attention not diminished but I feel the same kind of excitement peering into Mary’s Garden that I experience outdoors as I investigate each plant’s emergence or check on my frog pond that is currently supporting tadpoles. I am thinking about keeping a journal so I can keep track of what’s going on in my little forest as s/he passes through the next three seasons. I can’t wait to find out what happens next! A bridge from this diminutive woodland to thousands of acres of forest has been forged between us. Attached by invisible threads that are stretched between the terrarium and the woods is presently conjuring up memories I can barely contain…I cannot wait to visit Hemlock Hollow, touch the peeling bark of aging yellow birches, sit against the swaying pines, hunt for rare orchids, and listen for the birds who like me find refuge there. I climb granite ledges by the river to sit and listen, lean into learning from my elders, trees and birds, bees, and flowers. I cross bridges to converse with beavers who work so diligently to create the ponds that will support forest folk, from water bears to moose. I sit by flowing waters among the mosses that glow like emeralds even in the dark. No matter how despairing I may feel about the times ahead, as soon as I part the invisible veil to enter the forest, a cloak of peace descends. Because of the great generosity of a family who had a visionary capacity and the financial resources to begin protecting forests in the early 70’s I discovered this place where Silence stills my mind. Healthy hemlocks bow to streams moderating the flooding of lowlands. The forest floor and thick understory support all manner of trees – conifers and hardwoods – plants and shrubs a multitude of spring, summer, and fall flowers – partridgeberry, hobblebush, viburnum, laurels, clubmosses, and an incredible array of fruiting fungi. The underlying mycelial network is teaming with insects, bacteria, and microbes we know nothing about but happen to make up 2/3rds of life on this planet. Lichens thrive on supine logs bursting with new life. The banks of seeps streams and rivers wear a gray or green mossy coats. Wood frogs, green frogs, leopard frogs, peepers, red efts, and salamanders are nestled under damp logs and stones. Water striders ripple quiet waters. Ruffed grouse, wild turkeys are hidden in tree boughs. Glacial boulders stand as sentries to the past. Vultures and hawks peruse the skies in open places and can almost always be seen, the former year – round. A few of the songbirds that live here can be found nowhere else. Weasels, mink, beavers, porcupines, squirrels, raccoons, coyotes, moose, deer, bobcat, lynx, wolves, and bears make their homes in this place. It’s almost the end of April and by now, thanks to the mercifully brief heat wave the paths are finally clear of snow. Soon it will be time to revisit my wildflower friends – trailing arbutus, trout lilies, bloodroot, wild violets, jack in the pulpit, marsh marigolds, spring beauties, twin flowers and oh so many others! Without this place ‘to become one with all that is’ I wonder how I would survive, because on some days the grief I am experiencing over the loss of our precious forests along …
(Prose) My Thanks to Dolasilla by Claire French

It must have been around my twelfth year when I found the Saga of the Kingdom of Fanes in the local almanac of the South Tyrolean city of Bozen/Bolzano. It was illustrated by a pen-drawing of the legendary princess Dolasilla mounted on a black horse, wearing a blue Rayeta Stone in her tiara and glowering against her enemies. It was this woman on horseback who never left my mind. In those moments of truth that decided my life she appeared to me again and again. On my arrival in Melbourne, a young migrant without money or connections, I was ready to return to my Tyrolean mountains, when I suddenly found myself in front of the equestrian statue of the State Library: this image of my heroine Joan of Arc changed my mind. Many years later, the altar of Epona at the museum of Stuttgart (Stuttgart means Garden of the Mare!) touched me just as much as the image of Australian saint Blessed Mary McKillop, riding in nun’s garb through the endless solitudes of Australia to bring the blessings of literacy to lonely farmers’ children.
(Essay) Being is the Language of the Goddess by Carolyn Lee Boyd

For almost 40 years, my feminist activism has been accomplished primarily through writing in the English language, until the day I learned that I was even more fluent in the Goddess language of being. During a drumming practice not long ago I was thinking about something my teacher had said — “All musical instruments come from drums” — and I thought, “When I play my drum, I speak the oldest of languages, the heartbeat of our mother in the womb,” a language that all share. But this language was older than that, beginning with the Big Bang and continuing in the waves that make up the reality of our universe, the masterpiece of She Who Creates. This was a language I profoundly knew but never thought of as a language till that moment. It is the language of being simply who we are, in all our sacred glory, in the most elemental way beginning with the most basic rhythm of our lives. The next day I was walking in the woods and heard a racket, frogs in a pond all warbling at once, then all silent, then all warbling again. Down the trail was a tree full of birds all chirping as they flew from branch to branch in a kind of syncopated rhythm. I suddenly thought of them as speaking to each other in their own language — “Let’s make some babies!” “There’s a human down there!” — but also to me in a language we both understood that came from our instincts to come alive in the season’s warmth and the return of abundance and life — “It’s spring! Time for renewal!” When I wandered down to my garden to see what plants were beginning to pop through the soil, the violet flowers of the periwinkle — that had come and gone on the same hillside for decades since, most likely, before my own childhood — spoke of the constancy of nature even as I move from youth to middle age to elderhood. Bloodroot has a red sap that is poisonous, but is traditionally used as a crimson dye, and small, simple, white flowers that have always reminded me that the new life of spring comes from blood and the hard work of giving birth, whether to baby beings, art works, relationships or anything else. The first leaves of the healing herbs in my garden assure me of the benevolence of the universe. All of these messages came from the plants’ expression of their gift of themselves, whether their beauty, their sap and simplicity of their flowers, or their healing properties. These beings, through their effect on me and other beings who encounter them, have an impact on the world just by expressing who they most essentially are. Do humans do the same? I began to think of my ancestors, especially my female ancestors, and wonder, what did they tell me through the language of their lives? Each of them, in her own way and within the constraints of her time and place, expresses to me that life is to be lived as an adventure on my own terms. My grandmother went to college at age 40 with small children at home at a time when women simply did not do that. My mother learned to fly an airplane in midlife because she wanted to see the world from heaven’s viewpoint. As I sat by my mother’s bedside as she died, and we looked into each other’s eyes, she traced a tear down her cheek with her finger and I knew that she was saying that she would miss being on this plane with me, but that love is eternal. All these actions that came deeply from the heart transformed me more than only words ever could. As I considered, I realized that the revolutions that shake the world come not just from what we say, but our expressions in deed that show the effects on ourselves of the changes we are making in the world. On my 25th birthday, I heard Merlin Stone speak about her experience writing “When God Was a Woman” and for the first time I understood that Divinity could look, and for most of human history had looked, like me, a woman. A few months later I witnessed Diane Wolkstein performing “Inanna” at the Museum of Natural History in New York City and I knew that the stories of Goddess had meaning for my own life and that I could center my spirituality around Her. Their words were important, but more essential to my new life-changing understanding was who Merlin and Diane were as women — Merlin’s passion and sureness that she was a messenger for the Goddess who was ready to re-emerge in the world and Diane’s willingness to move Goddess through her body and voice to speak again to the women of the world. Their language of being was what remade me by showing me that Goddess is alive and that I am part of Her just as they were. In the decades since then I have known many women who have changed the world, sometimes one person at a time, sometimes in ways that have moved society as a whole forward. In each case, it is not what they said or wrote alone, but rather who they were and how they affected those who came into contact with them that was their most effective activism. What will my true Goddess activism be? Will my life echo what I have comprehended Goddess saying to me — “Be free!”, “Know that you are loved always for who you are,” “Respect all beings, the Earth, and the universe,” “Understand in the deepest womb of your soul that you are sacred and deserving of happiness, joy, and peace”? How will I “be” to convey these things so that others see the Goddess within themselves who do not now? Now I know that every moment is precious and not to be wasted. Everything I …
(Song) Off to work we go; we walk through the night in darkness by Janie Rezner

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgpkPmjRBNo&feature=em-upload_owner
(Book Excerpt 10) How to Live Well Despite Capitalist Patriarchy by Trista Hendren

Learn to be Direct Most girls are taught under patriarchy to submit to male authority to some extent. Having raised male and female children, I can tell you this is still true. I am actively working with my 12-year-old daughter to ask directly for what she wants. Even being raised mostly under my feminist framework, I find this is often difficult for her. (Not so for my son or stepsons.) When I see my daughter waffling, I stop her and ask her to pause. What do you really want right now? Ask for that. Whenever possible, I try to give her what she asks for to establish a positive identification with being direct. Many women become passive-aggressive because they resent being forced into passivity—and aggression (or even assertiveness) is not acceptable for females. So, changing this mindset is not easy—especially if you have spent your entire life following this pattern. Start small. What do you want for dinner? How do you want to spend your evening? State your desires and see how it feels. Unless your partner is totally self-absorbed, s/he will appreciate it when you assert yourself. At times, I have felt ‘too bitchy’ with my husband, who I am very direct with. He assures me that he loves it—because he never has to guess with me. He knows where he stands at all times and that I am there—present, in the moment, and doing something I actually want to do. Learn how to say no. Oftentimes this takes practice and trial and error for women. If you find yourself committing to do something that you really don’t want to do, stop and pause for a minute. Ask yourself why you are doing it—and give yourself more time to make a decision. And, remember—you always have the right to change your mind. You can go back and tell the other person that you are learning how to take better care of yourself and made the wrong decision in haste. This can also be done in the workplace. When I was a mortgage broker, we had mandatory weekly meetings that I dreaded. Every week I dutifully attended the meeting and complained about it later. I finally realized that the meetings were unproductive and a waste of my time—which was limited as a single mother with two young children. So, I told my boss I would not go anymore. He wanted to keep me employed with his company, so he agreed I could skip them. No one else could believe I got out of attending, and would ask in amazement, how did you do that? I just asked. If you don’t ask, you don’t get. The answer may not always be the one you want, but you have nothing to lose by trying. When we begin to recognize our worth, we also realize that people are often willing to meet our needs when we are direct about them. Find more info on this book here.(Meet Mago Contributor) Trista Hendren.
(Pandemic Poem 2) Transmuted by Jyoti Wind

Lotus flower, Longs Gardens, PA. Photo by Jyoti Wind We are changed. Even if not sick, even though not asymptomatic, even though not on the front lines, the virus has changed us. On a mental, emotional and cellular level, we are changed. Our future is not where we thought we were going. Our present is drastically different. A virus transmutes its host. Its host is the world. We have all been transmuted one way or another. https://www.magoism.net/2020/08/meet-mago-contributor-jyoti-wind/
(Art) Motherhood by Liz Darling

(Meet Mago Contributor) Liz Darling.

(Special Post) BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE FOR EL PASO ARTIST MARIO COLÍN by Donna Snyder

Born in Juárez in 1959, Mario Colín lived his entire life in the Five Points area of Central El Paso, where he attended Houston Elementary and Austin High School. From the age of fifteen, he worked as a construction worker, building silos and other large construction projects across the U.S.A., at some point hitch hiking from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic shores. In his late twenties, he began to focus all his attention and energy on art, which had been an interest since early childhood, working as a muralist and portrait painter. Much of his art is of a religious nature, although he also painted secular art, portraits, and historical scenes. Colín painted his first mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe in collaboration with deceased artist Chuck Zavala in 1987 at Esparza’s Grocery, a small store in Central El Paso. It has now become a shrine, with community members building a stone arch and bringing flowers and candles, and has been pronounced a religious site by the parish church. Since that first mural, Colín has painted over 40 pieces of public art, many of which have become landmarks. Many of those murals are in that same Central El Paso neighborhood, on or near Piedras, including the House of Pizza, Los Alamos Grocery, The Elbo Room bar, the former Sanitary Plumbing at Piedras and Fort Boulevard. Colín twice painted a 25 foot mural of the Virgin of Guadalupe, at Alameda and Zaragoza, across from the Ysleta mission. The first version, painted in 1997, became decayed, but was a popular landmark. That mural has appeared in periodicals, art books, calendars, many newspaper articles, and in photographs exhibited in the El Paso Art Museum and galleries. In 2004, Señor José Villalobos donated and members of the community contributed money to pay laborers to replaster the wall of the century-old adobe building where it is located, and Colín repainted the entire mural for donations from passers-by and community members. Colín’s work has also been featured on the International History Channel and Canal 44, XHUI TV, in a Ford television commercial, and numerous times in the El Paso Times and the defunct El Paso Herald-Post, as well as in periodicals such as Texas Monthly, Dallas Morning News, Texas Observer, Austin American Statesman, Stanton Street magazine; literary journals such as Mezcla and GypsyMag.com; in documentaries including Walls that Speak: El Paso’s Murals, directed by Jim Klaes; in art books such as Colors on Desert Walls: The Murals of El Paso and Texas 24:7, and in various editions of Chicano Studies: Survey and Analysis, a text book used throughout the country.
(Special Post) Discussion on Mother-Daughter Wound by Mago Circle Members

[Mago Circle members discussed and answered the question, “What do you think of this (the topic article below)? If you are a feminist, it is something that you would promote? If so, why? If not, why not?” The discussion took place on May 15, 2017 and shortly thereafter in The Mago Circle.] Topic Article: “For The Daughters Who Don’t Love Their Mothers – Screw Mother’s Day” by Sade Andria Zabala Everyone talks about a mother’s unconditional love. But what if it doesn’t exist? Daughters are socially expected to be close with their mothers. But are you one of the women who aren’t? Mother’s Day isn’t just for celebrating moms. It’s a day some of us dread because we are reminded we grew up (or are still) unloved, not good enough. (Read the whole article here.)
(Special Post 1) Nine-Headed Dragon Slain by Patriarchal Heroes: A Cross-cultural Discussion by Mago Circle Members

[Editor’s Note: This and the ensuing eight sequels (all nine parts) are a revised version of the discussion that has taken place in The Mago Circle, Facebook group, since September 24, 2017 to the present. Themes are introduced and interwoven in a somewhat random manner, as different discussants lead the discussion. The topic of the number nine is key to Magoism, primarily manifested as Nine Magos or the Nine Mago Creatrix. Mago Academy hosts a virtual and actual event, Nine Day Mago Celebration, annually.] Helen Hwang: I am thinking of the Nine Goddess/Mago Symbolism or Nine Numerology. Insights connect the data that I have collected, otherwise seemingly unrelated across cultures and periods. We have reasons to celebrate the nine symbolism among us. As seen in this discussion below, Hercules is most aptly equated with Huangdi (Yellow Emperor, 2698–2598 BCE), one of the forebear emperors of ancient China, who is alleged to have defeated Chiu (successor of Goma), the representative of Danguk’s Nine Giants (nine sub-states). The Magoist history writes the other way around. Chiu won the war, the archetypal international/global war waged over the defense/overthrow of the Magoist throne. Old Magoists (Danguk founded by Goma) of Nine Queen-led States defended the rebellion of the patrilocal force, represented by the Huangdi. With this victory, Old Magoist Confederacy of nine sub-states was able to maintain gynocentric peace of the ancient world for about five centuries longer until a man, Yao, rose to give a way for the establishment of the first patriarchal rule, ancient China of the Xia Dynasty (c. 2070 BCE – c. 1600 BCE). Nonetheless, patriarchal ethnocentric Sinocentric historiography has proliferated to this day. Yu, the founder of the Xia dynasty, is depicted as the hero who slains the nine-headed snake. What I am saying is here that the Nine Goddess/Symbolism is pre-patriarchal in origin and possibly speaks of the same event across cultures! The slain of nine-headed snakes or dragons indicates the usurpation of gynocentric rule by a patriarchal hero across cultures. Let me show you some available information and images to open the discussion. Lernaean Hydra 1 oz Copper | The 12 Labors of Hercules “Hercules was sent to slay the Lernaean Hyrda for his second Labor. The multi-headed, snake-like monster was defeated by Hercules after he sliced its one mortal head. The last day to purchase the 1 oz Copper Lernaean Hyrda was the November 12, 2014. There is, however, time to order the 5 oz Copper Hercules Round, and 5 oz Silver Hercules Round. To read about Hercules and his 12 Labors, check out our blog for more information. If you enjoy the 12 Labors of Hercules coin series, take a look at more Silver and Copper coin collections offered by Provident Metals. After defeating the Nemean Lion, Hercules was sent to slay the Lernaean Hydra for his second labor. The Hydra, a snake-like beast with multiple heads, was raised by Hera to destroy Hercules — making this an inevitable match up. In the face-off between Hercules and Hydra, the son of Zeus used a sword to slice off each of the creature’s necks, according to one popular tale. When the heads grew back, Hercules enlisted his nephew to burn each of the necks to halt regrowth. The Hydra had one mortal head, however; so Hercules used his golden sword to slay the mutant and complete his second labor. The beast is displayed on the Second Labor coin, to be released in the 12 Labors of Hercules Series. The reverse features the multi-headed Hydra in a striking position, displaying the daunting task Hercules faced. LERNAEAN HYDRA and II are inscribed. The familiar obverse portraying Hercules with the Nemean Lion draped over his head as armor is shown on this round, as it will be on each round in the powerful series. “1 oz CMXCIX (999 in Roman numerals) FINE COPPER” is also displayed. The 1 oz. Copper Lernaean Hydra rounds will only be available for one month from Oct. 12 through Nov. 12. Make sure to keep your 12 Labors of Hercules Series collection current before time runs out! 12 Labors of Hercules Driven crazy by Hera, Hercules slew his family — only regretful after recovering his sanity. King Thespius purified the son of Zeus, but to atone for his crimes, he was sent to serve King Eurystheus. Eurystheus ordered Hercules to execute 10 Labors, which were a series of tasks carried out as penance for his actions. Hercules successfully completed all 10, but because his nephew helped with one and he planned to accept payment for another, Eurystheus forced Hercules to finish two more Labors alone. Hercules’ Labors adhere to the traditional order of the Bibliotheca: Nemean Lion – Sept. 12, 2014 Lernaean Hydra – Oct. 12, 2014 Ceryneian Hind – Nov. 12, 2014 Erymanthian Boar – Dec. 12, 2014 Augean Stables – Jan. 12, 2015 Stymphalian Birds – Feb. 12, 2015 Cretan Bull – March 12, 2015 Mares of Diomedes – April 12, 2015 Girdle of Hippolyta – May 12, 2015 Cattle of Geryon – June 12, 2015 Apples of Hesperides – July 12, 2015 Cerberus – Aug. 12, 2015 Commemorate the historic battle between Hercules and the Lernaean Hydra with this 1 oz copper round from Provident Metals.” https://www.providentmetals.com/1-oz-copper-lernaean-hydra-the-12-labors-of-hercules.html Helen Hwang: I looked for the answer to this question: How many heads did the Hydra originally have? It is nine, which accords with its icons to be shared shortly. Helen Hwang: Check out Nine-fold or Nine-Headed Phoenix. Not all iconographies of pre-modern China vilify the nine symbolism, which indicates the influence/presence/revival of Magoism. This image is much reminiscent of the blue crane with nine feathers, a Magoist symbol that we have seen in Mago Stronghold, Mt. Jiri during Mago Pilgrimage (to be discussed in another space). “This Qing-dynasty (1644-1911) print shows the nine-headed phoenix, a being from Chinese mythology with a bird’s body and nine heads with human faces. It is one of several hybrid creatures mentioned in the Classic of Mountains and Seas (Shanhai jing), where it is […]

(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
Imbolc/Early Spring – a Season of Uncertainty by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

Traditionally the Seasonal transition of Imbolc/Early Spring, celebrated in early February in the Northern Hemisphere, and in early August in the Southern Hemisphere, has been a time of nurturing the new life that is beginning to show itself, around us and within. It is a time of committing one’s self to the new life and inspiration – in the garden, in the soul, and in the Cosmos. We may include in our celebrations and contemplations of this Season the beginnings of the new young Cosmos as She was, that time in our cosmic story when She was only a billion years old and galaxies were forming; and also the new which has continually emerged throughout the eons, and is ever coming forth. The flame of being, as it has been imagined by many cultures, within and around, is to be protected and nurtured: the new being requires dedication and attention. In the early stages of its advent, there is nothing certain about its staying power and growth: it may flicker and be vulnerable. There may be uncertainties of various kinds. There is risk and resistance to coming into being. The Universe itself knew resistance to its expansion when it encountered gravitation in our very beginnings, in the primordial Flaring Forth[i]. The unfolding of the Universe was never without creative tension. The Universe knows it daily, in every moment: and we participate in this creative tension of our place of being. Urge to Be budding forth Imbolc/Early Spring can be a time of remembering personal vulnerabilities, feeling them and accepting them, but remaining resolute in birthing and tending of the new, listening for and responding to the Urge to Be[ii]of the Creative Universe within. Brian Swimme has said (quoting cultural anthropologist A.L. Kroeber) that the destiny of the human is not “bovine placidity” but the highest degree of tension that can be creatively born[iii]. many flames of being, strengthening each other These times are filled with creative tension, collectively and for most, personally as well; there is much resistance, yet there is promise of so much good energy arising. We may be witness to both. This Season of Imbolc/Early Spring may encourage attention, intention and dedication to strengthening well-being: in self, and in the relational communal context, and opening to our direct immersion in the Well of Creativity. We may be strengthened with the joining of hands, as well as the listening within to the sacred depths, in ceremonial circle at this time. NOTES: [i]As our origins (popularly named as “the Big Bang”) are named by Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme in The Universe Story. [ii]As I name this determined Virgin quality in PaGaian Cosmology. [iii]The Canticle to the Cosmos, DVD #8, “The Nature of the Human”. References: Livingstone, Glenys. PaGaian Cosmology: Re-inventing Earth-based Goddess Religion. NE: iUniverse, 2005. Swimme, Brian and Berry, Thomas. The Universe Story: From the Primordial Flaring Forth to the Ecozoic Era. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. Swimme, Brian. Canticle to the Cosmos. DVD series, 1990.
(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.
A PaGaian Wheel of the Year and Her Creativity by Glenys Livingstone Ph.D.

This essay is an excerpt from Chapter 2 of the author’s new book A Poiesis of the Creative Cosmos: Celebrating Her within PaGaian Sacred Ceremony. for larger image see: https://pagaian.org/pagaian-wheel-of-the-year/ Essentially a PaGaian Wheel of the Year celebrates Cosmogenesis – the unfolding of the Cosmos, none of which is separate from the unfolding of each unique place/region, and each unique being. This creativity of Cosmogenesis is celebrated through Earth-Sun relationship as it may be expressed and experienced within any region of our Planet. PaGaian ceremony expresses this with Triple Goddess Poetry understood to be metaphor for the creative dynamics unfolding the Cosmos. At the heart of the Earth-Sun relationship is the dance of light and dark, the waxing and waning of both these qualities, as Earth orbits around our Mother Sun. This dance, which results in the manifestation of form and its dissolution (as expressed in the seasons), happens because of Earth’s tilt in relationship with Sun: because this effects the intensity of regional receptivity to Sun’s energy over the period of the yearly orbit. This tilt was something that happened in the evolution of our planet in its earliest of days – some four and a half billion years ago,[i] and then stabilised over time: and the climatic zones were further formed when Antarctica separated from Australia and South America, giving birth to the Antarctica Circumpolar Current, changing the circulation of water around all the continents … just some thirty million years ago.[ii] Within the period since then, which also saw the advent of the earliest humans, Earth has gone through many climatic changes. It is likely that throughout those changes, the dance of light and dark in both hemispheres of the planet … one always the opposite of the other – has been fairly stable and predictable. The resultant effect on flora and fauna regionally however has varied enormously depending on many other factors of Earth’s ever-changing ecology: She is an alive Planet who continues to move and re-shape Herself. She is Herself subject to the cosmic dynamics of creativity – the forming and the dissolving and the re-emerging. The earliest of humans must have received all this, ‘observed’ it in a very participatory way: that is, not as a Western industrialized or dualistic mind would think of ‘observation’ today, but as kin with the events – identifying with their own experience of coming into being and passing away. There is evidence (as of this writing) to suggest that humans have expressed awareness of, and response to, the phenomenon of coming into being and passing away, as early as one hundred thousand years ago: ritual burial sites of that age have been found,[iii] and more recently a site of ongoing ritual activity as old as seventy thousand years has been found.[iv] The ceremonial celebration of the phenomenon of seasons probably came much later, particularly perhaps when humans began to settle down. These ceremonial celebrations of seasons apparently continued to reflect the awesomeness of existence as well as the marking of transitions of Sun back and forth across the horizon, which became an important method of telling the time for planting and harvesting and the movement of pastoral animals. It seems that the resultant effect of the dance of light and dark on regional flora and fauna, has been fairly stable in recent millennia, the period during which many current Earth-based religious practices and expression arose. In our times, that is changing again. Humans have been, and are, a major part of bringing that change about. Ever since we migrated around the planet, humans have brought change, as any creature would: but humans have gained advantage and distinguished themselves by toolmaking, and increasingly domesticating/harnessing more of Earth’s powers – fire being perhaps the first, and this also aided our migration. In recent times this harnessing/appropriating of Earth’s powers became more intense and at the same time our numbers dramatically increased: and many of us filled with hubris, acting without consciousness or care of our relational context. We are currently living in times when our planet is tangibly and visibly transforming: the seasons themselves as we have known them for millennia – as anyone’s ancestors knew them – appear to be changing in most if not all regions of our Planet. Much predictable Poetry – sacred language – for expressing the quality of the Seasonal Moments will change, as regional flora changes, as the movement of animals and birds and sea creatures changes, as economies change.[v]In Earth’s long story regional seasonal manifestation has changed before, but not so dramatically since the advent of much current Poetic expression for these transitions, as mixed as they are with layers of metaphor: that is, with layers of mythic eras, cultures and economies. We may learn and understand the traditional significance of much of the Poetry, the ceremony and symbol – the art – through which we could relate and converse with our place, as our ancestors may have done, but it will continue to evolve as all language must. In PaGaian Cosmology I have adapted the Wheel as a way of celebrating the Female Metaphor and also as a way of celebrating Cosmogenesis, the Creativity that is present really/actually in every moment, but for which the Seasonal Moments provide a pattern/Poetry over the period of a year – in time and place. The pattern that I unfold is a way in which the three different phases/characteristics interplay. In fact, the way in which they interplay seems infinite, the way they inter-relate is deeply complex. I think it is possible to find many ways to celebrate them. There is nothing concrete about the chosen story/Poetry, nor about each of the scripts presented here, just as there is nothing concrete about the Place of Being – it (She) is always relational, a Dynamic Interchange. Whilst being grounded in the “Real,” the Poetry chosen for expression is therefore at the same time, a potentially infinite expression, according to the heart and mind of the storyteller. NOTES: [i] See Appendix C, *(6), Glenys Livingstone, A Poiesis of the Creative …
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 …
Imbolc: Through Goddess Eyes by Carolyn Lee Boyd

Photo by Carolyn Lee Boyd In times past, Creation’s Winter cupped me in her icy hand of sanctuary Gathered in, I sucked dormant life, and slumbered Till Earth’s rebirthing groans awakened my new body Now, older and full of life’s weeping and wondering awe At all that has happened in my decades on Earth I must shake myself into consciousness My seed’s opaque, blinding hull disintegrates and Bodyless, at last I can see through Goddess eyes I ache as my blood paints each flower petal I spin the whirlwind that cannot stop creating abundance I push the seasons through the year that mortals believe revolve of their own accord. Through Goddess eyes I can see me, I inhabit Winter’s hand as my own. I make the cold to slow creation of outside of me To gather the seed into fertile stillness within. That burgeons in my own time. https://www.magoism.net/2016/08/meet-mago-contributor-carolyn-lee-boyd/

(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.
(Book Excerpt 1) Mago Almanac Planner for Personal Journey by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang, Ph.D.

[Author’s Note: Year 4’s Mago Almanac celebrates the birth of Mago Almanac Planner for Personal Journey. The Magoist 13 month 28 day calendric movement has grown steadily and we welcome the public as well!] PREFACE: What Mago Almanac Planner Offers The Mago Almanac Planner for Personal Journey enchants people and our societies to live with a sense of the natural timespace patterned by the luni-menstrual rhythm in company with the earth’s song and dance. This is not a statement of poetic fancy unsupported by science or mathematics. We are invited to walk through the matrix of Sonic Numerology, the organizing force of Life. The 13 month 28 day Magoist Calendar returns calendric regularity to us. Calendric regularity is the very vision that unfolds the metamorphic reality of WE/HERE/NOW. Unlike the 12 month irregular day calendar that modifies the natural rhythm to serve the purpose of controlling people, the Magoist Calendar guides human activities within the natural rhythm to harmonize the human world with the natural world. The Mago Almanac Planner is built to provide flesh to the bones of the Mago Almanac. Taking the latter as foundation, Mago Almanac Planner partitions a year into the units of weeks and days. The regularity of 28 days makes it possible to lay out 52 weeks and 364 days with one or two extra days seamlessly. The rhythm of nine numbers becomes transparent. Each day of a year is named accumulatively in order i.e. the first to 364th. Likewise, each week of a year is named accumulatively in order i.e. Week 1 to Week 52. Each day is given the daily number, the moon phase, and/or 24 Seasonal Marks. Special days include such double dates as New Year (1st Moon 1st Day), double second (2nd Moon 2nd Day), double third (3rd Moon 3rd Day), and so forth. By writing the Mago Almanac Planner, I have observed that Double Ninth (9th Moon 9th day) overlaps with the 16th mark of 24 Seasonal Marks, Ipchu (立秋 Entering Fall) or Lammas in the Northern Hemisphere. The day of Double Ninth is indeed the center point of a year! Also the interval of 24 Seasonal Marks is about every 15 days, whereas that of 8 Seasonal Marks is about every 45 days. In three Appendixes, I have provided a traditional style of one year calendar, Year 4’s 364 Days (52 Weeks) with 2 Extra Days and their Gregorian Dates or the conversion chart, Large Calendar 1 (Years 1-4) marked in Gregorian C. Dates, and Year 4 Lunar-Menstrual Chart in which one can add their menstrual dates in relation to the moon phases and seasonal marks. As a whole, the Mago Almanac Planner is designed to personalize one’s own celebratory or commemorative days in tune with nature’s rhythm. This Planner marks the 4th year (Volume 4) of the revived Magoist Calendar, Mago Almanac: 13 Month 28 Day Calendar. We are about to complete the first Large Calendar, which refers to the first four years (Years 1-4). We set the new moon date (December 18) before Winter Solstice in 2018 in the Northern Hemisphere as the first lunation of the revived Magoist Calendar. If we count the year from the onset of the nine-state Danguk confederacy (3898 BCE-2333 BCE) founded by Goma, Magoist Shaman Queen Mother, our Year 1 would be 5916 ME (Magoma Era). Technically speaking, the Magoist Calendar formed at the time of our beginning came to be reincarnated on December 18, 2018 in the Northern Hemisphere (hereafter it implies the Northern Hemisphere otherwise indicated.) The year 2018 for the rebirth of the revived Magoist Calendar was arbitrary in that it could have been in 2017 or 2019. In retrospect, I must say that we are lucky to set the time of our first lunation on December 18 2018 because it makes the calendric migration process the smoothest. This means that our Magoist Calendar runs as less as 13 days behind the Gregorian Calendar. If we had begun in 2017, our New Year would have been December 17. Only one day difference. However, if we had begun in 2016, our New Year would have been on November 29. Likewise, if we had begun in 2019, our New Year would have been on November 26. These dates are the new moon date before Winter Solstice, the New Year day. The Magoist Calendar charts the human world into the Reality of WE/HERE/NOW. The Magoist Calendar needs to be in use today, which means that it has to be translated into the language of the Gregorian Calendar. For we have lost the actual counting of the Magoist Calendar into our days in the course of patriarchal history. Mago Almanac serves the purpose of making our calendric migration possible from the 12 month Gregorian Calendar to the 13 month Magoist Calendar. It guides our collective journey in the Mother TimeSpace interwoven by the cosmogonic force of Sonic Numerology, the musical interplay of nine numbers, which gives birth, nurtures, and transforms all beings in the cosmos. Intriguingly, I have realized only last year that the Magoist Calendar is identical with “the 13 Moon Turtle Calendar,” the calendar of North American indigenous peoples, which adopts the turtle shell that has 13 inner sections and 28 outer sections for the calendar of 13 moons and 28 days (see figure). This speaks volumes that the 13 month 28 day calendar was once widely known among peoples of the ancient world. The Magoist Calendar restores the link between lunation and menstruation as a 28 day monthly cycle, a topic that I have discussed in my essay, “Introducing the Magoist Calendar: Original Blessing of the Womb Time,” included in this planner. Why do we need to reinstate the calendar that is based on the luni-menstruation rhythm? That is because the Magoist Calendar is in accordance with Sonic Numerology. Put differently, the moon-women duet inscribed in the 13 month 28 day calendar is given by the Natural World. In fact, the Magoist Calendar is the first and …
(Essay 2) The Magoist Calendar: Mago Time inscribed in Sonic Numerology by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

[Author’s Note: This is my latest research that has led me to restore the 13-month, 28-day Mago Calendar, which will be included at the end of its sequels. See Mago Almanac: 13 Month 28 Day Calendar (Book A), published in 2017.] CALENDARICS AND THE MAGOIST COSMOGONY Calendar is the harmonic numerological chart that indicates specifics of the terrestrial time/space relative to the extrasolar universe. As a cosmic almanac of our terrestrial home, calendar teaches the human world to do the right thing at the right timing, determined by the song/dance of the universe. We humans, part of the calendar, are the guardian of the calendar. Calendar is not and should not be an arbitrary arrangement invented to serve the purpose of a particular group of people, the Budoji says. It is