[This fictional story is for all those women who have risked their lives and well being to take on the spiritual stewardship of their communities and the planet over the past millennia.]
Part 1
Victoria always knew, but yet didn’t, that she bore the rhythm of the cosmos within her heart. With each beat, blood surged through her body, but at the same time ensured the rising and setting of the sun, the never-ending path of the seasons with the Earth, the soaring of the planets in their orbits, the breathing in and of the universe.
It was not always this way. Until a millennia ago, her family had, on a continent far away and since time immemorial, aligned themselves with the rhythm of our planet and the worlds above and below through rituals and prayers to the goddess of the land. When their traditions were outlawed, one of her ancestors, unknown and unnamed, welcomed her goddess, and so also the cycles of the cosmos, into her body and those of her descendants to save the generations to come.
The gift and burden of this inheritance was, after centuries, eventually passed to Victoria and she obliviously carried it for five decades. Then, when her body could no longer stand the strain, her heart would sometimes lurch as if trying to flee its cage and time would slip out of sync. Her kitchen stove clock would move forward a half-hour when she turned her back for a moment, or friend would call in the afternoon and start the same morning’s conversation, and so on. Over the day, time would right itself, but it was disconcerting.
Assuming her problem was medical and maybe even psychiatric, she consulted a doctor, who told her that her heart was burning out from unknown stress. The doctor had never seen such a thing before and had no treatment for it. It was just a matter of time before her heart would simply stop, the doctor said, and apologized for the failings of modern medicine. Victoria told her it wasn’t her fault and went home.
That evening, she stood outside her cottage, oriented herself to the North Star and waited, as she had done in times of trouble since childhood. Her mother had always made sure she could recognize the constellations and knew how they moved from dusk to dawn and season to season. Sometimes an answer to her dilemma would come as she contemplated the story of one constellation or another, but often she would just come to understand the solution as she watched the stars in their slow journey across the sky.
This evening, however, the constellations were all wrong. Some were missing altogether and others had appeared that Victoria had never seen before. She watched to see if they would right themselves until she fell asleep leaning against a giant oak in her yard. When she awoke a couple of hours later, all was as it should be in the heavens.
“I was out in this very field last night and I didn’t see a thing,” her cousin Sheila said the next afternoon. Victoria had dropped by Sheila’s farm to tell her what happened and ask her if she had noticed anything odd about the constellations recently. Victoria knew that Sheila paid close attention to the skies for clues as to the weather and changes in the seasons as part of implementing traditional agricultural techniques on her farm, which she hoped to pass down to her daughter and son someday.
“Whatever is going on, it isn’t good news for farmers who follow old-time methods. A lot of the when to plant or harvest depends on when something happens in the sky. Our ancestor farmers would have been at their stone circles the next night doing ceremonies and praying to the goddess of the land and sky to get everything back into their right places. Of course, when our family settled on this continent a few generations ago, they left the knowledge of all that behind so we’re out of luck,” Sheila said.
They looked at each other silently for a long time till they realized that there was really nothing more to say. So Sheila went back to teaching her daughter and son how to harvest their winter wheat with a scythe instead of a machine, moving slowly and carefully across the field. “It takes longer,” she had told Victoria, “but you begin to feel a part of the soil. It’s worth it.”
(To be continued)
(Meet Mago Contributor) Carolyn Lee Boyd
https://www.magoism.net/2016/08/meet-mago-contributor-carolyn-lee-boyd/