(Prose) Noli me tangere by Nane Jordan

Photo by Nane Jordan

Photo by Nane Jordan

Amazing, I am holed up (as in: a refuge, a cave) for three days in St. Maximin, an ancient little village holding the gothic basilica of Mary Magdalene. Her relics, especially her skull, are on display in the crypt, sheathed in gold, and held by golden angels. The small stone entrance to this crypt is inviting, a quiet place to dwell underground with her mysteries. Horseshoe carvings, all over the walls that go down into the crypt, are inscribed into the stone by pilgrims past.

This cathedral housing her mortal remains is run down, in need of repair. It is like a relic itself, with its crumbling stone facade. But there is the beauty of what is falling down, the ancient feeling of such a place.

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(Poem) Hystory by Susan Hawthorne

[Author’s Note: This poem is written in honour of the work of Marija Gimbutas, archaeologist, linguist, visionary. I was lucky enough to hear her give a lecture one day in 1990 in Los Angeles. She had the audience in thrall to her ideas. I hope that one day her name will be better known than any other archaeologist.  You can see by the bends and markers on her books that these are well-thumbed copies of just three of her remarkable books.]

 

The roses are in bloom. They are red and cool

and have a smell that makes me remember

my mother,  cutting stems of red roses.

Cutting red roses

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(Poem) Open Hearts by Janie Rezner

“We are a Circle of Healers,” by Janie Rezner

“We are a Circle of Healers,” by Janie Rezner

music pours from  open  hearts,  beauty surrounds our open wounds

bathing us all in the warmest of waters

in a balm of love,

bathing us that we might become a circle of healers

a circle of healers with bells, ringing the good news in!

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(Book Excerpt 2) Pressing out the Pure Honey by Frances Guerin

Tree of the ancestors: ceramic, ultrasaturate Blue

In fairy stories a forest is the site of transformation. Unexpected encounters with shadow and benign figures take the protagonist from one state of being to a state of wholeness so a marriage can take place – ultimately giving birth to a golden child. The story of The Handless Maiden is one such story. It is a tale of endurance over a lifetime through repetitions of loss, sacrifice and renewal. Her father is tricked into selling her to the devil for riches and plenty. When the devil comes to take her, her purity of heart throws him across the yard. The devil threatens her father with ruin and tells him to cut off her hands and to not let her bathe. But the girl and the father both cried so many tears that the stumps of her arms were clean and again when the devil tried to seize her, he was thrown across the yard. Continue reading

(Poem) Knowing Mago Calendar by Helen Hye-Sook Hwang

2017 Mago Work Calendar. Artwork by Anna Tzanova.

[Author’s Note: This poem was an offshoot of an essay on Magoist Calendar and Nine Numerology, to be included in the forthcoming anthology, Celebrating Seasons of the Goddess (Mago Books, 2017). I thank Genevieve Vaughan, Danica Anderson, and Harriet Ann Ellenbeger who have given me feedback to the article and inspiration to this poem.]

Mago Calendar is the umbilical cord of the Great Goddess,

the umbilical cord that re-members the Beginning Story of us all terrestrial beings,

that enables the one and many songs/dances of the Earth,

and that nourishes the human world to sing the chorus to the cosmic lullaby.

 

Mago Calendar is the grand wheel of the Great Mother,

the grand wheel that spirals the inter-cosmic orbit of truth, goodness, and beauty,

that carries all earthlings to the fullest becoming,

and that builds bridges into the inter-protonic galaxies.

 

Mago Calendar is the everlasting blessing of the Nine Mago Creatrix,

the everlasting blessing that scripts the ecstasy of Heavenly Numerology,

that charts the Earth’s metamorphosis from the infinite to the physical,

and that unfolds the Reality of the Mago Time, WE/HERE/NOW.

(Meet Mago Contributor) Helen Hye-Sook Hwang.

(Book Excerpt 1) Pressing out the Pure Honey by Frances Guerin

I had closed a door on Catholicism many years ago and to repair the damage, embarked on reading the feminist writers and “New Age” teachers and met many eastern teachers to find relief from a deep darkness, a black dog that haunted by life. The return to the Christian tradition proved to be a profound revelation that I documented, and then as time went on, revealed the nature of the darkness as stark visions of abuse at the hands of a hospital chaplain when I was a student nurse, and an impact of witnessing an enraged nun, who was teaching us the Catholic catechism in preparation for our first confession, beating a boy with a cane in a frenzy, which drove into me a terror of hell and damnation that I was mute and lost for the next 4 years. Continue reading

(Prose) “Mary” As a Title by Alaya Dannu

Photo By Olaf Tausch. CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

Holder of Mary – Entry dated October 14, 2015 – meditation:

Yesterday, I was told to rest. As the evening came along, I was informed that they’d have to give me another title. I did not know or understand at the time, what they were speaking about. They also implied that there was much work to be done.

So, this morning I meditated after waking up to find out what the new title is and what it may mean:

I saw an image of feminine hands holding a very old pot – clay or ceramic, maybe; and then I saw a hallway from an old Egyptian temple, in a soft glow of yellowish-gold; then a throne chair appeared at the very beginning of  Continue reading