The Christians and the Pagans – Chocolate Style

(Anyone get the reference to the Dar Willams song? It’s a favourite in our house!)

It’s the Easter weekend and I’ve just finished re-watching Chocolat, one of my favourite movies-with-pagan-undertones *based on the book by Joanne Harris with some changes). The movie circles around the themes of patrichary/morality and matrifocal/sensuality through an ongoing conflict between the mayor and the owner of a chocolate shop during Lent (the 40 days prior to Easter). 

Any witch can explain how Easter has its roots in paganism: Eostre is actually a Germanic Goddess, and bunnies/eggs are symbols of fertility (which is what spring is all about) and so on. This appears in the movie in a scene where the mayor attacks the display created for the chocolate shop’s fertility festival,. The first thing he destroys is a chocolate statue of Ixacacao, the Mayan Goddess of Chocolate; he then destroys other, more common, symbols of the holiday.

While some pagans get upset that our festivals/gods/ideas are reshaped by Christianity, I recognize that the original purpose (taking over/destroying the symbols of the Goddess) no longer holds power over us. Instead, I celebrate the common themes that bring our religions together: first the sacrifice, then the celebration. Jesus was the original hippie, after all, and his stand against the dominant ideas of the day have stood the test of time. I may not make it to sunrise service, but I’ll be celebrating the power of life over death just the same. Blessed Be!

Blessed Imbolc!

Who are the witches?
  Where do they come from?
Maybe your great-great
  grandmother was one.
Witches are wise, wise women they say.
  And there’s a little witch
  in every woman today.
Mmmhmm.

– Bonnie Bramble

19 years ago, I stood in a circle of women and took my vows… oh, wait, that’s someone else’s story. The truth is, 19 years ago I was in my second year of university, taking a class entitled “Christian Understanding of Human Nature”, when I came across the following term: Post-Christan. (Looking back and realizing that the author of that phrase, Daphne Hampson had been influenced by Luce Irigaray, it’s surprising that I also didn’t start wearing a beret and quoting Derrida. But I digress.) Reading Hampson led me to the works of Starhawk, which in turn led me to realize that what the church taught and what I actually believed were farther apart than I realized. And the rest is her-story.

Blessed Solstice!

Hail to you the longest night of all the turning year!
Awake the resurrecting light that banishes despair.
For now the tide will start to turn and night will yield to day
And the waning year will shed its skin and cast the dark away.  
Yule is come now beat the drum and light the Solstice flame 

Tonight we’ll sing a hymn of praise for the Sun returns again.


– Jaiya, Yule is Come


(Also, check out this awesome photo of the lunar eclipse taken by Mark Zaugg. Xander and I went out to witness the event – what a magical night for creating the world as we want it to be!)

31 Days to a Brand New Blog: Day 2

(or “why I do what I do”)

I’ve spent the last day tinkering behind the scenes and don’t think I’m any closer to fixing the communication gap between Telus, GoDaddy and Blogger – so I’ll ignore that and get on to the next assignment, “Write a Purpose Statement for Your Blog.”

Why do you blog?

I started blogging on January 8, 2006, with a little post about the projects I was working on. I’d been online since 1994 working on projects with nonprofits, especially those working on women’s issues, and decided that it was time to jump on this blogging craze. Soon I blogged because there was so much happening that needed to be shared, connected and commented on. And then – well, then real life really got in the way, in big painful ways, and I blogged less and less. As I posted yesterday, it’s been over a year since I last wrote something here. And no, life hasn’t gotten less busy, but I think I’m ready to face the pain again.
 
What do you want to blog about?
My second blog post jumped right into my three favourite topics (according to my tags list): politics (38 posts), witch(craft) (26 posts) and feminism (24 posts, with an additional 13 labelled ecofeminism). The personal is political, especially to a radical feminist witch like me, and it’s what I do best. Blogging about things can also help me re-centre, re-claim lost ground and re-inspire me as I work through the next stages of the game plan.
What do you want to be known for through your blog?
I want people to read my posts and think “Yes, that makes total sense.” I want to draw attention to the disconnects in the world between what we think and what is being done in our names. I want to prove that not all the radicals have gone away, that not all the feminists have put away their protest signs, and that not all the witches are afraid of the fire. 
 

Poetry for Brigid

It’s that time again! Here’s my entry for the Fourth Annual Brigad in the Blogosphere Poetry Slam. Happy Imbolc!

*****

Beatrice Cenci was a young Italian noblewoman executed in 1599 (with her stepmother and elder brother) by the Pope because she was involved in the murder of her father, who had imprisoned and abused them.

Alimitra David wrote a poem, Beatrice of the Cenci, that takes place on the eve of the execution. In it, Beatrice calls out to her mother (who died shortly after her birth). As it is a long poem, I am only sharing the first and last stanzas. The entire poem can be found in Impulse to Fly (1998).

*

I don’t ask
that you
come to me here
to hold me and
cry as Lucretia and I
have done for
years I
don’t ask you to
come and be as
we are a

voice against his
will like my
smallest finger
against the
stone gate of
the courtyard

Mother I don’t
pray you back to
this place only
sing to me
strong
from wherever you are

oh sing to me Mother
I will climb your voice
hand over hand
high over these
robed men who
curse me

sing tonight
for tomorrow they
will cut me loose
at last to fly from this
motherless place
this place of
fathers and
fathers and
more fathers

*

Mother do you
love me do
you love me
broken as I am
do you love my
feet my hands
my face do you
love me when I
hear you and

do you love me
when I can’t
listen when I
float
blind and deaf
in water with
no current was

it your voice in
my dream was it
mine calling names I
don’t remember when
awake

this night will
become morning
I have heard
rumors of
morning of
sunrise and
figs ripening

Mother I call
to you not to
come to me here
only sing for me
strong
from
wherever you are

Poetry for Brigid

To mark Imbolc (aka Candlemas, aka Brigid’s Day), here is my selection for the Third Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Reading.

The Moon is Always

The moon is always you, and I am drawn
to trace the ripe crescent swelling around
your hip, the arc of your throat, the classic curve
of your eyes, and the velvet indigo shadow beneath.

You are always the moon, and I ache in your
absence, although you never leave me for long,
lingering late into the morning and ascending
again in the afternoon, balm for my sun-blind eyes.

The moon is waxen, bloodless.
The moon does not have your mouth.
The moon does not contain your breath.

You are never the moon, but your dimpled
skin is luminescent, it gleams and lures my gaze,
my hands, and I am always reaching for you.

The moon is never you, but I arch to your rhythms
all the same, and I weep relief with the crashing
tidal pool upon your every return.

The moon has a profile that changes with perspective,
and I have written encrypted love poems within
its every dimple and shadow, secrets that borrow
light from our love making to illuminate
the stars and blaze our skins and stories across the sky.

This moon is only for us.

Chandra Mayor