by Ruth Parham
We are the Purple Warriors
the wisdom gatherers
we stand in the unnamed spaces
between Red Tent and Crone.
by Annelinde Metzner
For several months now, three members of Glastonbury Goddess Temple have been putting together plans to offer Goddess-focused funerals, both in Glastonbury and elsewhere in the UK.
“We are all priestesses, as well as independent funeral celebrants, and feel passionate about choice – the choice we all should have to celebrate the end of our life, and the lives of those we care about, in a way that reflects our beliefs, and the way we have lived our lives”, said Lorraine Pickles, one of the organisers. “For Goddess loving people, that may include a ceremony that reflects a belief that death is but a returning to Goddess. And for those who see death as a return to the shores of Avalon, this may be reflected in a variety of ceremonies both for those close to death, and for those who have crossed the veil.”
by Annelinde Metzner
by Susun Weed
I am the sheath of the sword. I am toothed, armed, and ready to bite. I have the power to defend, to keep women safe. I am not passive, accepting, ready to be filled. I am aware, watchful, ready to reject what I don’t want and to seize what I will.
Listen to me and I will tell you how safe we are, right now, in this moment. When we are secure, I am open and receptive, moist and inviting. When we feel threatened, I become cold and hard, hot and tight, irritated, and inflamed. If the danger goes on and on, I weep, I am overrun.
In health and joy, I am a rich and thriving ecosystem: friendly yeasts, beneficial bacteria, and a generous assortment of slippery, slidey lubricants thrive in my tangy-tasting depths.
I am stretchy. I am expansive. Fill me and I yearn for more. I am yielding; I melt, I surrender. Yet in yielding, I deliver. I am the victor. I clench my fist and grab the prize. Mine. Read More...
She lies there, a sleeping beauty stretched out across the peaks of Mount Parnassus in northern Greece. The locals call her The Delphic Goddess. At sunset, she shines like a jewel in the most spellbinding colour of red ochre. In winter she is the only part of the mountains covered by pristine snow, shining like a white diamond towards the bright blue sky. Even the surrounding mountains seems to adore her. One can only wonder what mysteries her great beauty holds. Further down the mountain, hidden away in a valley, lies an almost forgotten treasure. It is the legacy of a culture where women were once the voice of Gaia and Great Seers of Destiny.
Blessed be the lost ones, those who
left, in our opinion, too soon, whose
time, they say, had come. Blessed
be those whose lives have stopped
in their current form, the bodies we
know and miss. For it’s we who are
lacking, not they. Either they don’t
know any more or their essence has
dissolved to some fuller| plenitude
we too will come upon in our time.
Only the Goddess knows for sure
if we listen, if we reach out to Her.
Calling on Persephone, as seasons
darken, as night falls into autumn:
Take care of those we have lost.
I. La Vieja Machis
The wind lifts the wild, white mane
of La Vieja Machis, Lake Chapala Goddess.
She protects the lake from which she rises,
and guides the beings blessed to live
under its lacustrine sway.
Blowing from the four Directions,
she gifts the patterns of the winds
to fishers and farmers and poets.
Over the sea of the lake
she mediates the moon,
as month after month I learn
how to grow old like her.
Lake Woman Machis receives
the colors of the world,
and in her moving palette
mixes them continually.
Sometimes she stirs a whirlpool,
or flings to the clouds a waterspout.
Often her waters show me
the stillness of the mountains.
Always, she brings abundance
and floods the lakeside air
with the aromatic bromide of her soul.