Lunaea Weatherstone's Blogue

Tasha Tudor

When I was making my Full Moon Dreams tarot deck, there was no doubt in my mind whose image should represent the Queen of Earth. Tasha Tudor, who died Wednesday at age 92, was a woman who lived intimately with the things of earth — her home, her gardens, her animals, the seasons, food, crafts, the scent of herbs and the texture of hand-woven cloth. Her artwork reflects the intense attention she gave to detail — the way ivy twines around a porch pillar or the waggish tilt of a corgi’s head. In her everyday life, she famously pooh-poohed the modern world and moved at the slower pace of the 1830s, the era she believed she belonged in. In her soft old-fashioned dresses, her feet bare on the summer grass, this queen of earth set an example of authenticity and originality that I know will inspire women for many generations to come. Especially for those of us looking toward our crone years, I am grateful for Tasha Tudor’s feisty and uncompromising insistence on being true to herself, her own inner guidance, no matter what anyone else thought about it. There will never be another like her, but if we each can stay true to what feels good and proper for ourselves, we honor her memory. (I’ve added three of my favorite books about Tasha Tudor to the little blogue bookshop.)

Votes for Women!

This postcard from my collection illustrates the kind of ridicule and disrespect our foremothers endured as they fought to win the vote in this country. The suffragists were portrayed as wanting to push men into a subservient role, taking over the job of parenting, in other words, while women ran the worlds of business and politics. Less than 100 years have passed since the right to vote was grudgingly given, and it is astonishing to me that so many women are already apathetic and don’t bother to get out to the polls. Please do so today, if there is an election in your area. Let your voice be heard, and cast your vote in honor of the women who worked passionately their whole lives to give you that voice. Suffragist and mother of women’s rights Elizabeth Cady Stanton said in 1848:

Now is the time for the women of this country, if they would save our free institutions, to defend the right, to buckle on the armor that can best resist the keenest weapons of the enemy — contempt and ridicule. The same religious enthusiasm that nerved Joan of Arc to her work nerves us to ours. . . We do not expect our path will be strewn with the flowers of popular applause, but over the thorns of bigotry and prejudice will be our way, and on our banners will beat the dark storm clouds of opposition from those who have entrenched themselves behind the stormy bulwarks of custom and authority, and who have fortified their position by every means, holy and unholy. But we will steadfastly abide the result. Unmoved we will bear it aloft. Undauntedly we will unfurl it to the gale, for we know that the storm cannot rend from it a shred, that the electric flash will but more clearly show to us the glorious words inscribed upon it, “Equality of Rights”...

A Wild Woman Farewell

This morning was Shekhinah's funeral, and how she would have loved it! Can any of us ask for more than that, when our time comes? Her body remained at home with her loved ones near, paying respects and holding the sacred space, until today, when she was brought down to her garden, where a plain wooden box awaited her. Well, not so plain anymore, for it was lovingly decorated with drawings, words of farewell, symbols, glitter... GLITTER! I've always said I want to be cremated, but there's certainly something to be said for going out with glitter. I had stopped by yesterday and added my words to the box's lid: "There shall be a returning for thee, faithful daughter of the Goddess..." This morning I arrived just as the circle had been cast, maybe thirty people surrounding the box where Shekhinah now lay, wrapped completely in a dark red cloth and resting in her "Avalon barge."

One by one, people came forward to offer words, song, and small items of remembrance and respect. My offerings were three golden apples (organic, of course!) for her Avalonian journey, and a small piece of moss agate on which I had drawn one of Shekhinah's Womanrunes in silver, the Seed rune, for rebirth when the time was right. Flowers were added, roses around her head, ivy from the garden and some of the garden's own earth, a small handmade book, stones, feathers, sweet oils, all the elements represented. Vicki Noble took her own deck of Motherpeace cards and dispersed them all around Shekhinah, for surely she will be doing readings in the Otherworld. Tears flowed, especially for me when her son Frey sang to his mother, and there was also much laughter, as there often is at such occasions. In the bright fresh morning, Shekhinah's neighbors were treated to many rounds of "Isis Astarte Diana Hecate Demeter Kali SHEKHINAH!" and the sound of a conch shell being blown to clear the path to the afterlife.

To the sounds of "Oh Mother, carry me, back to the sea..." Shekhinah was carried out to the waiting hearse, and about a dozen cars caravanned behind it, through the city streets to the cemetery, and let me tell you, THIS would have tickled Shekhinah to bits, because this was not your usual solemn funeral cortege. This was a convoy of wild Goddess women (and a few men) honking and beeping, howling and ululating, hanging out the car windows and standing up through the sun roofs, waving and flashing peace signs at everyone we passed. The last car was boldly flying a large rainbow peace flag, and the whole parade was the most joyous, heart-aching, look-out-world-it's-Shekhinah journey to her final resting place, under an extremely witchy gnarled oak tree, overlooking the green hills and the creek. More people were waiting for her to arrive, to complete the rites. That ride over was the peak of emotion and farewell for me, and I stayed at the cemetery only for a few more songs, and to see her put down into the ground, and then I made my way home, smiling.

Ebb and Flow: Shekhinah Mountainwater

Shekhinah Mountainwater died yesterday at 2:30 pm, quietly, in the company of her loving Goddess-sisters and her family. She had been battling cancer for some years, and she was ready to depart. I’ve been typing and deleting for quite a while, struggling to say the right thing here — not a eulogy, just a remembrance.

Shekhinah was one of my first teachers in Goddess spirituality. We lived very near each other in the 1980s and our paths crossed in some way that I can’t remember now. I began to study with her, one on one, and we worked together for several years, as sisters and as friends. Much of what I’ve integrated into my everyday spirituality had its roots with Shekhinah. She shared her own style of magic, lore, symbology, ritual, her own utterly unique way of perceiving women’s spirituality. She recognized me as a sister-priestess from the beginning, and she was impatient for me to take vows, to formally surrender my life to the Goddess’s service, which I knew I would do when the time was right. One vital turn of my serendipitous path was facilitated by Shekhinah, for she introduced me to Carol She-Bear, who had started a little magazine called SageWoman, and who was about to close it down. I bought it from her, to Shekhinah’s delight, and moved into the next phase of my Goddess service.

Feast of Mary Magdalene

My fascination with Mary Magdalene began thirty years ago, in the summer of 1977. I had been living in the cool seaside realms of northern California for a few years, but I spent that particular summer in the hot inland southern valley of San Bernardino, where my family still lived. My mother volunteered me to work at the medical auxiliary’s med-info phone line, which meant I spent some hours every week sitting alone in a tiny room answering the very occasional phone call from someone wanting me to plug them into an information tape about measles or croup (or unmentionable things they were afraid to ask their doctor about). Ah, the old pre-computer days when an actual human was required for such tasks! I whiled away the long hours that summer reading The Last Temptation of Christ, by Nikos Kazantzakis. The heat of the desert valley, the barren landscape outside the office window, the fragrant sultry nights — and my own longing for a certain unattainable, rather Jesus-like man — all added to the experience of dwelling within that book, and I felt my inner Magdalene stirring, stretching languorously, adorning herself with amber, and reaching for a moist succulent date.

In recent years, of course, the mystique of Mary Magdalene has only increased, and I have other reasons for admiring her in addition to her sensuality and beauty. I was fortunate to write the text for The Wisdom of Mary Magdalene 2008 calendar, published by Amber Lotus, and on her feast day, I offer you some of those thoughts, with some of my favorite images of Magdalene (click on the details above and below to see the complete images). The calendar itself has been added to my bookshop, to the right.

 

It is a mistake to attempt to analyze all things of the spirit. There is a power in the acceptance of mysticism, without needing to explain it or express it in an intellectual way. Metaphor and symbol make up the language of religion, not literal facts. From the depths of her feminine intuition, in her contemplation of the mysteries, Mary Magdalene surely knew this.

Our image of Mary Magdalene has changed in recent years. Emerging from the veil of the penitent harlot to her rightful place as beloved companion and wise woman, Mary Magdalene stands straight and looks unflinchingly across the centuries to challenge each of us: How will we also be changed? Are we embracing our own true nature and our proper role as seekers of wisdom?