I find myself struggling once again to write a journal article two and a half weeks after the weekend ended, if only I would sit and scribble straight away… but then that would be making life too easy for myself and I’m not very good at doing that!
Since the weekend, many conversations have been provoked, for good or worse, insightful or challenging, around the divine feminine and the sacred marriage. So where I am now is in these conversations, and not so much in the weekend itself. I look back at the journal post I wrote this time last year (found here) and I read the very deep revelation I had of meeting an unfamiliar and ancient story through a story of great familiarity – that being the story of Inanna and Demuzi through Sarah and Abraham. In fact it seems the biggest revelation was simply to hear something more of Sarah than only ‘Abraham’s wife’, which is how she is normally portrayed in the Bible. I am reminded through reading this of why it is important to be putting voice to the divine feminine, even though since the weekend I have been finding the term challenging for its risk of becoming conceptual and disembodied. As a female growing up in the Judeo-Christian world – particularly actually being brought up a Christian – it is easy to unconsciously take on the view that women are inferior. How can you not if all the stories you hear are about men who live interesting and full lives, and have important spiritual insights to share, while women are simply their wives? Not to mention the glaring fact that a male pronoun is used to refer to God, and male images to depict ‘Him’. Regardless of whether we have more female priests these days, if these priests are still telling the same stories, then we will still live the same old stories. For me, hearing the voice of Sarah was incredibly moving and inspiring because it reflects something to me – something about the stories of women being of value, being worthy enough to be in God’s house, being worthy enough to be remembered by us.
Who will make offerings at the altars and enact the sacred marriage that unites heaven and earth and keeps the land and its people fertile?… Sarah knows the old ways, secrets passed down from mother to daughter. So Sarah listens… and she remembers Inanna’s story…
Inanna’s descent to the underworld – a fierce and wild story and one that I relish with delight for all its curves and crevices, and motifs not acceptable to the present day image of the feminine. She is very very different to our quiet and unassuming Mother Mary, and I relish the contrast. What I love about mythology, as my experience grows, is the developing mosaic of images that these stories offer. I no longer only have one image of being a woman, rather I now have multiple images reflecting the multiple ways of womanhood – images of anger, of passion, of intimacy, of rejection, of joy, of lust, of love, of violence, the list could go on. They all speak to me on some level, and I feel more whole as a result. That doesn’t mean that I want to mimic the behaviours represented in mythology – who would do that?! But I feel more in touch with the different dimensions of myself, and more awake to how they manifest in relationship to the world around me. In the myriad representations of women in these stories, the wholeness of womanhood is acknowledged and honoured. The dark and the light are in relationship with each other. For me, this mosaic is very helpful to me as a human being trying to navigate this turbulent ocean of life.
This is only my perspective however. The lively discussion ensuing after Sam’s telling of Inanna showed how each experience of mythology is totally unique, and that really is the beauty of mythology. It doesn’t present us with a singular truth – ‘the moral of the story’ if you like. Mythology invites us into relationship, and no two relationships are ever going to be the same. The question is how we work with our different experiences as a group and as individuals… and that perhaps is a question at the core of Wild Wisdom School. Can we hold safe space for each other to journey along challenging paths and in these stony paths reap the collective wisdom? It’s certainly not easy, but the journey is fascinating to me.
I’m surprised I’ve actually managed to write something… as always I am saying to myself ‘next time, please try to write sooner so I can actually remember what happened’.
From the Paleolithic, Mesolithic and Neolithic Cultures, to the Celtic, Ancient Mesopotamian, Ancient Egyptian, early Hebrew and Ancient Greek and Roman cultures; we have travelled through many stories, many lands and places, many spiritual and cultural traditions. All of these stories are our own stories, hidden in the depths of our souls, in the deep stream of our present day traditions. But as we arrived today in the story of Mary and Jesus, there was a different sort of familiarity. Not an ancient remembering, but a very alive relationship. The intimacy of relationship was felt in the whole group, whether for good or worse. This story is very close to our hearts; it is an entryway into our own spiritual journey and it is also the cause of wounds.
We began the day sharing what the prospect of encountering this tradition and story felt like for us; for me I was intrigued and excited to be approaching it on our journey from the beginning of stories; after meeting the stories that quietly sit underneath and inform the mythical motifs of birth, death and resurrection. For others there was apprehension, anger, tears, and a longing to connect.
Our altar, with an icon drawing of Mother Mary and the hare that has been hopping alongside us on our journey
Sam invited us into her telling of the story through the perspective of Mary, inspired by the Eastern Orthodox Church who begins its Christian calendar not at the birth of Jesus, but at the conception of Mary. Informed and inspired by archaeology, icon drawings and the accounts we have written down, Sam took us on an intimate and impassioned telling of the lives of Mary and Jesus. I wish I could share with you this telling, but it really does live in the oral world, so if you ever have the opportunity to listen to Sam’s telling I will simply encourage you to go with her on that journey.
A particular focus in the story was on a group of people known as the ‘Hidden Ones’. These were men and women who lived in a different way to the dominant culture under Roman rule, renowned amongst the people not for status but for their deep holiness. They were often miracle working healers, dedicated to lives of simplicity and equality. After the storytelling we explored what historical evidence we have surrounding the story. We learnt that Galilee, the birth place of Jesus’ father, was a radical hub outside of the city (perhaps a bit like Totnes!) which was home to a large number of these holy people. Many scholars, including Geza Vermes, think Jesus was a part of this tradition, initiated by his mother and father who were themselves committed to the mystic’s way. These people were dangerous to Roman rule – they shook the pillars of the patriarchal temple and shone a light of divine harmony. Many were persecuted for their dangerous ideas, just as they are all over the world still today. We asked – why do we remember Jesus over others? What is so special about Jesus? Perhaps that is the ultimate question… what is so special about him? A question that he is recorded to have asked his disciples that I find very powerful is “Who do you say I am?”. He is many things to many people. I like to see him as a radical peacemaker and teacher of love, who became a symbol of the love he taught.
He shone a vision of a more beautiful world, and this vision began its journey across the world through a small group of men and women who experienced the vision and kept faith with it. Perhaps that’s what it means to have faith in Jesus, not faith that the story we know of him today is ‘true’ in the literal sense, but faith in his vision, and faith that we can carry and live that vision too.
An angel feather in Juliette’s garden
Alongside this travelling vision is another story, where the hidden teachings of Jesus become consumed by the Roman Empire and feed its power. I find it deeply ironic and disturbing that the very people who crucified him later took on his name and combined his teachings with their ruling empire. Of course, this is not the whole story, but it is part of it, and I cannot help but feel anger for this distortion and corruption of his teachings. However, corrupted and dogmatic as it has been in the past, it is perhaps down to the Roman Catholic Church that the Jesus and Mary tradition still lives as strongly as it does. And if you look past the patriarchal and oppressive gold cladding, the heart of Jesus is still present. In my eyes, it seems that the true heart has even started beating again in the Vatican because of the current Pope. A penny dropped for me when I realised that it is culture that is patriarchal, not the true heart of religion. The Jesus and Mary tradition actually carries a non-patriarchal thread within the patriarchal culture it has been held by, it carries a thread of harmony and equality in a world that is very slowly learning what these words mean.
Communion with Sam’s homemade slow gin
We ended the day in collaborative ceremony, first placing what we’d all like in the pot, then creating the structure and then living the ceremony. We sang, we read poems and the song of Mary (the Magnificat), we moved and we shared communion. This time I wasn’t simply drinking the blood of Jesus, but the blood of Jesus in the wombed vessel of Mary. This communion was a sacred marriage of Jesus and Mary, of harmony and equality and healing.
reminded through reading this of why it is important to be putting voice to the divine feminine, even though since the weekend I have been finding the term challenging for its risk of becoming conceptual and disembodied. As a female growing up in the Judeo-Christian world – particularly actually being brought up a Christian – it is easy to unconsciously take on the view that women are inferior. How can you not if all the stories you hear are about men who live interesting and full lives, and have important spiritual insights to share, while women are simply their wives? Not to mention the glaring fact that a male pronoun is used to refer to God, and male images to depict ‘Him’. Regardless of whether we have more female priests these days, if these priests are still telling the same stories, then we will still live the same old stories. For me, hearing the voice of Sarah was incredibly moving and inspiring because it reflects something to me – something about the stories of women being of value, being worthy enough to be in God’s house, being worthy enough to be remembered by us.
Inanna’s descent to the underworld – a fierce and wild story and one that I relish with delight for all its curves and crevices, and motifs not acceptable to the present day image of the feminine. She is very very different to our quiet and unassuming Mother Mary, and I relish the contrast. What I love about mythology, as my experience grows, is the developing mosaic of images that these stories offer. I no longer only have one image of being a woman, rather I now have multiple images reflecting the multiple ways of womanhood – images of anger, of passion, of intimacy, of rejection, of joy, of lust, of love, of violence, the list could go on. They all speak to me on some level, and I feel more whole as a result. That doesn’t mean that I want to mimic the behaviours represented in mythology – who would do that?! But I feel more in touch with the different dimensions of myself, and more awake to how they manifest in relationship to the world around me. In the myriad representations of women in these stories, the wholeness of womanhood is acknowledged and honoured. The dark and the light are in relationship with each other. For me, this mosaic is very helpful to me as a human being trying to navigate this turbulent ocean of life.
experience of mythology is totally unique, and that really is the beauty of mythology. It doesn’t present us with a singular truth – ‘the moral of the story’ if you like. Mythology invites us into relationship, and no two relationships are ever going to be the same. The question is how we work with our different experiences as a group and as individuals… and that perhaps is a question at the core of Wild Wisdom School. Can we hold safe space for each other to journey along challenging paths and in these stony paths reap the collective wisdom? It’s certainly not easy, but the journey is fascinating to me.
