AGNODICE: A Lesson In Empowerment—How Just One Woman CAN Make a Difference by Gayle Goldwin

From the dawn of prehistory into Egyptian times, women, not men, were the world's midwives and healers. But as patriarchal regimes spread war, suffering and tyranny across the planet in their drive for conquest, women were more and more limited to the relative safety of their homes.

By the 4th century B.C.E., Greek men, seeking to limit their competition, had enacted laws barring women from even studying medicine, much less practicing it. The penalty was nothing less than death.

Male disrespect for all things female, and for Woman's body in particular, led to feelings of shame and humiliation. Unnecessary modesty and embarrassment prevented the women of Athens from discussing "intimate" ailments with their doctors, all of whom were, by law, men. As a result, many women suffered and died needlessly for want of basic medical care.

Outraged and saddened by the suffering she saw, Agnodice decided to do something about it. She donned men's clothes, cut her hair to look like a man and set off to Alexandria to study medicine. When she returned, credentials in hand, she set up a practice specializing in gynecology.

Her female patients assumed that she was, of course, a man, and were at first reluctant to discuss their problems. But when Agnodice pulled up her tunic to prove she was a woman, her practice was soon flooded with new patients as the whispered news spread from friend to friend. 

Jealous and angry over the sudden exodus of their patients (not to mention the reduction in their income), Agnodice's male colleagues decided to put an end to their new competitor. Believing her to be a man, of course, they hauled her into court on charges of lasciviously seducing her patients. In her defense, Agnodice proclaimed to the packed courtroom that she was neither a man, nor lascivious, but was simply a woman physician serving women.

The seduction charges were dismissed, but the court immediately condemned Agnodice to death for practicing a profession forbidden to females. At this, the women of Athens, including the wives of several court officials, rose up in protest. Agnodice was ultimately freed, and the law was changed to allow women to practice medicine (though they were strictly limited to treating other women).

©2007 Gayle Goldwin. Excerpted from WomanSpirit Oracles: Wisdom of the Ancients, Solutions for Today, a modern-day divinatory tool of Feminine Empowerment. The set includes a complete oracle card deck and wisdom book of clear delineations, guided meditations, empowering mantras, inspiring messages channeled from Ascended Feminine Masters and triumphal stories of history's most compelling women. Viewers can get a FREE online Oracle Card reading, FREE Oracle eCards or read other excerpts and channeled Messages at http://www.WomanSpiritOracles.com. Permission is granted to any site or individual to reproduce this article online provided the preceding link and this copyright notice is included in such reproduction.

Allow the Power of Your Soul to Shine By Angie Skelhorn

Allow The Power Of Your Soul To Shine,

Empower Yourself,

And The Ones You Hold Dear,

Never Fail To Perform,

Your Life Is Your Thoughts,

Living Every Task,

As It Is Your Last,

Never Desire For Mere Ego,

And Lose Your Self-Respect,

Care In Your Deeds,

And Clear In Your Thoughts,

Bring Clarity To Your Words,

Understanding All,

Who Have Wronged You,

Our Creator,

Gives Nothing You Can't Bear.

Feel With Your Heart,

You Are Unique,

And One Of A Kind,

You Place Value,

On Every Thought,

On Every Deed.

Revoke The Power Anytime,

Conscience Of The Part Which Governs,

Consists Of Little Flesh,

And A Lot Of Power,

A Whisper Of Breath,

All Things Come To You,

Have Their Being In You

And Return To You.

Ask Your Mama - A Question of Hope

Are you cyclically confused? In a ceremonial quandary? Completely clueless? Wonder no more.

                                *Ask Your Mama™                         

The What, When, Where, Why, How, and Who of

Ceremony & Spirituality

by

©Mama Donna Henes, Urban Shaman

A Question of Hope

Dear Mama Donna,

Hope is no better than worrying. They are both passive and are based on wishes. Instead people should deal with reality. This means letting each person be responsible for his/her actions and having clear communication. Then problems can be addressed and solved in an active way and control is put in the hands where it belongs. Worry and hope are by people that don't want to take action but want control. Thoughts don't have power over anyone but the thinker.

A Realist in Florida

Dear Realist,

You are absolutely correct. One absolutely must do things in order to change things.

But Hope is better than worry, since it sends your focus toward the positive.

During a recent ritual of deep cleansing and release, I passed a set of Guatemalan worry dolls around the circle to help us relinquish the nagging apprehensions and insidious anxieties that sap our strength and resolve. All those sneaky, nasty, niggly worries that worm their way into our brains and take up our good time.

Worry dolls are wonderful. There is nothing you can’t tell them. Absolutely nothing shocks them; they’ve heard it all before. And whatever it is that troubles you, they take care of it. Get rid of it. Swallow it. Spirit it away. It is their job, and they are professionals. What a tremendous relief it is to hand over your distress to someone else to deal with.

As each participant took the tiny figures into the palm of her hand,

s/he would allow the flood gates of her heart to open, and let loose a stream of sadness, stress, panic, guilt, worst-case scenarios, and   catastrophic fears.

When the dolls reached Anita, a woman in her late sixties, she calmly declared, “I don’t worry. I hope.” 

Brilliant! I felt five decades of self-conscious, conscientious pollyannaism vindicated by the transparent truth of that one simple statement. Talk about positive reinforcement.

There are those who say that hope is futile, a waste of time, of precious energy. They contend that hope is completely unrealistic. Simply wishful thinking, they insist. And I say, “Yes. It is, and thank goodness!”

No pessimist ever discovered the secrets

of the stars, or sailed to an unchartered

land, or opened a new heaven to the human

spirit.

—Helen Keller

A negative head set is not healthy. Seeing the world as a goblet half empty could shave years off of your life. Medical studies have proven the physical and psychological benefits of being positive in your attitude. It produces more energy, strengthens the immune system and results in a greater ability to heal and an increased longevity.

According to a new study, an optimistic outlook in one's later years could offer protection against a stroke. The study, published in the Journal of the American Psychosomatic Society, shows that "high levels of positive affect" seem to shield older people from stroke. Elderly folks who often feel blue tend to have more strokes than those who are not depressed, according to the study.  

Mary Gillespie, a sister circler, commented during one of my ceremonies that "Worrying is like praying for what you don't want." Physics has long since proved that energy flows in the direction that we send it. Therefore, THINKING positively is just as important as DOING positive things. If you are worrying, fearful and pessimistic it freezes your ability to move forward and to do what needs to be done. It produces a catatonia of will. If you believe a situation to be hopeless, you don't even try. 

Studies show that optimistic people consistently out-perform those who consider themselves to be more realistic, because they place fewer restrictions on themselves. If you don’t know that something is impossible, you are more likely able to be able to do it. “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.”

While we often have little or no control over the situations that affect us, we do have control over our own perceptions of them. We do have the very real and extremely potent power of perspective. And we definitely possess the crucial and vitally influential choice of how we will deal with whatever comes our way. How we will handle ourselves.

So, yes, here is to doing the work that needs to be done on a personal, communal and global level. But since worry takes as much energy as hope, let us do that good work with an optimistic heart.

 

Yours for positive public spirit,

XxMama Donna

*Are you cyclically confused? In a ceremonial quandary? Completely clueless? Wonder no more. Send your questions about seasons, cycles, and celebrations to Mama Donna at: CityShaman@aol.com.

Clearing The Past by Angie Skelhorn

Witches are real people.  In the 14th century persecution of supposed witches began. During the 16th and 17th century the witch hunt reached its peak.

On September 20, 2007, the Swiss parliament decided to acknowledge that the execution of Anna Goeli, the last witch executed in Europe, was a miscarriage of justice.

Anna Goeldi arrived in the tiny Swiss canton of Glarus in 1765 looking for employment as a maid. She found work with Jakob Tschudi, the magistrate and rising political figure of the time. Anna's physical attributes were not lost on Jakob. She worked and carried on an affair with her employer for seventeen years.

One morning one of the Tschudi children found a needle in her milk. Two days later needles appeared in the bread. Suspicion fell on Anna. When she was fired from her position, the Tschudi's accused Anna of witchcraft in an alleged case of non-lethal poisoning.

Jakob had a motive for his accusation. He didn't want revealed that he had an ongoing affair with Anna. He wanted her gone. Adultery was a crime then. He knew accusing her of being an evil witch was a legal way to rid of her.

Anna Goeldi insisted she was innocent. Religious and political leaders of Glarus had her hung by her thumbs and tied stones to her feet.

When she finally confessed she told her accusers what they wanted to hear. She claimed that the devil had appeared to her in the form of a black dog. The needles had been given to her by Satan.

Once freed from torture she withdrew her confession.

They tortured her so brutally that she confessed all over again. Two weeks later Anna was led out to the public square where her head was cut off with a sword.

Two hundred and twenty-five years later the decision to clear Anna Goeldi finally came after a long debate with the Protestant and Roman Catholic churches.

Anna was probably uneducated by books. She spent her days doing housework and outdoors tending to farm chores, she grew produce, feasted on preserves, quilted and crafted. Like most women of her time she was a scholar of what she took from the land to cook and preserve; mending wardrobe; and healing and ministering to sick animals. Talismans, amulets, and charms were worn to attract health, wealth and love.

Those who had ongoing disagreements with neighbors were subjected to wildly inaccurate accusations because practicing the craft was an effective way to rid one of a foe.

In the midst of all the controversy the witches kept their belief to worship and personify the sun, moon, fire, wind and water. Witches had a strong commitment to attract the positive and keep the negative at bay. The secret knowledge was passed down from one generation to the next masked by family traditions so their faith would survive. The practice of witchcraft has lasted through history against the odds. Witches survived the brink of extinction.

I knew very little about my heritage while growing up. To be honest, I thought witches and witchcraft were something found in fables. In early 1996 an elderly woman I briefly knew opened my mind to white witchcraft. She explained that everything is composed of energy that can be tapped into to support positive or negative change to occur.

Being in touch with the past empowered me to a better future. I read literature on the way of the craft-magic, rituals, lessons of nature, mythology and customs. My personal exploration revealed the secret of my heritage.

My great grandmother, Margaret Mary Harris, my father's ancestor, was born in Dublin. She arrived in Canada from England by boat in 1912. Unfortunately very little is known of my mother's ancestors' arrival except that the earliest member of her family documented was a female, born in either the town or county of Berwick, Scotland, in 1799. Traditional and hereditary witches are found in the British Isles and Europe. I am a witch who openly practices Earth magic. I am honored to be grouped with those women who sacrificed all in the name of the Goddess and God and all that is good.

Today there are more women practicing witchcraft than ever before; a recognized spiritual faith; a way of life openly lived without bias on the part of the law. This is compliments of those who came before me.

Author Bio: Angie Skelhorn is the fifth child born into a farming family located south of Peterborough, Ontario, Canada. She became fascinated with witchcraft; the lifestyle, beliefs, customs and traditions. Her love of nature, imagination, and her desire to share knowledge of witchcraft became evident in her written material. She is hard at work on her novel, "On The Edge."

Forest Song: Finding Home by Vila SpiderHawk - Book Review by Dawn "Belladonna" Thomas

Forest Song: Finding Home

By Vila SpiderHawk

ISBN: 0981473989

Book Review by Dawn “Belladonna” Thomas

I was excited to begin this book after reading Ms. SpiderHawk’s book Hidden Passages: Tales of to Honor the Crone. I was definitely not disappointed. The story begins with a young girl, Judy, living with her family in Germany. Her family builds a wrought iron fence to attempt to contain her. Judy hears the song of the forest and constantly tries to break through and run for the woods. She realizes at a young age that she doesn’t fit in with “city life.” When Judy finally makes it to the woods, it changes her whole world. She sees and hears things differently than what she is used to. The lessons that she learns are essential to all of us. Those she meets in the woods become more of a family than she ever had with her biological family. Judy learns about relationships, magic, and ways to honor nature and Goddesses.

I found myself rereading sections because the messages in the story are so profound. I can see myself becoming more involved. I felt very strong about this message: “But rituals are important. Without them it’s easy to forget who you are. And if you lose yourself you can’t help other people.”

Ms SpiderHawk is a talented storyteller and I believe I will be rereading this story again and again. I am sure that I would enjoy any book that she wrote and I am already looking forward to her next book.

Found Goddesses - Computer Goddesses Part 6 by Barbara Ardinger

Note. The term Found Goddess was created by Morgan Grey and Julia Penelope for their wonderful book, Found Goddesses: Asphalta to Viscera (New Victoria Publishers, 1980). I started Finding goddesses—Nerdix, Compuquia, Hostilia, and Whizziwig—when I was working on a Y2K project for a major corporation. I found the other goddesses described here when I was writing a book on the subject, Finding New Goddesses (ECW Press, 2003). The newest goddesses are Fubar-Ma and Linker Bell, who have just now appeared. Well, maybe they’ve been standing around and/or hovering; I just got them down on paper.

The Computer Goddesses

Because computers embrace and enrich every part of our modern times, we have a Found computer power animal. You guessed it: Mouse. Here is the story of How Mouse Came to Help Us.

One day, Hapless Writer was sitting at her desk, typing happily away. Suddenly—crash! Her computer was out of control!  Every single bit of her formatting was deleted. Pages upon pages of text were ruined. Headers and footers became unstable. Pagination refused to behave itself. Her bulleted lists turned into scrambled numbers. Hapless was extremely unhappy. She began to Speak Firmly to her computer, telling it of her frustration and her expectations.

“Here now,” a voice suddenly said. “What’s all this, then?”  Hapless looked around. Where was that small, crisp voice coming from?

“Yo! Over here.”  And then she saw him, a small gray Being with a long tail. He was sitting on a napkin next to her keyboard. “Pay attention,” the small gray being said.

“But—who are you?”

“My name is Mouse. I’m a power animal. I’m here to help and advise you.”

“Terrific,” said Hapless. “Advice from a rodent. Well, look, Mr. Mouse. I’m all undone. Someone took all my formatting codes. Every bit of my formatting has gone away. I’ve got to go back and redo every tab, every indent, every bold, every italic, every centered line, every font setting, every hard return, every header and footer. And I can’t even find my Reveal Codes!”

“You sure got problems, kid.”

“Drat and imprecation,” she said. “But it’s not my fault. I’m just no good at this Windowstuff. Why can’t I just have my old DOS-based program back? I could do anything with that good old level 5.1.”  Sniffling and snuffling, she looked around. “You know,” she said, peering into the dark corners of the room, “I bet it’s those Thieving Format Fairies! Or that pesky old TipTroll. I deleted him and now he’s getting revenge on me. He cast an evil spell on me. Well, just wait till I get my hands on him!”  And she snuffled again.

Mouse reached into his pocket. “Hey—care for some cheese to go with that whine? No? Well then, listen up. And get real. Wizards or Trolls, they got no power. But me? I got power. Take my advice. Handle one thing at a time. And honor your perceptions.[1] 

Hapless Writer depressed several keys, but nothing happened.

“Kid,” said Mouse, “I can tell your skills are way out of date. You obviously need powerful help.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” said Hapless. “I’m working on it, all right?”

Grooming his ears and whiskers, Mouse leaned forward to read what was on the screen, scrolling up and down until he got the whole story. “You know what, kid? I like what you’re doing here. You’ve got spunk. I think I’ll stick around and help you.”  He sat back to think for a minute, then reached into his other pocket and drew out a shiny silver disk, which he handed to Hapless. “Next time you get into trouble, use this.”

“What is it?”

“Ask someone who knows.”  Refusing to answer any more questions, Mouse spun around three times. “You’ll see me again,” he said.

Then he pronounced Magic Words to exorcise the computer’s archaic operating system: “C:\ DOS. C:\ DOS run. Run, DOS, run. And don’t come back.”  With a smile, he pronounced other Magic Words to instantly install the new operating system: “Logon WIN.”

Next, Mouse waved his paws, making sigils in the air. He flexed his muscles and hunkered down and—lo and behold! His fur became hard and smooth. His tail grew longer and longer and still longer.  “Use me to select commands and perform tasks,” he said. “Drag and click,” he said. “I’ll never be farther away than your hand is from your wrist,” he said. And those were his last words.

As Hapless Writer watched in amazement, Mouse began to shiver and shimmer and glow. And then, with a power surge that dimmed every light in the city, he mutated into the handy, hand-sized plastic power tool that we use to this very day. And to this very day, we are indeed selecting and clicking and dragging to perform our tasks.

Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D. (www.barbaraardinger.com), is the author of Pagan Every Day: Finding the Extraordinary in Our Ordinary Lives (RedWheel/Weiser, 2006), a unique daybook of daily meditations, stories, and activities. Her earlier books are Finding New Goddesses, Quicksilver Moon, Goddess Meditations, and Practicing the Presence of the Goddess. Her day job is freelance editing for people who don't want to embarrass themselves in print. Barbara lives in southern California. To purchase a signed copy of Finding New Goddesses, just send Barbara an email at bawriting@earthlink.net.

Free and Bold by Bendis

Try to imagine - see if you can envision the beautiful Amazon women working together in love and trust, honoring their Goddess, provider of all. They are strong just as you are; calling on the support of their Sisters when needed, each woman knowing that the others are there for her should she have need.

These women are wild women, which mean they are free spirits - connected in all ways with their environment - in tune with the energies about them, in tune with their own energies, unafraid and bold in how they live their lives. They stand up for those who suffered at the hands of outsiders, they fight for what is right, they speak the truth, directly and with courage and demand that they be heard.

They use the healing energy provided by the universe to heal themselves and others.  They love freely, without jealousy, capturing the joy of every moment. All that they create with their hands or from within their own bodies is nurtured and loved. Their children prosper and grow healthy and strong because they are loved unconditionally.

This is your birthright - to live freely and without fear. You cling to what you know is right in your heart. You trust that you will always have what you need. You allow yourself to be vulnerable and open to love. You dance with the wind, revel in the warmth of the sun, and play like a child in the rain.

You are these Amazon Women, now, in this place, in this time, wild and free, strong and beautiful.

Halloween - Its Historical Background by Bendis

To understand the original meaning of Halloween, one simply needs to look at the time of year in which this holiday falls and go back many, many years in history. 

The time is autumn.  The last harvest has been gathered.  The trees are beginning to lose their leaves and the air is crisp, portending of what is to come - winter.  There is no central heat.  Homes are primitive and clothes are not what they are now.  All food that will be consumed in the coming months must be stored, for there will be no fresh food until well into spring.  Herbs are harvested, dried and stored so that should sickness come there might be hope of survival.  You must preserve enough.  Your very life depends on it!

All the animals are brought in from the fields.  There is not enough food to keep them all through the coming winter, so only the breeding stock is kept alive.  The rest are slaughtered and preserved for food.

It is a busy time and a very frightening one as well.  No one knows who will survive.  Many will die from cold, sickness and lack of food.  Winter means death.

To those people of long ago, who were polytheistic, it seemed that the Divine Mother had gone away, for she represented growth and abundance and these were no longer evident.  Her Consort seemed to be present only in the seed from the crops.  In their preparation for this time of darkness, it was very important that any assistance available be called upon.  Therefore, it was commonly believed that, out of need, the spirits of those who had gone before were more readily available to call upon for help, protection, advice and counsel.  Hence - ghosts and goblins!  Later, when this time of year was no longer as threatening, the traditions of the Jack-O-Lantern and dressing up were begun as a way to scare off those very same spirits.

It was also a well-understood fact that every death was also a birth.  Along with preparation for the hard times, they also looked forward and rejoiced at the coming birth of Spring and the return of their Mother.  They celebrated this, their last harvest, and stored carefully.   They sorted the seed and chose the finest to be saved to insure an abundant crop the following year.

The old name for Halloween, as celebrated in Celtic lands, was Samhain, pronounced Sow - in.  After the arrival of Christianity the name changed to Hallowmas and later to All Hallows Eve, a time to honor the dead.  Many Christian churches today celebrate All Saints Day.  The day is honored by the Hispanic people as the Days of the Dead.   My family uses this time of year to honor those of our family who are no longer with us. A good group activity is to plan a trip to a cemetery that has been neglected and do some sprucing up.  There are many departed souls who no longer have family to take on this loving act.

Have a wonderful Samhain and celebrate that we no longer must fear winter.  Celebrate for life is good!

Bendis

Herb for Samhain – Wormwood by Dawn "Belladonna" Thomas

Herb for Samhain – Wormwood

(Artemisia absinthium)

POISON

Folk Names: Absinthe, Old woman, Crown for a King, Madderwort, Wormot

Planet: Mars

Element: Fire

Deities: Iris, Diana, Artemis  

Powers: Psychic Powers, Protection, Love, Calling Spirits

Botanical:

Wormwood contains among its constituents, thujone, phelandrine, and purine. It is native to Europe and will flourish in most temperate regions.  Use it in the garden to keep out flea beetles and cabbage worms. It should not be planted close to another plant because the toxicity of wormwood may kill the other plant.

The root is a perennial and sometimes almost woody at the base. The flowering stem is 2 to 2 ½ feet in height and silvery-white and covered with fine silky hairs. The leaves are also silvery-white on both sides and are about 3 inches in length. The leaves are broad and cut deeply with segments that taper towards the tip and have blunt ends. The stalks are slightly winged at the edges. The small nearly round flowers are arranged on an erect stalk and are greenish-yellow tint. They bloom from July to October. The ripe fruits are not covered with the hairs that are on the stalks and leaves. The leaves are very bitter with a characteristic odor. The root has a warm and aromatic taste.

Wormwood likes a shady situation and is easily propagated by division of roots in the autumn by cuttings or be seeds sown in the autumn soon after they are ripe. No further care is needed other than to keep them free of weeds. The plants should be planted about two feet apart.

Folklore and History:

It was named for the Greek Goddess Artemis and has been in use at least since its earliest recorded history by the Assyrians in 600 B.C.E. It was a religious herb among both Hebrew and Greek cultures. In ancient times the Egyptians used it as a cure for worms. During the Middle Ages people used it to keep moths out of clothing.

The name Artemisia shows the long association with the Roman Diana and Greek Artemis.  As Ms. Grieve has recorded in A Modern Herbal:

In an early translation of the Herbarium of Apuleius we find: “Of these worts that we name Artemisia, it is said that Diana did find them and delivered their powers and leechdom to Chiron the Centaur, who first from these worts set forth a leechdom, and he named these worts from the name of Diana, Artemis, that is Artemisias.”

According to the Ancients, wormwood counteracted the effects of poisoning by hemlock, toadstools and the biting of the sea-dragon. The plant was of some importance among Mexicans, who celebrated their great festival of the Goddess of Salt by a ceremonial dance of women, who wore on their heads garlands of wormwood. (Grieve, page 858)

It was once made into an alcoholic beverage called absinthe. It was one of the flavorings used for vermouth and other alcoholic beverages. This highly addictive and dangerous liqueur is now outlawed or banned in many countries. The side effects are vomiting and it is toxic in large quantities.

Medicinal Usage:

CAUTION: This herb is only used in small amounts and should only be administered by a trained professional. This plant is considered poisonous. It is likely that the bitter flavor will keep the dosage in proportion. The tops are used for the treatment of stomach disorders and colitis. Wormwood may also be used in pains associated with nervous disorders. It was also said that it works well for people suffering from anemia. It should not be used by pregnant women.

Magical Uses:

The silvery-white leaves of this plant look nice when dried and used in floral bouquets. Care should be used to keep this out of the reach of children and animals.  Wormwood can be added to waters or creams as a bug repellent. In the language of flowers, this represents absence.

Wormwood can be burned in incenses designed to aid in developing psychic powers, and is also worn for this purpose. If wormwood is carried it protects against bewitchment. Hung from the rear-view of a car, it protects the vehicle from accidents.

Wormwood is used to enhance prophecy and divination. It is associated with the Lovers card of the tarot and serves as a patron herb of herbalist. In some versions of the myth, the goddess Artemis bestows this herb upon the centaur, Chiron, healer of the gods, who uses it as one of his most important healing herbs.

It was said that wormwood could be used to remove anger. This practice requires a thorough analysis of underlying motives and of social ethics. Paul Beyerl writes in The Master Book of Herbalism:

“for those who seek to vent their anger in a peaceful creative means this herb is appropriate to use.  It is also used when a group works magic to stop war or to inhibit the enemy.” (Beyerl, page 255)

Wormwood is also sometimes used in love infusions. Wormwood can be placed under a bed to draw a loved one. Ms. Grieve records an old love charm in A Modern Herbal:

On Saint Luke’s Day, take marigold flowers, a sprig of marjoram, thyme, and a little wormwood; dry them before a fire, rub them to powder; then sift it through a fine piece of lawn, and simmer it over a slow fire, adding a small quantity of virgin honey, and vinegar.  Anoint yourself with this when you go to bed, saying the following lines three times, and you will dream of your partner to be:  Saint Luke, Saint Luke, be kind to me, In dreams let me my true love see. (Grieve, pages 858-859)

Wormwood is also burned to summon spirits. It is sometimes mixed with sandalwood for this purpose. According folk stories, if burned in graveyards the spirits of the dead will rise and speak.

Sources:

Beyerl, Paul; A Compendium of Herbal Magick; Custer, Washington; Phoenix Publishing, Inc; 1998

Beyerl, Paul, The Master Book of Herbalism; Custer, Washington; Phoenix Publishing, Inc; 1994

Cunningham, Scott; Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs; St Paul, MN; Llewellyn Publications; 2000

Grieve, M.; A Modern Herbal, Volume II; Mineola, New York; Dover Publications; 1971

Hopman, Ellen Evert; A Druid’s Herbal; Rochester, Vermont; Destiny Books; 1995

Telesco, Patricia; The Herbal Arts; Secaucus, New Jersey; Carol Publishing Group; 1998

Botanical Painting from F. E. Kohler's "Medizinal-Pflanzen", 1888.

Los Dias De Los Muertos offered by Bendis

THE DAYS OF THE DEAD IN MEXICO

Her face is unforgettable and she goes by many names: La Catrina, la Flaca, la Huesuda, la Pelona--Fancy Lady, Skinny, Bony, Baldy. A fixture in Mexican society, she's not some trendy fashion model, but La Muerte--Death.

Should you wish to investigate the annual celebrations and rituals of Los Dias de los Muertos, the annual fiesta of the Days of the Dead in Mexico, you will have an opportunity to understand the meaning of this important cultural tradition. November 1, celebrated in Christianity is All Saints' Day, and November 2, is called All Souls' Day.  They are the most important holidays of the year in Mexico, especially in rural areas. It is a joyful time when families gather to honor their loved ones who have died. Los Dias de los Muertos is not somber, morbid, or macabre.  It is a time of remembrance, reunion, and feasting.

Here is our country many misconceptions may arise about Los Dias de los Muertos because we have differing cultural attitudes about death, we  misinterpret the meaning of symbolic objects such as altars, skeletons, and skulls, and finally because it occurs at the same time as Halloween which is being hidden away more and more in our schools and neighborhoods. 

Historical and Cultural Background 

Los Dias de los Muertos in Mexico dates back long before the arrival of the Conquistadors in the 1500s. Similar concepts of death and afterlife existed in the Olmec, Toltec, Maya, and Aztec cultures. 

When Europeans introduced Christianity to the native cultures, rituals and practices became synthesized with traditional indigenous beliefs. All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day are holy days celebrated in all Catholic countries, and the customs and practices of Los Dias de los Muertos developed from this fusion. 

In Mexican culture there is a strong philosophical acceptance of death as an integral part of the cycle of life. During Los Dias de los Muertos, people believe that the souls of the dead return to earth for one day of the year - the spirits of los angelitos (children) on All Saint's Day and the spirits of adults on All Soul's Day.  

Preparations 

People go all out in preparing for Los Dias de los Muertos. Families construct and decorate ofrendas, which are home altars to honor loved ones. Decorations may include candles, gifts, flowers, cut paper banners, pictures of saints, and photographs and offerings of the favorite food and drink of the deceased. Tombs and gravestones in the cemeteries are cleaned and decorated.  

Bread of the Dead, candies, and toys are made in the shapes of skulls and skeletons. The skeleton or skull is seen as a promise of resurrection, not as a symbol of death. Toys and papier-mâché figures wear modern dress. Popular skeleton figures depict specific profession, musicians, brides and grooms, bicycle riders, and other subjects from everyday life.

The traditional flower of Los Dias de los Muertos is the yellow marigold, which is spread on paths and used to decorate altars and the cemetery. Its pungent scent is thought to help the spirits of the dead find their way home. Aromas are what attract and guide the spirits of the dead, so the pleasant odors of foods, copal incense, and marigolds help guide souls home and provide offerings. 

Traditional Practices 

Los Dias de los Muertos begins on the night of October 31, The Night of Mourning with a candlelight procession to the cemetery. The spirits of children arrive to visit their families on October 31 and depart on November 1, All Saints' Day. The souls of the adults then arrive, leaving on November 2, All Souls' Day. 

The spirits of children are greeted at home; the adults are welcomed at home or at the cemetery. Families usually honor the adult who died most recently.  

On the last evening of Los Dias de los Muertos, families often spend the night at the cemetery, praying, talking, and feasting. Sometimes music is played; sometimes a Catholic Mass is celebrated, but all the participants return home at sunrise.   

Through the traditions of Los Dias de los Muertos, the celebrants honor and show respect for their deceased loved ones. They know that they, too, will not be forgotten after death as long as these traditions are maintained.           

                                                                             

North Texas Institute for Educators on the Visual Arts 

Mama Donna's Spirit Shop

Moon Schedule from Samhain to Yule by Dawn "Belladonna" Thomas

Moon Schedule from Samhain to Yule

By Dawn “Belladonna” Thomas

(Times are Eastern Time)

2^nd Quarter – November 5^th 11:03 p.m.

Full Moon – November 13^th 1:17 a.m.

4^th Quarter – November 19^th 4:31 p.m.

New Moon – November 27^th 11:54 a.m.

2^nd Quarter – December 5^th 4:25 p.m.

Full Moon – December 12^th 11:37 a.m.

4^th Quarter – December 19^th 5:29 a.m.

Moon Void of Course Schedule

Date                                                   Starts                                           Ends                       

November 2nd	4:41 a.m.	6:13 a.m.
November 4th	1:47 a.m.	7:01 p.m.
November 7th	4:33 a.m.	5:43 a.m.
November 9th	11:28 a.m.	12:26 p.m.
November 11th	2:17 p.m.	3:05 p.m.
November 13th	12:12 p.m.	3:11 p.m.
November 15th	2:17 p.m.	2:52 p.m.
November 17th	8:43 a.m.	4:07 p.m.
November 19th	7:48p.m.	8:12 p.m.
November 22nd	3:02 a.m.	3:20 a.m.
November 24th	12:45 p.m.	12:54 p.m.
November 26th	7:32 a.m.	November 27th 12:14 a.m.
November 28th	7:53 p.m.	November 29th 12:48 p.m.
December 1st	10:44 a.m.	December 2nd 1:44 a.m.
December 3rd	9:14 p.m.	December 4th 1:23 p.m.
December 6th	7:43 p.m.	9:44 p.m.
December 8th	4:35 p.m.	December 9th 1:52 a.m.
December 10th	5:23 p.m.	December 11th 2:33 a.m.
December 12th	1:01 p.m.	December 13th 1:39 a.m.
December 14th	5:27 p.m.	December 15th 1:22 a.m.
December 16th	7:45 p.m.	December 17th 3:35 a.m.
December 19th	5:29 a.m.	9:23 a.m.
December 21st	11:57 a.m.	6:36 p.m.

Planting Days

November 7^th, 8^th, 12^th, 13^th, 16^th

December 1^st, 2^nd, 9^th, 10^th, 13^th, 14^th, 17^th, 18^th

Harvesting Days

November 14^th, 15^th, 18^th, 19^th

December 12^th, 15^th, 16^th

My City Mother Has Risen From the Dead - by H. Byron Ballard

I have thirsty roots in this place. Almost every day some fresh-faced newcomer whose grandma was born outland approaches me to learn where I’m from. Here, I say. When did you move here? I have always been here, like Pisgah and the Rat. Like the ghost woman who jumps for love of a dead man. I go away for a time and I always come back, for my gnarly roots seek refreshment from dark springs of mountain water. McKinney Cove. Enka High School. West End. You mean Chicken Hill? Hell, no. I mean West End. Bootleggers, murderers, so lawless that people from outside--people from Biltmore Forest, say--would threaten their wayward children with abandonment after nightfall in West End. In Peck Town. Mill workers and the concubines of rich men. Little children falling to an almost-death through the rusty railings at Queen Carson School, only to be made to walk home, where they could die later. My grandfather coughing his way through TB on Jefferson, dying rough, the way “Sweet Stuff” had lived since he left the Navy, returning from the gassed fields of France. Rich in story and history, no doubt. A place of mythic stature. Steinbeck or Joyce or Williams got nothing to compare to it. Filth and squalor and soul-killing poverty. Ah, West End. Some flatland real estate developer from off can try to sell the Chicken Hill label, but it’s an insult to the leveling of the real Chicken Hill, razed to story by the coming of the Expressway.

We don’t have Southern Living-kind of Southerners in this family. We are more the “hell, no, we’ll never forget” NASCAR kind of Southerners. We live in a landscape haunted by our personal demons and the familial boogers of our extended families. I always begin my life at Number Ten Roberts Street--the store and house where my great-grandmother raised ten children to maturity, or what counts as maturity in this family. A host of girls and three boys, all dead now. The oldest and the youngest, being for several years the only ones left, are both gone as I write this. If family can ever be gone. As if they cannot rise from Green Hill Cemetery and pace Park Square again, watching the clouds for winged angels.

I never saw Number Ten Roberts Street except in my mind’s eye because my family left West End in the last years of the Great Depression. Number Ten holds the essence of Grandma and Grandpa who came here from Haywood County, to escape in-laws or bastard children or debt, who knows? I have photographs of the wooden store, one with Grandma in a filthy apron, standing with three boys in the doorway, an advertisement near her shoulders. But there is no photograph of upstairs at Number Ten and no photograph of the couch where the ghost of the dead man lay, on evenings when the streetlight shone through the curtains. My mother saw him, as did my grandmother as a young girl. He lay there with his knees drawn up and his hand under his cheek, sweet and peaceful and long dead. No one knew him--he was not one of ours. But he inhabited the upstairs at Number Ten on those nights, a temporary permanent visitor. He was there since before the flood of 1916 and may have been there when they tore the structure down during the halcyon days of Urban Renewal. Plans are drawn to put an artist's studio on the square of land and I wonder sometimes if the sleeping man will appear on some paint-spattered sofa in the loft, relieved to find a napping place.

People genuinely from here can blink their eyes and see Pack Square in its reincarnations, have a heart for the old Wall Street, bought feed and seed in T.S. Morrison’s. We can remember heavy traffic on Tunnel Road as lines of reeking cars popped through the old tunnel, before the Cut was cut. In West End, you can blink your eyes and the street cars are running again, a bulky school building dominates the hilltop, the river rises into Miss Olive’s basement and Ida Crawley floats below the captain’s walk on her turret, frightening the children.

But I digress, wandering again through the stories and places that made me and made my family, denizens at Number Ten who climbed out of West End and the mill. My grandmother’s stories became my stories, my mother’s stories became mine, my cousins-elders bequeathed me variations on a theme of this peopled empty space. A great-aunt put a board out the upstairs window onto another balcony and escaped the baleful eye of her father, eloping with the boy she loved who would become a tyrant and a pervert. She would stay with him until he died, a relief (it was said) to anyone who had to submit to his constant lust.

Tyranny is a kind of theme to this place: the tyranny of the mill, the church, the parent, the spouse, the city government who forgot this oldest of neighborhoods and only remembered when it was time to excise something from it. Some land or some taxes or some drink during the years of Prohibition when a drink of liquor could always be found in West End. Batwing bottles of corn from Tennessee, hidden under rotting floor boards and in baby’s basinets. Satisfying ways for lazy men to make a buck while their women took in laundry or sewing or warmed eggs in their aprons to facilitate the birthing of chicks. Sometimes the men took mean and hit their women-wives-sisters or slammed the door on the tails of their cats. The men could be mean drunks, it is told, and so could the women. Once, a man so mean or sad or eviscerated with life shot his wife through the chest, the bullet going in here and coming out there. She appeared later in the clouds and my mother was whipped when she mentioned her, because looking up to heaven and seeing a neighbor there was somehow more shameful than shooting your wife.

Around the corner from Number Ten and slightly up the hill is Mary’s House, one residence upstairs and an apartment in the basement, a not uncommon sight in West End. I never knew Mary’s last name and can’t remember who told me her first because I never spoke to her, not once. I sometimes sat with Mr. Guthrie and his white dogs but Mary never came out to her yard. She peeked out the window or stood at the door waiting. I saw her months after she died, still waving from the window, still waiting. Mr. Guthrie has gone from his old home place, visiting with my elders in the steeps of Green Hill. Sometimes I spot a whisk of white from the oldest ghost dog, trotting to the back of the restored and soulless old house.

My mother was born here, in a house that her mother did not own. Upstairs, across the street but still on the mythful Roberts Street. She left when her mother did but all my life she carried the joy of growing up poor in West End, where she and her friends smoked cigarettes at twelve and pretended they lived on a ranch in Texas. She met my father hereabouts and told of her grandmothers here, one for her mother and one for her father. I carry those tales now, Jacob Marley-style, never sure what is real and what is not. Not that truth matters in myth. After the war, she was moved to the western part of the county to a place she always hated, hated til the day she died, alone in the night with no one to hear her last confession if she spoke it.

When my mother died in a pre-9/11 world, we had worked nothing out between us. We had come to a Middle Eastern peace that was as unworkable as it was uneasy. We lived in this state of ungrace--too much unsaid, too much misunderstood, a wall of pain and anger towered between us--and so she died. My life is quieter for her absence from it, my parenting loving and conscious as it can be (given what it is), a legacy of her laissez-faire approach to affection, her bitter honed edge of rebuke and complaint always present. I count myself lucky to no longer receive the late-night drunken calls that invite me to shatter the portable phone against the front of the piano in my fury. She did not haunt me until now, preferring to give me a false sense of security, to think I had at last escaped. She has risen, I must tell you, from the dead. I saw her only a few days ago in my sister’s house, inhabiting my sister’s body, looking at me through my sister’s eyes.

What to do now? She can not be vanquished, a lesson I learned in my adulthood. No matter how I plot, she can turn my good intent to malice, my best work as dust before her glance. She will join those others who walk the narrow ruts of West End streets, waiting for another turn at a life hard in its living. Only Mrs. Crawley is above this fray of spirits, pacing her porch roof, shaking her sad head.

Byron Ballard

Asheville's Village Witch

http://blogs.citizen-times.com/blogs/index.php?blog=18

My Grandma’s Love By Rocio A. Palomino

My Grandma Palomino’s house is standing empty, after almost 60 years. It has only been about two weeks since her passing, so all of her belongings are still in the home, just as she left them. Now when I go to the house, it is like an empty stage, waiting for her to re-enter and resume her life. Only this time, she will not be coming home. It feels as if though the house remembers, it remembers just as I do, the mornings when I would go over to spend the day and even though she and my Grandpa had already eaten hours before, she would make sure to put on a fresh pot of coffee for me and to ask me “que quieres de almuerzo mija, avena or chorizo con huevos?”, I would almost always answer “chorizo Grandma, I love it!"

Those days were simple, peaceful ones for me, sacred in their simplicity. I would sit at the kitchen table for hours with them, sipping my coffee as they watched the Mexican channel. Sometimes I would catch Grandma up on what I had been doing since she saw me last, but most of the time we just sat in a companionable silence that was always a healing balm to my unrestful mind. After we sat for awhile she would clean up the kitchen and then she would say if the day was sunny “Mija, quieres ir a sentarse afuera?” She would help me get into my wheelchair and we would usually struggle to get me out the front door. “Watch you hands” she would say in her heavily accented English, as we squeezed me through the door. Once we had made it outdoors and onto the patio, we would find the sunniest spot to sit in.

I spent the time looking at all of her beautiful flowers while she was usually busy trying to figure out what her neighbors were up to. There we would sit for at least an hour or more soaking up the sun and tranquility of her beautifully tended, daily watered garden, full of roses and so many other plants, that their names escape me now, while their beauty and vivid colors will never fade from my mind. After we both had our fill of being outside, we would go back into the house where many times I would say “I am sleepy now” and Grandma would answer “go take a nap.” It never occurred to her that there was anything wrong with taking a nap in the middle of the day, it was simple, if you are tired then go rest.

The day was based on what was needed or called for not some schedule of propriety that must be followed, so I would get in my walker and make my way to the middle bedroom. She would tell me, “I will be right there to help you.” A few minutes later there would come Grandma to help me lay down. I would sit on the bed and lower myself sideways onto it and then she would struggle to hoist my legs onto the bed. When I was all situated and comfy she would cover me. I would sleep in that peaceful, safe little house for hours, because she always let me sleep until I was ready to wake up. When I woke up from my long nap, I would make my way to the kitchen where she and my Grandpa would be watching television around the table. She would usually make more coffee and we would have coffee and pan dulce, waiting until either my Mom or Dad, or both showed up after work. After they had had their coffee, sweet bread and a visit, I would kiss my Grandparents goodbye and Grandma would say “come again” and I would say “I will Grandma.”

Leaving to go home always brought mixed emotions for me, because I would be going home to a busier, louder place, with more to do. It was both a relief and a shock, because my home, to me, never felt as peaceful and safe or as warm as Grandma’s. It was as if the very walls of her little casita soaked up the love and simplicity of my Grandma Palomino. Love that was not shown in huge outward displays of affection, but love that was in every cup of coffee placed before me, every plate of chorizo or pan dulce, every word that did not need to be said, because it was felt in everything she did for me.

Losing her has been hard because I have lost that safe place to go, to recharge and bask in her love, when the world feels too harsh. It hurts, but I must remember how blessed I was to have her as my Grandma. My memories of her and the love she showed me will be forever in my heart, my new safe place. I love you Grandma.

Blessed be and Happy Samhain

Rocio

Writers’ Commentary

I wrote this short story about a week after my Grandma Palomino passed away. I remember sitting at my kitchen table crying silently to myself as I hand wrote this in my journal. I just felt that I had to get the memory of those days I spent with her on paper; I had to remember, because what is remembered lives. A friend of mine mentioned that to me in an email she sent to me offering her condolences. It is used a lot during this time of year, the dark time. As we Witches remember our ancestors and take the time to celebrate them. I am not sure but I believe it originated in the Reclaiming Tradition; a tradition which Starhawk began in the San Francisco Bay Area. I think I knew the truth of “what is remembered lives,” the day I sat down to write. I believe as long as I remember all the things that my Grandmother taught me, and all the special times we spent together, then she will live on. So I invite everyone at this time of year to remember their ancestors in some small way for not only will your ancestors benefit but so will those who honor them in the feelings of love, connection, and continuity that the remembering creates.

Solitary Ritual – Samhain By Dawn “Belladonna” Thomas

Samhain is a time to honor our ancestors.  It is also a time to prepare for the winter and our journey through the dark of the year.

Preparation:

Candles: black, white, and red (these represent the phases of a woman’s life)

A pomegranate open with seeds exposed

Marigolds

Photos of deceased loved ones

Fall related items (colored leaves, acorns, wheat, corn, etc.)

Chalice with mead (or another beverage)

Casting the Circle

“This is the time of the Dark Mother who stands alone.  This is a time to think about the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.  I honor Hecate the crone aspect of the Goddess. I also honor Persephone as she guides the souls of the departed through the Underworld.  The veil between worlds is thin and it is a good time to connect with my loved ones.  The Circle is cast.”

Calling the Elements and the Goddess

“Hail to the Spirit of the East, Element of Air.  You are the source of cool autumn breezes that rustles the fallen leaves.  Please join me tonight.”

“Hail to the Spirit of the South, Element of Fire.  Please warm me with the fire of passion and creativity of the colors of the season.  Please join me tonight.”

“Hail to the Spirit of the West, Element of Water.  Your rains are filling the parched earth with live giving water.  Please join me tonight.”

“Hail to the Spirit of the North, Element of North.  Oh Mother Earth you are beginning your retreat for the coming darkness.  Please join me tonight.”

“Hecate please guide me during my work tonight as I walk through the darkness.  Keep me safe.  Please join me tonight.”

The Work and Meditation

“This is the time of year when I acknowledge and honor my ancestors and loved ones.”  (Pick up the pomegranate and take out seven seeds. These represent the seeds that Persephone ate in the Underworld.  Take the apple and cut it in half so that the five point star is shown. Eat one half and leave the other half outside as an Offering.)

“I take this time to share my thoughts and memories with them.” (Tell the stories out loud or meditate on these memories).  “After sharing stories and memories, I pick up my chalice and drink.”

Opening the Circle

“Great Goddess Hecate, thank you for being my guide.  I felt safe in your presence. Thank you for being with me.  Hail and farewell.”

“Spirit of the North, your bounty will provide for me during the winter months.  Thank you for being with me tonight.  Hail and farewell.”

“Spirit of the West, your waters have quenched my thirst.  Thank you for being with me tonight.  Hail and farewell.”

“Spirit of the South, your fire has shown that I am passionate and creative.  Thank you for being with me tonight.  Hail and farewell.”

“Spirit of the East, your breeze has cooled me and prepared me for cooler weather.  Thank you for being with me tonight.  Hail and farewell.”

“The Circle is Open but remains Unbroken.”

“Merry Meet, Merry Part, and Merry Meet Again!”

“Blessed Be!”

Soul’s Evolution by Angie Skelhorn

Samhain is the time for communication with our spiritual family, the time to embrace survival after death.  The immortal soul experiences a series of stages of development both in the physical and spiritual world before the soul is perfected in harmonious balance.

There is a period of necessary rest and recuperation for the soul that moves toward reincarnation.  The soul is again and again in a series of incarnation on earth to learn lessons while facing the consequences of personal actions.  Some souls stay in spirit form to help and support the incarnation in physical form on earth.

The nature of the lesson to be learned or the Karma conditions that need to be worked out is deciding a soul's evolution.  The cycle of reincarnation-birth, death, and re-birth, derives from the idea that life is cyclical and moves from the beginning through growth to a peak, then begins to decay, disintegrate, and return back to the beginning to endlessly repeat the cycle.

The theory is grounded in the patterns of nature; a continuous phenomenon of receiving becoming, ceasing, and re-becoming.  The seasons are not separate, they merge.  In spring life is viewed with freshness of youthful innocence.  Summer life is experienced.  In the fall there is maturity and an appreciation for all that was, is and will be.  Winter signifies old age, death, and a period of rest and recuperation.

Every effect in the world has its cause but this chain must lead back to a primary cause of the whole existing universe which must have itself been both cause and effect. All that is in the world is relative and operates on a great plan toward set ends created by a master planner.

Human beings are connected to the universe and earth which all life is part of in all of its manifestations.  The whole of mankind is on a quest destined to return to a state of unity with infinite God Consciousness, our Creator.

Spirits can make contact with the living even though a soul's afterlife is totally different from earthly life.  The everlasting soul will survive.  Souls come from one lifetime to another.  Our ancestors were born, lived their lives with free will, died, then joined with the God Consciousness and would be born again into the cycle.  Spirits will enter dreams, visions and rituals to open the mind the way to accomplish personal goals.  Spirits give the eyes to see so your heart will know how to manifest potential in the physical world.

Samhain is the time to honor and communicate those who have passed before us.  Ask Spirit for support and guidance to put you where you need to be prepared for opportunities to become a better you.  Seek strength and inspiration to know self, freed from so-called imperfections. 

By candle's glow and smoking incense, my words to call my Spirit Guide are as follows:

1. “Spirit Guide, please come, your presence is welcome, your wisdom is needed, come hither, those who surround, support my quest.”

2. “Spirit Guide, reveal to me that which will be done, one...two...three...,” then snap fingers. “Spirit watch over.  Go in peace.”

Author's Bio: Angie Skelhorn is the fifth child born into a farming family south of Peterborough, Ontario, Canada. Her writing has appeared in The Simple Witch, and Circle Magazine.  She is hard at work on her novel, "On the Edge."

Their Eyes Were Watching Women’s Bodies by Caryn Colgan

It’s far too easy to get caught in the trap. With so much attention being focused on the national election, it is sometimes easy to overlook local initiatives.  I recently moved to Colorado, and am appalled by an amendment that is being proposed for the state constitution.

Amendment 48, also known as the “personhood amendment,” is an initiative that was placed on the ballot by anti-abortion extremists. Not only targeting a woman’s right to decide what happens to her body, it is also designed to deny access to contraception and dictate what doctors can do in treating pregnant women.

Basically, the bill defines a fertilized egg as a person and grants that egg all the rights available to a breathing, self-sufficient human being. Many who support Amendment 48 hope this is one more step to overturning Roe v. Wade.

What could this mean?

Amendment 48 represents the ideals of those who believe that a fertilized egg is a person and deserves to be born no matter whose body it is in and no matter what it costs her.

IUD’s and hormonal birth control could be defined-not as contraceptives but-as abortion tools since they prevent “a person” from implanting in the woman’s uterus. By making birth control illegal and unavailable, women’s bodies become the property of the state. Any man, whether he had her permission or not, could force her to bear his children. Ectopic pregnancies, where an egg implants in a fallopian tube, would involve a “person” in the wrong place. Under this new amendment, a doctor would have to wait until it naturally aborted or the tube ruptured putting the woman’s life in grave danger.

There are measures similar to Amendment 48 being debated all over this country, and even the world. Christians, Catholics and others who work to undermine personal freedom miss the obvious Spiritual truth: we are not our bodies. 

Members of some of the most powerful religions in the world spend a great deal of time creating rules and laws that dictate the personal lives of others. Anti-abortion and “pro-life” activities are about control and domination of women. They are not “God’s laws” as many proclaim. God and “God’s word” have been used as an excuse to harm others for far too long.

Many of us know that women used to be revered as Goddesses. To some degree, they ruled over man.  As perceived givers of life, perhaps men fear that women are more “spiritual” than men. Maybe it’s the animal instinct to control their access to sexual activity and to producing heirs. Whatever the reason, there are powerful people using the law to control women.

Once men figured out that they could use their physical strength to dominate and control women, all the spiritual, political, and social rules changed. God became known as the bearded man in that separate place called Heaven. He is also known as Lord and Father. Women were excluded from the definition of anything spiritual. Amendments, such as the one proposed for Colorado, would take us back to that time when women’s bodies were more obviously the dominion of men.

It is no mistake that God is defined as a man and that our species is commonly referred to as mankind rather than the inclusive humankind. A great deal of effort and power has been devoted to suppressing females and making sure we don’t stray too far from the comfort zone defined by mankind.

If the followers of the traditional religions would step back and question what they are told, they would see that they are being deceived by their leaders. Their policies and rules are designed to control matters in the physical, not spiritual, realm. Followers are told that if they control the physical, their spiritual souls will be “saved.” They are convinced they are a body who has a soul that either goes to Heaven or Hell. This is a perverted twist of the truth. This distorted view makes followers easy to manipulate.

If more people KNEW that we are spiritual beings using temporary physical bodies they would be less concerned with defining a fertilized egg as a person. They would know that as Spiritual beings, the physical body is merely a TEMPORARY vessel. Whether a fertilized egg is aborted or not allowed to implant is irrelevant. The spiritual being, if it chooses to incarnate, will find another vessel. The Spirit, directed by karma or self-created destiny, chooses the circumstances of birth and death.

As long as people think the person IS the body or the fertilized egg they fail to see themselves and others as we really are…SPIRITS/Souls WHO NEVER DIE. Everyone and everything is an expression of the creative energy of this Universe. It doesn’t matter what you call that creative force, God, Goddess, One, Being, Spirit, or Universe. What matters is that you know YOU never die and your thoughts, words, and actions determine your destiny.

The case of Terri Schiavo brought this glaring fact to light. After a cardiac and respiratory arrest, her body was in a persistent vegetative state for fifteen years. While it must have been horrible for those who love(d) her, her Spirit was likely attached to the body until it died. When her husband attempted to allow her body to die by removing the feeding tube, a national furor erupted. He was called a murderer and even the governor of Florida took a “moral” stand against him. Her husband was trying to free her. The sleep-walkers wanted to stop him.

It is as if many religious followers worship the Spirit’s temporary body and not the Spirit. This is dysfunctional idolatry, or worse, intentional misdirection of attention.

Religious leaders preach about souls and the life after death but they either don’t believe in the true Spiritual nature of the soul or they don’t want their followers to know the truth.

The Spirit can be trapped by a body that no longer functions. The body must die to free the Spirit. By valuing the body or fertilized egg more than the Spirit, people sleep-walking through life attempt to control things that are not theirs to control.

If more of us valued the growth and experience of the Soul or Spirit, humanity would devote more precious time on Earth to making the world a better place for everyone and everything. How wonderful our Earth experience would be if we could enjoy our time here and focus on real spiritual evolution instead of talking about it.

People who are busy campaigning to deny women's rights, gay rights, whether someone's going to Heaven or Hell are too busy to question what they're being told. Religious and political leaders know it’s easier to follow the herd than to take a potentially unpopular path. Eternal damnation if they don’t follow the “word of God” is a mighty and terrible weapon. By sowing seeds of fear and watching them sprout, some leaders maintain control over their faithful sheep.

Pretending we aren’t Spiritual beings and denying rights to others is the work of their Devil and an obvious hypocrisy. Yet it is a tactic that has worked for thousands of years. Many have forgotten that they don’t need a mediator to connect with the Spiritual realm.

Remember what you are. Help others wake up and wander away from the herd. Their eyes can be diverted from false prophets. Vote even if you think your vote doesn’t count. Take action. It won’t hurt and it might make a difference.

Caryn Colgan

Karma Artist and award-winning author of Ancient Pact, Vol. 1: The Element of Air Ancient Pact, Spiritual Contemplation Cards& soon Karma Boot Camp and Karma Rules