Saturday, 30 September 2017

Luminous Beings Spin the Sun

Luminous beings spin the sun, photo taken in our garden, September 2017

Today, I am deep in writing about the ‘No Faith in War’ event at ‘Stop the Arms Fair’ which I attended earlier this month, of which more soon, but I wanted to share a dream that I had this morning and which seemed beautiful. We live in a little house that is full of spiders, and recently with the turn to autumn our garden has been full of them too. These are the little orb spiders with a beautiful fleur-de-lys pattern on their backs. I am a little afraid of them I admit but I have had to come to terms with their presence and have been spending some time this week in awe of their web-making and hunting skills. And yes, even finding them beautiful. Yesterday, I was gazing at the image that accompanies this piece, and which was taken in our garden last week. I have spent long moments communing with this little spider as she has chosen to suspend her web right in the middle of our lawn and in front of our front room window. There is just no avoiding her. And so, I was looking closely at this image of her and noticed how translucent she is, how the sun seems to shine right through her legs and light up the little hairs on them; radiant, radiating. I had never thought of spiders as being full of light before.

And then this morning, in that space between waking and sleeping, I dreamed of her. And the dream told me that the orb spiders, and other spinners, in our gardens and hedgerows as the year turns to autumn are catching the last rays of summer sun, weaving them into wild and sparkling threads to hold close to the earth, warming her, and carrying us into the winter surrounded by sweet memories of long days and salt-sweat skin; us and all the beings who are contemplating the dark months ahead. It is a beautiful thought and a gentle blessing to sink into as the cold returns.

As I was reflecting on my dream this morning, I remembered that I used to often dream of spiders and that in those dreams they were again filled with light. I came to associate the dreams with good things happening in my life, although often they frightened me. On one occasion, I was staying with a friend and sleeping in an unfamiliar bedroom. I dreamed of a shining spider but, thinking that I was awake and that it was real, I suddenly sat bolt upright and banged my head on a shelf! But still, my spider dreams continued to promise good fortune. I came to look forward to them.

Although spiders have always been a huge fear for me ~ I once came home very late as a teenager, found a huge spider on the stairs and slept downstairs for fear of stepping over it, only to cause my dad to raise the alarm in the morning when he saw that my bed hadn’t been slept in. I found him unsympathetic in the extreme when he discovered what had really happened ~ my slightly quivering and tentative love affair with them began I think when I first attended the Glastonbury Goddess Conference in 2001. I remember that every night when I went back to my bed & breakfast room that there would be a spider of increasing size on the wall. I climbed Glastonbury Tor and, feeling exhausted, sat down on a bench and began chatting to a stranger who happened to be sitting there too. It was all very lovely, and I was feeling quietly holy in that way that you sometimes do when you are young and foolish, but I felt a tickling on my hand and, looking down, saw a huge harvest spider sitting there. Naturally, I flung my arms in the air and fled for my life! I’m not sure what the stranger, or the harvest spider, made of it..

But when it began to feel truly significant was when, on the last day of the conference, there was a ‘giveaway’ of a small gift from the organisers to the participants. We were invited to put our hand into a bag and draw out one of the cards inside, which were goddess images created by my now-friend and talented artist, Clare Beloved. And, of course, my card was ‘Spider Woman’, who is an important Creation figure in Native American culture, and who symbolises creativity and, for many of us, coming to terms with our fears. I still have the card.

The year before I had stood under Louise Bourgeois' awe-inspiring sculpture, 'Maman' ('Mother'), at the opening of Tate Modern in London. It was a powerful experience of what fierce mothering feels like. I found her sacred, her body a cathedral. Maybe that was what called her in...

'Maman' by Louise Bourgeois at Tate Modern, 2000 (Image: The White Review)

During my third year of priestess training, we were asked to do a daily meditation in which we called the barge to take us through the mists to the Isle of Avalon. We were asked to take note of what the barge looked like and who our barge-keeper might be. To my horror, mine was often a dark 6ft long spider with jewels dotted along her sides! I found it quite challenging to get into the barge as it felt so real. When my feeling began to change though was an occasion when I had been worried for some time about having a headache. I very rarely have a headache at all and this one seemed to have been going on for several weeks. During one of my daily meditations my spider barge-keeper came towards me, put the tips of her two front legs gently against each side of my forehead, and my headache went away, never to return. How could I not love her?

And now, through the dream paths, I feel that the spider people have shared a little more of their magic with me. For some time I have thought of autumn as the season of softening, of the breaking down of barriers, of letting go of the hard edges and rigid shapes that we set ourselves in, and so of forgiveness for past hurts and misunderstandings; a mending of the broken web. And, for me, Grandmother Spider has come to symbolise that work. We have much need of her, and of all her luminous children and the light that they seek to weave into our darkest hours.


Orb spider showing her beautiful markings, taken in our garden, September 2017

As an aside, I will just mention that whilst writing I had a phone call and went into the garden to take it. Afterwards I chatted to my neighbour for a few moments. He told me how much he hated all the spiders that had been coming into his house, that they were all over the garden, and that the biggest one he has ever seen is in his shed, making him frightened to go in. Our spider relations have much to endure, energetically and otherwise, living in such close proximity with the human world. My prayer is that they will be sent some light, just as they send it to us. Aho mitake oyasin, amen, blessed be. Inshallah.

                                               ***********************************

Since writing this piece my friend, Cathy Hookey, has very kindly allowed me to share her art; 'Spider Grandmother's Map'. She says, "This was for a project on maps where I had to map a mythology. I chose to look at Native American myths that include the spider in various versions of the creation myth. Known as Spider Woman, Spider Goddess or Spider Grandmother, the feminine spider deity is tied to the Earth & created the world with the Sun God. In one myth Spider Grandmother & the Sun God create the world in stages; the sky, then the earth, the plants, beasts & finally humans, with four women & four men. I represented these in separate circles, I sort of hoped to give a feel of categories to show the order they were created, but also of oneness. I also quite like the idea of the Web of Life, where we are all tied to everything in the world by strands of web, & tried to get that across in a sort of subtle way in this with the spokes on the circle. The layout of the piece was inspired by zodiac maps."


'Spider Grandmother's Map' by Cathy Hookey

I am so grateful that she gave me permission to share her beautiful work of heart here, and we have had quite a marvellous discussion about spiders too!

Saturday, 23 September 2017

A Morning Walk in Autumn Woods


(Image: Jacqueline Durban)

This mist is like angel's breath.
I hunt the fly agaric like a fox
seeking red, the secret fire.
The trees are all aflame and burn themselves to bare,
draw their magic down, burnt toffee for the boar,
hearth-root honey for the sow,
who winds the year to still with cloven hoof and song of briar.

I keep my belly low and snuffle-seek the chanterelle
I wise-woman-walk the web and weave of mycelia
find waxcaps; scarlet, butter, honey, crimson,
King Alfred's cakes to light the inner fire.
I pad-paw the paths of a thousand years,
trust my nose, the knowing of my feet,
sniff out the place where two roads meet,
set sail for longer nights, and shorter days made diamond bright
by frost and fear.

Jacqueline Durban, Autumn Equinox 2013

(first published in 'Earth Pathways Diary')

Sunday, 27 August 2017

Prayer for Grenfell

(Wiki Commons: from ChiralJon https://flickr.com/photos/69057297@N04/35353492476)

Brigid, Goddess and Saint, Woman of Fire,
this is my prayer, born of ashes and anger,
of sorrow and screams,
of falling babies and families burned.

Where are Mohammed Neda, Ali Yawar Jafari,
Karen Bernard, Lucas James? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Rania Ibrahim and her daughters,
Fathia and Hania, Stefan Anthony Mills, 
Ligaya Moore? 
This is my prayer.

Rise from the flames used against your children,
through lack of care, greed, ignorance, indifference,
for the poor, for the ‘othered’, for us.

How dare they disrespect your Holy Fire!

(Wiki Commons: Natalie Oxford https://twitter.com/Natalie_Oxford/status/874834909004746753/photo/1)

Where are Zainab Dean and her son, Jeremiah?
He was two years old. 
This is my prayer.

Where are Khadija Saye and her mother, Mary Mendy? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Gary Maunders, Mohammad Alhajali,
Hesham Rahman, Tony Disson, Sheila Smith? 
This is my prayer.

Burn the faces of the fallen through onto
the retinas of the guilty,
brand the names onto their skin.
Teach them to respect the power that they hold,
the trust that they’ve been given,
the babies placed in their care
by mothers & fathers fleeing poverty & war,
only to burn in a pyre not of their making.
Blameless. Nameless.

Where are Mariem Elgwahry and her mother, Suhar,
Jessica Urbano Ramirez, Deborah Lamprell? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Nadia Laureda, Steve Power, 
Dennis Murphy, Amal Ahmedin and Amaya Tuccu?
Where is Isaac Paulos? 
This is my prayer

Where are Marco Gottardi, and Gloria Trevisan, 
Mohammed Nurdu? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Fouzia el-Wahabi, her husband, Abdul Aziz, 
Nur Huda and Mehdi, Yasin? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Nadia Loureda, Maria Del Pilar Burton, 
Berkti Haftom and her son, Biruk? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Nura Jamal, her husband, Hashim, 
their children, Yahya, Firdaws, Yaqub?
Where is Kamru Miah? 
This is my prayer.

This is my prayer.

Elen, Goddess and Saint. Eleu, Woman of Light,
this is my prayer, born of darkness and tears,
of helplessness and rage,
of missing posters and silence 
banging on windows to be broken,
choking in stairwells to be heard.
Shine a light on the powerful,
on their greed and their schemes,
on their scapegoating of the poor and the different,
on their belief that we won’t see what they have done, 
or turn away, or be worn down, or cease to care, 
or blame the dead, 
or go numb.

Make us fully alive to continue the fight.

Remind them that this is not their world
to be done with as they wish. It is yours. It is ours.
WE are not theirs to do with as they wish.

Fatima Afrasehabi was not theirs to do with as they wished.
Her sister, Sakina was not theirs to do with as they wished.
Nadia Choucair was not theirs to do with as they wished,
her husband, Baseem Choukair, 
their children, Mierna, Fatima, Zainab, 
their grandmother, Sirria was not theirs to do with as they wished. 
Raymond Bernard was not theirs to do with as they wished.

Brigid and Elen, Goddesses-Saints, Holy Sun Women,
teach us the ways of healing fire, let us burn with justice’s flame.
Let it never go out, let us burn with the love of it, and you, and them.

Where are Majorie Vital and her son, Ernie, 
Joseph Daniels, Logan Gomes, whose first breaths were cyanide, 
Khadija Khalloufi, Abdeslam Sebbar, 
Fathia Ahmed and her son, Abufars Ibrahim?
This is my prayer.

Where are Omar Belkadi, Farah Hamdan, 
Malak, Leena, and Tamzin who lived? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Mohamednur Tuccu, 
Husna and Rebaya Begum,
Mohammed Hanif, Mohammed Hamid? 
This is my prayer.

Where are Vincent Chiejina, Hamid Kani, 
a ‘woman’ unnamed, 
all the unnamed, the disappeared?
This is my prayer

Let their names be branded on our skin. Let the flame of justice burn.

Let your holy fire be holy once more. This is my prayer.

Aho mitake oyasin, amen, blessed be. Inshallah.

(Wiki Commons: ChiralJon https://flickr.com/photos/69057297@N04/35237131601)

                                                 
                                                                            "Did they die, or us?"


Tuesday, 1 August 2017

These Golden Fields Are Singing Love Songs To My Soul

Golden fields, River Avon, August 2011

These golden fields are singing love songs to my soul.
Her sunshine kisses me into drowsy memories
of when my I held my dreaming close to the earth
and smiled with my grandmothers in trust
that our harvest would always come shining in.
When we walked the Sweet Track with bellies full and heavy,
singing praise songs.

I am wide hips swinging in time with Her bees humming.
There is no lack, I am held in summer's lap and suckling.
She is drifting pollen on my tongue, all my life made golden.
I am swaying cornfield dancing, dissolving into honeyed sweetness.
I am walking, naked and blissful, through this land of dripping amber.
Calling in abundance, mind meadows of wild flowers and barley.

She is my Honeybee, my Queen, my Summer.
She holds me joyous in melting surrender.
She shows me that I have my own place
in this sweet and buzzing hive of wonder.
There are no edges in this place of endless gratitude.
There are only doors opening...

(Jacqueline Durban, 1st August 2011. First published in Earth Pathways Diary 2013)

For more on Lammas and its history I highly recommend this wonderful post by A Clerk at Oxford; 'A Little History of Lammas' http://aclerkofoxford.blogspot.co.uk/2017/08/a-little-history-of-lammas.html

Beautiful barley in Dorchester, Oxfordshire, September 2012
Preparing to Fly ~ goose feathers collected in Dorchester, Oxfordshire, September 2012