Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Queen’s Chronicles: FULL HARVEST MOON
Today is the Full Harvest Moon. Let us take a moment to align ourselves with that lunar energy and contemplate the harvest of our lives. What have we learned? How have we grown? What seeds have we sown and nurtured? What are the rewards of our labors? What bounty have we collected? What resources have we preserved? What stores have we prepared for the future? What abundance have we freely shared? What gratitude, appreciation, and reverence have we displayed? What wonder and joy of living?
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Queen’s Chronicles: GLASTONBURY SPIRIT - PART 2
After descending from the Tor, we headed directly to the Chalice Well and gardens. What an oasis of tranquility and peace after the steep, sweaty climb up and down the Tor.
Since ancient times, the waters that bubble up from the depths of the Earth have been regarded as sacred. These waters are the essence of the source of life and are still revered as such.
The spring that feeds Chalice Well has never been known to fail, so it has been, and still is, venerated as a symbol of the continuous and ever-flowing nature of the life force.
This holy healing water emerges from the Earth at its source and pours out of the mouth of a sculpted lion’s head. It runs red, rich in iron, and collects in the well and streams through a series of pools, channels, fountains, and waterfalls that snake through the gloriously gorgeous gardens.
The water leaves a rusty tinge on everything that it touches, so the stones are tinted with a terra cotta color. Because of this, it has been known as the Blood Spring. And so it is. The blood waters of the Goddess’s sacred flow, the source, the pulsing force of life.
The temperature of this carmine spring water is a constant 52 degrees Fahrenheit, which was, on such a horribly hot day, delightfully refreshing, despite its metallic taste.
There is a rectangular pool where you can sit with your feet in the water so you can soak up its spirit, but 52 degrees is quite cold to the touch, especially when the air is steamy. Yet folks sat there with their feet immersed, meditating for the longest time.
I sat in the shade of the ancient yew trees listening to the constant gurgle and was tranceported to a state of serene bliss. I could have sat there in silence and peace forever. The rustling trees, the bird songs, the water sparkling with sunlight all lulled me and erased any niggly thoughts of stress or worry. Now this was truly a powerful place.
As it was Lammas Day, the First Harvest Festival, the Summer Midpoint, there was an extraordinary altar set up on the cover of the well: beautiful breads and blossoms, orange and gold arranged in perfect ceremonial order. What a gift to discover this sacred offering. What a miracle to happen to be there on the right day.
The old Celtic ways are still so deeply imbedded in England. They are still alive in the memories and daily lives of many people. That morning the cleaning woman at the B&B where I was staying gave me special wishes for August 1. Lammas in Glastonbury was not a New Age or pagan or Wiccan celebration. It was the authentic local tradition.
To be continued…
Since ancient times, the waters that bubble up from the depths of the Earth have been regarded as sacred. These waters are the essence of the source of life and are still revered as such.
The spring that feeds Chalice Well has never been known to fail, so it has been, and still is, venerated as a symbol of the continuous and ever-flowing nature of the life force.
This holy healing water emerges from the Earth at its source and pours out of the mouth of a sculpted lion’s head. It runs red, rich in iron, and collects in the well and streams through a series of pools, channels, fountains, and waterfalls that snake through the gloriously gorgeous gardens.
The water leaves a rusty tinge on everything that it touches, so the stones are tinted with a terra cotta color. Because of this, it has been known as the Blood Spring. And so it is. The blood waters of the Goddess’s sacred flow, the source, the pulsing force of life.
The temperature of this carmine spring water is a constant 52 degrees Fahrenheit, which was, on such a horribly hot day, delightfully refreshing, despite its metallic taste.
There is a rectangular pool where you can sit with your feet in the water so you can soak up its spirit, but 52 degrees is quite cold to the touch, especially when the air is steamy. Yet folks sat there with their feet immersed, meditating for the longest time.
I sat in the shade of the ancient yew trees listening to the constant gurgle and was tranceported to a state of serene bliss. I could have sat there in silence and peace forever. The rustling trees, the bird songs, the water sparkling with sunlight all lulled me and erased any niggly thoughts of stress or worry. Now this was truly a powerful place.
As it was Lammas Day, the First Harvest Festival, the Summer Midpoint, there was an extraordinary altar set up on the cover of the well: beautiful breads and blossoms, orange and gold arranged in perfect ceremonial order. What a gift to discover this sacred offering. What a miracle to happen to be there on the right day.
The old Celtic ways are still so deeply imbedded in England. They are still alive in the memories and daily lives of many people. That morning the cleaning woman at the B&B where I was staying gave me special wishes for August 1. Lammas in Glastonbury was not a New Age or pagan or Wiccan celebration. It was the authentic local tradition.
To be continued…
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Queen’s Chronicles: GLASTONBURY SPIRIT PART 1
I played hooky from the Goddess Conference twice. On August 1, Lammas, the Summer Cross-Quarter Day, I went to the sacred sites in Glastonbury. I needed to be outside and in nature. So with my partner-in-crime, I hiked over Chalice Hill and on to the Tor, which we climbed on a rare, much too hot day. The view from the top was vast and serene, gorgeously green due to the English summer of incessant rain.
The Tor, which means conical hill, was beautiful, and extremely powerful visually -- especially from a distance. An imposing mound, elevation: 158 M/518 FT squatting alone on a vast flood plain, topped by the remaining tower of a medieval church dedicated to St. Michael. The sight from afar was incredibly stirring. And beckoning.
We walked across fields alive with grass and sheep, climbed over stiles, trudged through muddy muck, lost our way, and backtracked to find the proper path that would take us closer and closer still to the Tor. And then,
after having seen the Tor in the distance -- as an apparition, as an inspiring vision, as a goal -- all of a sudden there it was right in front of us looking formidable and steep.
We climbed. It was steep. And it was horribly hot. And crowded. There were families with dogs, tourists with kids, and pagan pilgrims with crystals and pendulums puffing up the Tor, sweating and panting and joking about how out of shape they were. We soon reached the top and the shade
that the tower offered. I sank onto the stone ledge inside the ruin where it was divinely cool, and stank to high heaven of piss. Charming.
One upon a time, pilgrims ascended the Tor in a statelier manner. Rather than struggling up the vertical slope, they circled it in a labyrinthine spiral, winding up and around in a meditative state. You can still see the subtle, terraced trails. Today, however, the Tor’s grassy sides are eroding and it is important not to walk on it, but to stay on the designated trail. Too bad.
Everyone settled down when they reached the peak. The energy on the hilltop was easy. People sat quietly in pairs and small groups, enjoying the spectacular view and the peaceful ambiance. For me, the Tor did not possess the mighty, in-your-face, obvious power that it is reputed to. Perhaps that, too, had been eroded over the millennia. While I was there, the land under my feet felt bereft of spirit. I now realize that there was, indeed a strong power there, but it was a more subtle, silent, calm, and comforting energy at work that emanated from the earth, and was trancemitted through the people.
On the climb back down, I was moved to touch a particular boulder. It was buzzing with energy. My whole body vibrated in tune with it. I kept my left hand on the rock and I laid my right hand in Daile’s, which set her to vibrating, too. The spirit of the Tor was definitely, undeniably, present. But it was not underfoot. It was safely stored in the rocks, which still ripple with it.
To be continued…
The Tor, which means conical hill, was beautiful, and extremely powerful visually -- especially from a distance. An imposing mound, elevation: 158 M/518 FT squatting alone on a vast flood plain, topped by the remaining tower of a medieval church dedicated to St. Michael. The sight from afar was incredibly stirring. And beckoning.
We walked across fields alive with grass and sheep, climbed over stiles, trudged through muddy muck, lost our way, and backtracked to find the proper path that would take us closer and closer still to the Tor. And then,
after having seen the Tor in the distance -- as an apparition, as an inspiring vision, as a goal -- all of a sudden there it was right in front of us looking formidable and steep.
We climbed. It was steep. And it was horribly hot. And crowded. There were families with dogs, tourists with kids, and pagan pilgrims with crystals and pendulums puffing up the Tor, sweating and panting and joking about how out of shape they were. We soon reached the top and the shade
that the tower offered. I sank onto the stone ledge inside the ruin where it was divinely cool, and stank to high heaven of piss. Charming.
One upon a time, pilgrims ascended the Tor in a statelier manner. Rather than struggling up the vertical slope, they circled it in a labyrinthine spiral, winding up and around in a meditative state. You can still see the subtle, terraced trails. Today, however, the Tor’s grassy sides are eroding and it is important not to walk on it, but to stay on the designated trail. Too bad.
Everyone settled down when they reached the peak. The energy on the hilltop was easy. People sat quietly in pairs and small groups, enjoying the spectacular view and the peaceful ambiance. For me, the Tor did not possess the mighty, in-your-face, obvious power that it is reputed to. Perhaps that, too, had been eroded over the millennia. While I was there, the land under my feet felt bereft of spirit. I now realize that there was, indeed a strong power there, but it was a more subtle, silent, calm, and comforting energy at work that emanated from the earth, and was trancemitted through the people.
On the climb back down, I was moved to touch a particular boulder. It was buzzing with energy. My whole body vibrated in tune with it. I kept my left hand on the rock and I laid my right hand in Daile’s, which set her to vibrating, too. The spirit of the Tor was definitely, undeniably, present. But it was not underfoot. It was safely stored in the rocks, which still ripple with it.
To be continued…
THE QUEEN’S CHRONICLES: Home again, Home Again Jiggedy Jog
Dear everyone,
Great Goddess greetings from Exotic Brooklyn!
After years of urging by my readers as well as by participants in my ceremonial circles, the long-procrastinated day has finally arrived for me to step up to the blog.
This is a great time to start documenting the magical mystery tour that is my life. The Queen’s Chronicles will share the adventures and enterprises of The Queen of My Self as I travel along the path of my passion, my purpose, and my power — what I call “being on the miracle trail.”
I have just arrived back home from two splendid, magic-filled weeks in Goddess Land. Words can barely express my wonder and delight. The entire experience in England and Wales more than exceeded my very high hopes. I am renewed, inspired, centered, and empowered by the strength of my own spirituality.
Many of you have asked me to share my experiences and I shall. Here below, is a short report about the International Goddess Conference in Glastonbury, England where I was a keynote speaker and workshop presenter. Here is the first installment, to be followed by a spiritual travelogue of the holy sites that I visited in Glastonbury as well as in Wales. That is, IF I can find adequate words to trancemit the intimacy, the intensity, the sheer exuberance of this very special time!
For now,
Best blessings,
xxQueen Mama Donna
THE GODDESS CONFERENCE
GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND
My hostess in Glastonbury was a delight. We bonded immediately and the week I spent under her glorious B&B roof and in her delightful gardens was a perfect blend of comfort, hospitality, restoration, aesthetic glory, and jolly conviviality. Thanks for everything, Fay Hutchcroft.
The Goddess conference was attended by about 250 gorgeous women and several equally lovely men. Devout Goddess worshippers, all. The attendees were from everywhere in the UK, as well as Ireland, Australia, Argentina, Austria, France, Italy, India, Canada, and the United States - New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Colorado, California. And these are just those who I was able to have a conversation with. Who knows how many other places were represented?
Each day began with three or four keynote presentations to the entire gathered body. The afternoons were dedicated to a choice of 3-4 hour workshops, all dealing in some way with the Crone archetype of wisdom, darkness, decline, and death. And the evenings were given over to fabulous sacred pageantry, rich in visual and spiritual vision. The costumes, the decor, the profound words and moving music provided a tranceformative environment and hence, experience. Brava Kathy Jones, Impresario Supreme, and also to the sizzling spirited sisterhood of priestesses of the Goddess Temple of Glastonbury.
The presenters were all fascinating and quite skilled. The attendees were so open — eyes, ears, hearts, chakras, arms, voices — and so present in their participation. intent on absorbing the excellent energy. Everyone was immersed in the spirit, decked out in an amazing array of creative festive finery.
And the helpers, called “Melissas,” were so very, very helpful. Several of these Busy Bee Goddesses took me under their wings and helped me to do whatever I needed to do. Thank you so much. You know who you are! And a special shout out to the inimitable Jennifer Cooper and Nicky who handled the selling of my books — one less thing for me to think about — and a grand excuse to hang out with them.
I was honored to offer a presentation on my new archetype of the Full Spirited Four Fold Goddess and Her correspondences to the four elements, four seasons and directions, four quarters of the moon, and four stages of a woman's life: the Maiden, the Mother, The Queen, and the Crone. The response was stunning. There was an overwhelming enthusiasm from everyone there expressed through laughter, cheers, and heartfelt hugs of gratitude. “Of course! A Queen and not a Crone! Aha! Makes sense! It is about time!”
I also facilitated two workshops, one for a full day and the other for an afternoon. In all, 42 women went through the heady process of naming, claiming and proclaiming their sovereignty and were crowned as Queens of themselves.
Then on the penultimate day of the conference there was a huge ceremony to crown all the Crones and all the Queens. About ten women and two men chose to cover themselves with the mantle of the Crone or in the case of the men, the Sage. What Nearly 70 women declared themselves Queens including two septuagenarians and a 90-year old! What an affirmation of the Queen and the Four Fold Goddess. I was stunned to the bone and thrilled beyond measure!
What a confirmation of my invented new archetype! The creation of The Queen of My Self involved not only years of research, but also some serious soul searching and dogged instinct following. All of which led me to an authentic truth, widely shared, relevant, resonant, and thankfully warmly embraced.
If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally
transform one million realities.
—Maya Angelou
Long live the Queens!
To be continued...
Great Goddess greetings from Exotic Brooklyn!
After years of urging by my readers as well as by participants in my ceremonial circles, the long-procrastinated day has finally arrived for me to step up to the blog.
This is a great time to start documenting the magical mystery tour that is my life. The Queen’s Chronicles will share the adventures and enterprises of The Queen of My Self as I travel along the path of my passion, my purpose, and my power — what I call “being on the miracle trail.”
I have just arrived back home from two splendid, magic-filled weeks in Goddess Land. Words can barely express my wonder and delight. The entire experience in England and Wales more than exceeded my very high hopes. I am renewed, inspired, centered, and empowered by the strength of my own spirituality.
Many of you have asked me to share my experiences and I shall. Here below, is a short report about the International Goddess Conference in Glastonbury, England where I was a keynote speaker and workshop presenter. Here is the first installment, to be followed by a spiritual travelogue of the holy sites that I visited in Glastonbury as well as in Wales. That is, IF I can find adequate words to trancemit the intimacy, the intensity, the sheer exuberance of this very special time!
For now,
Best blessings,
xxQueen Mama Donna
THE GODDESS CONFERENCE
GLASTONBURY, ENGLAND
My hostess in Glastonbury was a delight. We bonded immediately and the week I spent under her glorious B&B roof and in her delightful gardens was a perfect blend of comfort, hospitality, restoration, aesthetic glory, and jolly conviviality. Thanks for everything, Fay Hutchcroft.
The Goddess conference was attended by about 250 gorgeous women and several equally lovely men. Devout Goddess worshippers, all. The attendees were from everywhere in the UK, as well as Ireland, Australia, Argentina, Austria, France, Italy, India, Canada, and the United States - New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Colorado, California. And these are just those who I was able to have a conversation with. Who knows how many other places were represented?
Each day began with three or four keynote presentations to the entire gathered body. The afternoons were dedicated to a choice of 3-4 hour workshops, all dealing in some way with the Crone archetype of wisdom, darkness, decline, and death. And the evenings were given over to fabulous sacred pageantry, rich in visual and spiritual vision. The costumes, the decor, the profound words and moving music provided a tranceformative environment and hence, experience. Brava Kathy Jones, Impresario Supreme, and also to the sizzling spirited sisterhood of priestesses of the Goddess Temple of Glastonbury.
The presenters were all fascinating and quite skilled. The attendees were so open — eyes, ears, hearts, chakras, arms, voices — and so present in their participation. intent on absorbing the excellent energy. Everyone was immersed in the spirit, decked out in an amazing array of creative festive finery.
And the helpers, called “Melissas,” were so very, very helpful. Several of these Busy Bee Goddesses took me under their wings and helped me to do whatever I needed to do. Thank you so much. You know who you are! And a special shout out to the inimitable Jennifer Cooper and Nicky who handled the selling of my books — one less thing for me to think about — and a grand excuse to hang out with them.
I was honored to offer a presentation on my new archetype of the Full Spirited Four Fold Goddess and Her correspondences to the four elements, four seasons and directions, four quarters of the moon, and four stages of a woman's life: the Maiden, the Mother, The Queen, and the Crone. The response was stunning. There was an overwhelming enthusiasm from everyone there expressed through laughter, cheers, and heartfelt hugs of gratitude. “Of course! A Queen and not a Crone! Aha! Makes sense! It is about time!”
I also facilitated two workshops, one for a full day and the other for an afternoon. In all, 42 women went through the heady process of naming, claiming and proclaiming their sovereignty and were crowned as Queens of themselves.
Then on the penultimate day of the conference there was a huge ceremony to crown all the Crones and all the Queens. About ten women and two men chose to cover themselves with the mantle of the Crone or in the case of the men, the Sage. What Nearly 70 women declared themselves Queens including two septuagenarians and a 90-year old! What an affirmation of the Queen and the Four Fold Goddess. I was stunned to the bone and thrilled beyond measure!
What a confirmation of my invented new archetype! The creation of The Queen of My Self involved not only years of research, but also some serious soul searching and dogged instinct following. All of which led me to an authentic truth, widely shared, relevant, resonant, and thankfully warmly embraced.
If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally
transform one million realities.
—Maya Angelou
Long live the Queens!
To be continued...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)