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“Women have little to do with the march of history as we are taught it in our schools – women are the ones who wait at home or take on “men’s work” in order to get by and keep the war machine going. Women are, and always have been, the ones who nurse the wounded and bury the dead. Women are rarely the ones who make the decision to go to war and the sacrifice of women and of the culture is the psychic and physical health of the next generation. But those who perish for the cause attain a kind of immortality not often granted ordinary mortals. Mortality makes the loss of the beloved not only bearable but also glorious.
Women and power. Women and death. Western culture gives us the glory of death and courage wrapped in a warrior package and occasionally a woman is the warrior. But how do we now – as the world twists and changes – fully step into our role as creator and destroyer? Have we the skills and the hearts to survive the unmaking of the old orders, keep our balance and walk the tightrope between aggression and strength, between power and glory and wiping a baby’s nose?
We learn so much through the practice of living and through flying in our dreams. It is up to us now, as women, to define how the glory goes and when and to whom. Our quest as women is to find and claim our own kind of power in a world that has long denied us this privilege. How do we create a new world? As we midwife the death of the dominator system called patriarchy, we must organize and respond as women, consciously creating the world in our image. But first we must clarify that image and find the wit and courage to step into our own authentic power. We can look to the old systems for information, for inspiration as we gaze into the future of the planet and our species on it. We can honor the memory of the warrior-priestess, the queen, and the freedom fighter. Because it has fallen on us to birth the new world. Again.
We begin by acknowledging that those centuries of living under an autocratic and misogynistic culture has left gaping wounds in the human psyche. We accept that we must be healers as well as leaders, that we must salve spirits that are hurting and feed those that are hungry. We, as women, will define what a warrior is in this brave new world; then we will become that thing; we will model that for our sons and our daughters, for our grandchildren and our grandparents. For Boudicca and for her daughters, for we are all her daughters.’’
-H. Byron Ballard, The Daughters of Boudicca, excerpt from In Defiance of Oppression - The Legacy of Boudicca, a Girl God Anthology.”
―
Women and power. Women and death. Western culture gives us the glory of death and courage wrapped in a warrior package and occasionally a woman is the warrior. But how do we now – as the world twists and changes – fully step into our role as creator and destroyer? Have we the skills and the hearts to survive the unmaking of the old orders, keep our balance and walk the tightrope between aggression and strength, between power and glory and wiping a baby’s nose?
We learn so much through the practice of living and through flying in our dreams. It is up to us now, as women, to define how the glory goes and when and to whom. Our quest as women is to find and claim our own kind of power in a world that has long denied us this privilege. How do we create a new world? As we midwife the death of the dominator system called patriarchy, we must organize and respond as women, consciously creating the world in our image. But first we must clarify that image and find the wit and courage to step into our own authentic power. We can look to the old systems for information, for inspiration as we gaze into the future of the planet and our species on it. We can honor the memory of the warrior-priestess, the queen, and the freedom fighter. Because it has fallen on us to birth the new world. Again.
We begin by acknowledging that those centuries of living under an autocratic and misogynistic culture has left gaping wounds in the human psyche. We accept that we must be healers as well as leaders, that we must salve spirits that are hurting and feed those that are hungry. We, as women, will define what a warrior is in this brave new world; then we will become that thing; we will model that for our sons and our daughters, for our grandchildren and our grandparents. For Boudicca and for her daughters, for we are all her daughters.’’
-H. Byron Ballard, The Daughters of Boudicca, excerpt from In Defiance of Oppression - The Legacy of Boudicca, a Girl God Anthology.”
―
“Women have little to do with the march of history as we are taught it in our schools – women are the ones who wait at home or take on “men’s work” in order to get by and keep the war machine going. Women are, and always have been, the ones who nurse the wounded and bury the dead. Women are rarely the ones who make the decision to go to war and the sacrifice of women and of the culture is the psychic and physical health of the next generation. But those who perish for the cause attain a kind of immortality not often granted ordinary mortals. Mortality makes the loss of the beloved not only bearable but also glorious.
Women and power. Women and death. Western culture gives us the glory of death and courage wrapped in a warrior package and occasionally a woman is the warrior. But how do we now – as the world twists and changes – fully step into our role as creator and destroyer? Have we the skills and the hearts to survive the unmaking of the old orders, keep our balance and walk the tightrope between aggression and strength, between power and glory and wiping a baby’s nose?
We learn so much through the practice of living and through flying in our dreams. It is up to us now, as women, to define how the glory goes and when and to whom. Our quest as women is to find and claim our own kind of power in a world that has long denied us this privilege. How do we create a new world? As we midwife the death of the dominator system called patriarchy, we must organize and respond as women, consciously creating the world in our image. But first we must clarify that image and find the wit and cour-age to step into our own authentic power. We can look to the old systems for information, for inspiration as we gaze into the future of the planet and our species on it. We can honor the memory of the warrior-priestess, the queen, and the freedom fighter. Because it has fallen on us to birth the new world. Again.
We begin by acknowledging that those centuries of living under an autocratic and misogynistic culture has left gaping wounds in the human psyche. We accept that we must be healers as well as leaders, that we must salve spirits that are hurting and feed those that are hungry. We, as women, will define what a warri-or is in this brave new world; then we will become that thing; we will model that for our sons and our daughters, for our grandchildren and our grandparents. For Boudicca and for her daughters, for we are all her daughters.
-"The Daughters of Boudicca", excerpt from In Defiance of Oppression - The Legacy of Boudicca”
―
Women and power. Women and death. Western culture gives us the glory of death and courage wrapped in a warrior package and occasionally a woman is the warrior. But how do we now – as the world twists and changes – fully step into our role as creator and destroyer? Have we the skills and the hearts to survive the unmaking of the old orders, keep our balance and walk the tightrope between aggression and strength, between power and glory and wiping a baby’s nose?
We learn so much through the practice of living and through flying in our dreams. It is up to us now, as women, to define how the glory goes and when and to whom. Our quest as women is to find and claim our own kind of power in a world that has long denied us this privilege. How do we create a new world? As we midwife the death of the dominator system called patriarchy, we must organize and respond as women, consciously creating the world in our image. But first we must clarify that image and find the wit and cour-age to step into our own authentic power. We can look to the old systems for information, for inspiration as we gaze into the future of the planet and our species on it. We can honor the memory of the warrior-priestess, the queen, and the freedom fighter. Because it has fallen on us to birth the new world. Again.
We begin by acknowledging that those centuries of living under an autocratic and misogynistic culture has left gaping wounds in the human psyche. We accept that we must be healers as well as leaders, that we must salve spirits that are hurting and feed those that are hungry. We, as women, will define what a warri-or is in this brave new world; then we will become that thing; we will model that for our sons and our daughters, for our grandchildren and our grandparents. For Boudicca and for her daughters, for we are all her daughters.
-"The Daughters of Boudicca", excerpt from In Defiance of Oppression - The Legacy of Boudicca”
―
“We stepped down a path well-worn by many feet through many seasons. It was soft, smooth under our bare feet and on either side the branches were heavy with blossom—almond trees planted by tender hands, long dead, lost dust but never forgotten, their stories told around the feasting table. Music too—a zither, a flute, the heartbeat of a drum.
“Our feet knew this path well. As children, we followed our mothers, our arms filled with loaves and sweet-smelling flowers or we held the hands of our grand-dams. From this old road, we entered into a clearing at the crest of the hill. The grove of our Oldest Mother waited for the women each month at the crescent Moon. Our Mother stood in a circle of almond trees, an image carved from a cedar tree.
She stood straight and tall, carved by women’s hands long ago and smeared with sacred milk and honey, and with holy blood. Her face was strange with large staring eyes that looked into the future and into the past. She was taller than the tallest village woman and stout, firmly set in the earth. Her arms were folded above her belly and they held new babies, wild tears, offerings of small stones and beads. She was strong and beautiful, our perfect Mother.
Sweet herbs and flowers were always strewn at the base of the wooden plinth and there were gifts among the stems—bowls of goat milk, shiny rocks, handfuls of dates. We would touch her with reverent fingertips, dusting the old wood with our kisses. The love that flowed through this grove sustained the women from moon to moon as the world changed around us. We drew comfort from ancient familiarity and unquestioning adoration. A place of wisdom, a place where our grief had a container but our joy was unbound. We danced, alone or in a tight circle, our hands around our sisters’ waists, our heads resting on soft shoulders, our floating hair scented with rose and frankincense.“
-H. Byron Ballard, excerpt from “The Grove of Earthly Delights” - Asherah: Roots of the Mother Tree.”
―
“Our feet knew this path well. As children, we followed our mothers, our arms filled with loaves and sweet-smelling flowers or we held the hands of our grand-dams. From this old road, we entered into a clearing at the crest of the hill. The grove of our Oldest Mother waited for the women each month at the crescent Moon. Our Mother stood in a circle of almond trees, an image carved from a cedar tree.
She stood straight and tall, carved by women’s hands long ago and smeared with sacred milk and honey, and with holy blood. Her face was strange with large staring eyes that looked into the future and into the past. She was taller than the tallest village woman and stout, firmly set in the earth. Her arms were folded above her belly and they held new babies, wild tears, offerings of small stones and beads. She was strong and beautiful, our perfect Mother.
Sweet herbs and flowers were always strewn at the base of the wooden plinth and there were gifts among the stems—bowls of goat milk, shiny rocks, handfuls of dates. We would touch her with reverent fingertips, dusting the old wood with our kisses. The love that flowed through this grove sustained the women from moon to moon as the world changed around us. We drew comfort from ancient familiarity and unquestioning adoration. A place of wisdom, a place where our grief had a container but our joy was unbound. We danced, alone or in a tight circle, our hands around our sisters’ waists, our heads resting on soft shoulders, our floating hair scented with rose and frankincense.“
-H. Byron Ballard, excerpt from “The Grove of Earthly Delights” - Asherah: Roots of the Mother Tree.”
―
“Open these pages and relish the words of this divine Mother, this wild Sister, this trickster and keeper of the Cauldron of Eternity! Spend time with Her. Learn Her sacred ways, Her stories, Her lore.
I learned the chant above at the Glastonbury Goddess Conference where I taught several years ago. I often use it in both my private meditations and in public rituals. It is simple but direct, quite unlike the Goddess it honors. I learned how to pronounce Her name from a Welsh-speaking colleague who gave it a rolling “r” and an emphasis on the second syllable. Keh-RRRHID-wen. Try it. So delicious to say.
-from the Preface to The Wisdom of Cerridwen”
―
I learned the chant above at the Glastonbury Goddess Conference where I taught several years ago. I often use it in both my private meditations and in public rituals. It is simple but direct, quite unlike the Goddess it honors. I learned how to pronounce Her name from a Welsh-speaking colleague who gave it a rolling “r” and an emphasis on the second syllable. Keh-RRRHID-wen. Try it. So delicious to say.
-from the Preface to The Wisdom of Cerridwen”
―
“You got to take the music past where you found it.”
― Roots, Branches & Spirits: The Folkways & Witchery of Appalachia
― Roots, Branches & Spirits: The Folkways & Witchery of Appalachia
