Seasons of the Witch - Softcover

Monaghan, Patricia

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1878980092 ISBN 13: 9781878980090

Publisher: Delphi Pr, 1992

Synopsis

There are 28 pieces of prose and poetry for each of the four seasons in this publication. Each section features a song for the goddess of light, a litany for the associated elemental creature, poems inspired by tarot cards and love spells in the ancient poetic form of the charm. A four-part "Goddess Instruction Manual" is woven through the book and included is a 73-minute CD of 25 poems set to song.

About this title

About the Author

Patricia Monaghan has been an author, poet, and a pioneer of the Modern Goddess Spirituality Movement since 1980, when her comprehensive dictionary of the world’s goddesses: The Book of Goddesses and Heroines, became the definitive work in its field. Since then, she has written and published numerous other books, she lectures widely on women and spirituality, she is a resident faculty member of DePaul University’s School for New Learning, and she is the director of Chicago’s Athena Center, where she has taught workshops for girls 8-15 for many years. She has written a large number of books, including The Book of Goddesses and Heroines, Seasons of the Witch: Poetry and Songs to the Goddess, Wild Girls: The Path of the Young Goddess, The Red Haired Girl from the Bog, and the Encyclopedia of Celtic Myth and Folklore.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Spring

Spring would be the beginning, if there were beginnings.

In truth, the world¿s seasons spiral out from one another. There can be fall in summer, winter in autumn; sudden snow can freeze the summer crop, a warm wind melt the icy river. We complain and call the weather unseasonable, but we are not surprised. We are delighted when summer floods into fall, when a fall-crisp day appears like a miracle in midwinter. But we are not surprised. We know that, in the flux of seasons, we see each one more than once.

But spring seems different. There is, sometimes in January, a springlike day when buds swell and flies¿ eggs hatch; there is, sometimes late in May, a winter storm to decimate the flowers. Both disturb us, disturb our springtime dream of waking into ceaseless sun and easy growth, of soft buds that flame into lasting blossoms, of graceful ease, easeful grace. Dozens of springs that creep upon us unawares, then fade imperceptibly into summer, can never convince us the season will not arrive in just one trumpet day. Spring, we fiercely believe, comes once to us and stays.

We believe as much of a woman¿s seasons. Spring, we fancy, comes to us once, goes once, is gone forever. But women spiral through life¿s seasons like the world does its own: There are days of growth in youth, in midlife, in age, just as there are losses and cold in each. There may be a concentration of spring energies in the maiden, but she can feel as well the forces of fullness and decline. Women in their prime are maids and crones at once. And every aged woman knows still the wild spring winds.

And when it comes, spring does not simply blow upon the warming air like blossom kisses. Spring is as much a time of pain as of growth. Imagine the egg, the bulb, the bud. All begin contained¿all potential, endless promise. There is a quiet dignity in such presence. There is no strain, no disturbance by passion or power. The being rests within itself.

But when growth begins, things break. Shells and bud casings, those intact perfections, fall away. What is revealed is unprotected tenderness. It is no illusion, this fragility. A fierce storm can shred the new leaf, a cat consume the tiny bird, a hapless word pierce the young woman¿s heart.

To the beholder, there is only beauty: the frail green hue that rivals all of autumn¿s glory, the soft maiden gaze with its vulnerable longing. Springtime empowers its witnesses. And the woman gazing back may feel, indeed, the riveting power of her growth and potential. Or she may feel only the pain of new skin against cold wind, of exposed flesh against cruel stares.

There are times the hatchling yearns for the shell, the woman for her girlhood. There are times the new body seems alien and ill-formed, the new skills awkward and mistaken, the new knowledge not power but frailty. Growth may be exhilarating, but it is never easy.

And it is costly. Just as the bulb devours itself in order to burst above the soil, just as the hatchling digests its egg¿s world, the woman tears springtime out of herself. She has little time for generosity, for she is focused on herself, on her deepest movements, her pain, her hopefulness. She is all stunned inwardness.

She is one, alone, unique. She is piercedwith wonder at her existence.

And from this wonder, she creates her world. It is a new world, for the world has never before been inhabited by her singular being. Her creation is a dance of wonder and power, of energy and discovery. Her dance draws the world¿s eye, for although she has never before lived, she lives now, and in living changes the very essence of the world.

She is each of us. We hold her within, just as we hold all seasons. Bend towards her when she sings her rasping song of growth. Honor both her pain and all her promises. And remember, too, to dance with her, for she is the power of movement and change. She is the soul within the body, the spirit flashing forth from flesh. She is the power of green life. She is the first being in the world¿and she is you.

¿¿¿

Hera Renews Her Youth

Now is the time that I choose. Hermit

winter is over, my widow season.

I want lust now, endearments,

longing and song. The trees on

the hillside renew themselves

as I do. Oh, my grand thick trunk

that holds me stiff so my tassels

and catkins can fly! Oh, I¿m drunk

with my greenness again! Every branch

has budded before, has flown

into leaf and then blanched

into fall. But I¿m new in my bones

when I choose, I¿m blood-young again,

I rise fresh as washed granite

from foam, I love whom and when

I choose. Here I stand, pomegranate

in hand, ripe as a bud but old, old

as rock, unshakeable now, a power

essentially female and free. Hold

my ripe breasts. I¿ll be gone in an hour.

¿¿¿

The Goddess Instruction Manual,
Part One: How to Think like Athena

1. Remove shoes.

Stand on earth.

2. Find your center.

Find your balance.

3. Lift chest. Drop shoulders.

Let palms fall open at sides.

4. Open lips. Breathe.

Feel air pass into self.

5. Open eyes wide.

Look to the horizon.

6. Ask, what says the foot?

Ask, what says the leg?

7. Ask, what says the sex?

Ask, what says the heart?

8. Ask, what sees the eye?

Ask, what hears the ear?

9. The mind is the body.

Think everywhere at once.

¿¿¿

Edition details

• Publisher: Delphi Pr
• Publication date: 1992
• ISBN 10: 1878980092
• ISBN 13: 9781878980090
• Binding: Paperback
• Language: English
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 145
• Illustrator: Rakusin Sudie