from the goddess. . .   A Walk in the Forest Compared to the slick, fast, super-sanitized modern world, with its "multiple tasked environments," its flashing screens and evanescent images, quick transactions and concrete facades, the realm of the goddess is dark, slow, primeval, with moist, hidden, underground channels, like the redwood forest in which I live. The vast industries that produce the artifacts which define our lives have no connection to the raw experience of our ancestors, who celebrated birth and death within the awesome context of eternity. And we shy away from blood and bones. We give birth today on raised tables covered with white sheets, our feet supported by metal stirrups, our rhythms monitored, our pain numbed by drugs; and we leave the world much the same way. The body we wore is whisked away to the plush funeral parlor, where the face is cosmetically restored to resemble someone no one knew in life. Birth and death today are like going to the dentist. The antiseptic hospital is quite unlike the setting our original mothers knew, squatting in field or cave, feet flat on the soil. Surrounded by nurturing sisters, they labored knowing that birth could deliver them into the silent arms of death. They birthed in prayer. We would not willingly choose to return to those risky, uncomfortable ways. When the electricity goes back on after five days of darkness, we see how accustomed we are to our modern comforts. And when the life of a child is saved amidst the bells and whistles of the operating room, our gratitude ensures our continued dependency on the people and the system which produced these "miraculous" tools. Why then dig up those ancient bones, those elemental images of pubic triangles and bird-shaped heads, big-bosomed relics of a pre-literate, prehistoric civilization none remembers? Because we have seen, in the last decades of this century, that we pay a great price for our mechanical, material, things. In the clutter of our conveniences, we still yearn for that deep cave. In all the clatter and ruckus of our hectic, fast-paced days, we have lost a dimension of our souls. The ancient trees remind us that something is missing, and it is female. We have wandered too far from the arms of the Mother of All. Going back is the way to go forward. Our task is to recover what has been forsaken without losing what has been gained, merging the ancient wisdom with our globally networked communication systems, restoring and resurrecting the sacred, and regaining our balance thereby, in a world still at risk of crashing into the great abyss. Here at Awakened Woman, we are opening a channel on the vast worldwide web for women to speak our visions and describe what we feel must be done to make our world safe. We are forming Awakened Woman Circles to network with one another and create a thousand-petaled lotus of women's consciousness to stabilize and nurture the earth. That lotus has always been there; we are here to make it manifest. The end is in the beginning. Our life is not a lonely line, but a circle of friendship. We need only remember. There was life before central heating. Recollecting our source in the ancient experience is the only way to recast the future.   Blessed be, Stephanie Hiller, editor   >>>Next, Winter Solstice <<<Contents