This is how nature, our mother, acts toward us ( Read more... )

We kneel before her, because she is kind and terrible ( Read more... )

She is the goddess of power ( Read more... )

What is my goddess making?
Saule is plaiting a sieve, a basket
in which to sift the spring rain.
Look! Her little daughter is dressed

in a garment of dew. Her fair hair
is hidden beneath a white veil
and over the viel is a wreath
her mother wove of fresh leaves.

--Lithuanian folksong

Spring rains may demand an umbrella, but we should celebrate ( Read more... )

When I was born, a book was made ( Read more... )

Who white is she ( Read more... )

The crowd gathers, scattering across the lawn in couples to begin the festival. Some set up camp, some pitch tents, and others make temportary houses of reeds and togas. Warm with sun and wine, they try to drink as many cups as they would have years on this earth. Men drink as many cups as Nestor's years, and women would have to live as long as ( Read more... )

Imagine this: the maiden godddess playing in a flowery meadow, together with the full-bodied daughters of the ocean. They were gathering flowers: just open roses, crocuses, and dark violets from the soft grass, and lilies and hyacinths ( Read more... )

This is the day when dawn
receives our saffron cakes
in her sacred temple.
This is the day which honors
the bond between sisters
and the freedom of all women.
There is no slavery today at the threshold
of the temple. Today all women
are joined in the joys of motherhood:
for we hold up, not our own, but
our sister's children to the sun.--Ovid, ( Read more... )

Her face had the black-blue shine of coal.
Her one bony tooth was red like rust.
Her hair was thick and dense and gray
like brushwood in a dying forest.
In her head was one eye like a pool,
swifter than a star in the winter sky.
That one stone eye in the hag's head
moved quicker than mackerel after a lure.

--Scottish song about the hag goddess

( Read more... )