The Furious Spinner

In times of old, The Furies protected Mother Right. If a mother (or any woman) was harmed, The Furies swooped down and took their vengeance. They were one of the last vestiges of a world that existed before the patriarchy. When we feel righteous anger, it is The Furies who are calling out to us to make what is wrong right again.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Interiors

This is the winter that will never end. We had snow today, along with rain and hail. We're waiting for the locusts.

On Thursday, we walked up Wind Mountain to give our yearly greetings to the Witch of the Mountain. On the way up we counted 70 deer's head orchids. We also saw a few trilliums and some lilac-colored flowers. The wind blew hard, and I asked the wind and trees to please not drop anything on our heads. At the top of the mountain, the wind blew even more fiercely. We always tread softly on this sacred ground, asking permission and leaving gifts. On the eastern side where the talus fields are open to the wind, I greeted the Witch of the Mountain. I told her about my mother, I asked her for good health for all the people who lived near, just in case that was in her purview. Then we gave thanks and hurried away.

On the way home, Mario asked me when I stopped believing in God and the Catholic church. I told him I wasn't sure. I remembered when I was very young I had a sexual fantasy of some sort; I felt so guilty about it and I was certain I had sinned deeply. I worried about it for weeks, trying to figure how I'd explain this to the priest. The day finally came when I had enough nerve to go to confession. And I had to go to confession because I wasn't going to communion, and I knew everyone would notice I hadn't taken communion and the only reason to not take communion was because I had committed a mortal sin! So I went into the dark confessional, knelt, and waited for the screen to slide open. I couldn't see him, of course, but I could hear him and he could hear me, and light from his side filtered into my darkness. I told him my venial sins, like sassing my parents and stuff like that. And then I told him I had pretended I was married. It took all my guts, all my courage to say this. I was so embarrassed. My voice shook. I waited my punishment. He told me to say three Hail Marys. I don't even think he had me say an Our Father.

That was it? I was in agony for weeks and this was the result? I don't think I worried much about sinning after that.

I stopped going to church as soon as I left home for college. I told Mario I couldn't remember when I stopped believing in god. I do know I had a revelation (so to speak) when I read Harlan Ellison's The Deathbird. I can't tell you the plot or anything; I only remember that there was something about Eve getting a bad rap just because she wanted knowledge. And it was as though I'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. Why hadn't I ever seen that before? Of course I had never believed Eve was a real person, but her myth has permeated our culture and so much of our culture sees women as the root of all evil. After reading Ellison's story, I realized Eve was a revolutionary. Adam and God were trying to keep her down, and she was giving them the finger. I'd always been a feminist, but this opened up a whole new world for me. Revolutionary spirituality.

Right on, Eve!

All the Catholic shit just fell away after that. Finally. And then when I read about the Inquisition in light of what the Catholic Church did to women, I was beyond furious. I wanted them to pay. I wanted the church brought down. That's when The Jigsaw Woman was born.

When I was a girl, I always talked to the trees, rocks, animals. That went away for a while. And then it came back. Carrying on a constant conversation with the world, visible and invisible, is my bible I suppose, although none of it is written down, none of it captured to be read later. It's somewhere in my body, on my body. My body is my bible? (That's what Walt Whitman would say.) My religion is the Earth. I've long said I worship the ground I walk upon.

Today I went down to the river and had a conversation with it. Not a word conversation. More of a merging. More of a me spreading myself into the Big River. Ahhhhhh. I do love the river.

Later I hugged the big oak in front of the library. I do love the big oak.

Then I came home and stretched out on the couch and watched trashy TV.

Later Mario read Walt Whitman outloud to me and I read Walt Whitman outloud to him. Ummm-mmmm. I do love Walt Whitman.

Danced around my new almost-bare room with my sweetheart. My man is gorgeous. Ummm-mmm. I do love my man.

Love, love, love.

Love is my dogma, doctrine, teacher, priest, priestess.

No, it is none of those things.

It just is.

May You Love in Beauty, Babies!

P.S. I took some pics of my interior. Or the interior of my room. Now that I'm not a writer any longer (pause here for the laughter I get each and every time I say this—laughter and very puzzled looks), my desk still is the messiest part of the room. And I still can't take pics with a flash. And no I wouldn't have those blinds, this carpet, or those color walls if this was my house. But it ain't. The heart-shaped chair is made from willow. The Raggedy-Ann and Andy up on the shelf were made by my momma. The box on the floor by the willow chair is a tarot box my daddy made for me; it is filled with decks of tarot cards. I should have used my wide-angle lens, but I didn't. So I just went around the room and took pics. These are probably about half of my books. I don't know why some of these pics are bigger than the others, but I'm too lazy to go back to flickr and fix it. Enjoy!

North