Blogging and Flogging

Yesterday, a group of Sisters drove up to Sacramento for the Healing Arts fair. Sister Nia took these photos. You haven't met her, yet, but you will.

Sister Freya stocking up on healing stones.

During the two days preceding our girls-day-out, we had an uncomfortable number of interviews. Skype interviews, where we all take turns sitting at my computer, the only one set up for Skype in the office, connected to the only good headset we own, and there was much chatter and concern about the interviews.

When I have media, I always warn them that I’m the chatty one.  If they want a lot of words without a lot of effort, they speak to me.  But then I also warn them:

(a) these Sisters didn’t come to work with me for media attention.  They didn’t come to be public speakers.  They came to made medicine and work with the plant.  So, speaking in front of a camera doesn’t come easily to any of them. 

(b) the young ones haven’t found their voices yet.

That’s how we define it here.  Some have found their voices, some have not.  I am 57 years old and got my voice fifteen or twenty years ago.  Sister Freya is only forty and she found her voice five to ten years ago. It’s not reasonable to expect young women, twenty-three and twenty-four to have found their voices. They haven’t really lived enough, yet.

Vegan eats!  Affirmation that we are out of the valley.

As soon as we got in the car at seven forty-five yesterday morning, Sister Nia asked Sister Freya how her interview went the evening before.  And Sister Freya laughed and said she found her ‘interview-super-power’.  She did a reading on the interviewer. 

Sister Freya sees spirits and in this case, there was much unresolved between the interviewer and her father, who crossed over by suicide – we don’t know exactly when.  But that spirit was there, wanting to speak to his daughter, and Sister Freya, faced with sending him away or offering some healing to this young woman on the TV screen, chose for the latter -- true to her calling as a healer.

Although Sister Freya was delighted that she got out of the interview, the whole scheduled hour given over to medium-ship between the deceased father and his daughter-in-pain-on-the-earth-plane, Sister Nia and I were sad that the young reporter had to deal with such serious tragedy.  We are both empaths and we both felt kicked in the gut at the news.  Without words spoken between us, Sister Freya felt our sadness and added, “Oh, it’s worse than that, even.  Her mom isn’t handling it at all and is at risk of suicide herself.  I’ve scheduled two more calls with them this weekend.”

That was some solace.  The Sisters can do something.  Sister Freya is intervening to offer medicine.  A silent prayer went up for her success, and then the conversation returned to her glee over having dodged the bullet of the interview.

“You really don’t like interviews?  It’s all basic stuff!  You can say what’s in your heart.  You know that whatever you say will be ok, right?”

“I don’t mind interviews,” she said, “But this is wayyyyy better!  I will become known as the Sister who has never been interviewed, because I always do readings and distract them by helping them with their own personal issues!  It’s brilliant!”

On the remainder of the drive up highway 99, we talked about many things. Bullets and pellets, our name for a new CBD product we are developing, the development of our rosary to help us count during our chants, the wholesale program and anticipated demand.  We spent a few minutes comparing notes on family gossip that they don’t know comes right back to us, because in every Sisters’ family, there is at least one silent supporter among the haters.  If our families say bad stuff about us, we hear about it.  If a lawmaker or law-enforcement person says something bad about us, we hear it.  We believe the concept of ‘having a mole’ is ancient wisdom and contributes to the survival of the tribe.

In some cases, the families are split over the issue of our very existence. Mom’s side is a group of supporters, Dad’s side is suspicious haters.  Or vice versa. In my own family, some believe we are mocking Catholic nuns.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  First, we have great respect for their excellence in teaching and nursing, their vast contributions, and we strive to emulate their system-run, dependable standards of excellence.  But secondly, and more importantly, it is the very fact that the people out protesting miss having the nuns and priests at their sides, fighting the good fights right there alongside the working class angry -- it is that fact that called this Order into being.  The people asked for us.  Thirdly, it’s not a competition and fourthly, we are Beguine-revivalists.  The only ‘nun moniker’ we claim is the ‘weed-nun’ handle.  It says everything in two succinct syllables.

I find it ironic that the people who should be most embracing and supportive of this new age path we are walking, should be family and local politicians and lawmakers.  It is ironic that we have so many followers from around the world who understand us, love us, support us, but in the arms of our tribe, we suffer the bearing of false witness.

Left to Right:  Sister Gina, daughter Ava, Sister Kate and Sister Freya

Before heading back to Merced, we visited a community college agriculture-day fair and bought some clary sage and white sage plants for our garden.

Just before arriving at our destination in Sacramento, we gave a little time to our manifesting powers and spoke of our dreams of travel.  Two of us are going to Brazil in May to speak at a conference on cannabis and morality and we collectively hope that that turns into more offers from other countries.  Personally, I want to take a trip to Greece, perhaps with stops in France (to see a Bougienage), England and Ireland.  Except, I lamented, I really want to travel with all the Sisters and that would shut us down.  “We will have to take turns,” I concluded.

That led me to reminding the Sisters that I am still the sole voice of the Sisterhood.  Ever-on-the-look-out for ways to lighten my load and make a system-run organization not dependent of any one Sister – ever ensuring I have future choices – choices to go, choices to send someone who would represent us well, I encouraged Nia to consider public relations (social media posting) on behalf of the Sisters. I threw out a couple of topics that would be good starter subjects, promised her that I would get her access to the dropbox for photos, and pushed my personal agenda along its path.

“Think about writing and sharing your wisdom.”  That was the last thing I said before shutting off the engine of the car and embarking on our adventure at the Healing Arts fair.

An hour later we were in a group reading with Dr. Christian Toren, a Master Clairvoyant from Burbank, California, who works primarily with the archangels and he was telling Nia that Archangel Gabriel says she has to share her knowledge.  He told her that she’s been collecting it all her life and she needs to get it out, get it on paper, share it with the people. 

I was kind of impressed that he went there, first, and, sitting right next to Nia, I said “Blogging, blogging, blogging”.  But every time I said it, Dr. Toren winced, and finally, the third time I repeated it, he said “No, please, no flogging!”

“Flogging?” I said, horrified, “Good God, I said BLOGGING!  It means ‘writing’!”

It was my turn to be horrified, but Sister Freya and Sister Nia were both laughing so hard, hands over their mouths, trying to stifle. 

“Good God!” I said again, “What kind of nuns do you think we are?”

Dr. Toren apologized, but he, too, was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears out of his eyes.

We must have had some mischief-making gnome-interference, because he went right back to talking to Nia about why she must write, about how her ‘not writing’ is affecting her stomach and sleep, and then exclaimed “You are meant to inspire!”  The noise level of the convention hall had risen a bit and Nia didn’t hear him properly, although Freya and I heard him clearly.  Nia looked horrified, while Freya and I were nodding and smiling in agreement with his words.  We realized quickly that Nia had turned pale.  “I was meant to expire?” she said. “When?”

“INSPIRE!” we all three hollered at once.  “Inspire!” I said again, to make sure she heard properly this time.  Good grief.  Blogging, flogging, inspire, expire, what the heck?

Brother Andy hooked us up.

www.sistersofcbd.com (click the ‘shop’ link at the top to see our products)

www.sistersofthevalley.biz (personal library with FAQ’s, Testimonials, Media History, Videos)

The Final Hours Before the Final Vows

Last night’s full moon was a reminder to me of how far we have come in such a short time.  As I retreated to my room with laptop under arm to play some meditative music, light a candle, and rest in preparation for the evening ceremonies, I couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of satisfaction that, as Mary Chapin Carpenter sings:  everything runs right on time, years of practice and design.

We are now in our third year of the Sisterhood, and by late yesterday, I was already feeling deeply satisfied by the progress of the Order.  I was feeling a sense of pride in how everything around the farm seemed to be running right on time.   

It was ten after four in the afternoon when I entered the abbey.  I noticed how quiet it was, straight off. 

Like a mother with her list of children, I couldn’t help but do a quick assessment on where all my tribe were at this particular moment.  Sister Kassidy was out for two days, preparing to take her vows.  That meant her two-year old noisemaker (and I call her that in the nicest way possible) was not here either. 

Miss Preslee was the only one working down the hall from the kitchen, quietly absorbed in answering customer emails.  Miss Amy and Chef Marilyn were in the kitchen of the blue house prepare the evening feast.  Miss Lori was in the office taking my calls and hers, and getting payroll ready. Sister Freya’s off-spring wouldn’t be arriving for two hours and she was holed up with the stars and the forecasts, preparing her readings.

I knew Miss Preslee’s seven-year-old son, Jayden, was kicking a ball around outside in the drizzling rain and that the Brothers were in the shop, tending the plants. 

At the time that I walked passed Jayden (after a very long day in the office on conference calls and preparing the songs, speeches and vows for the ceremony), I was intent on just having my tea, resting on my bed and listening to healing music.  But when I stepped into the main hall, the visual was so pleasant I had to stop and appreciate it. 

The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds and did a little light show on the polished surface of the big wooden table in the center of the room.  The faint smell of our topical salves lingered in the air.  Everything was so clean and orderly and peaceful.  A sigh of relief that Sister Freya had arranged the abbey.  I hadn’t intended to linger, as I only had an hour and a half to shower and rest before I must dress for the evening. 

I set down my papers and computer and stood admiring the sunlight coming through the blinds, admiring the positioning of the items required for the ceremony.  The candelabra at the center of the big wooden table, with half-burned white taper candles in their holes from the last ceremony, but boxes of new white taper candles set nearby the base . . . new, colored, scented candles in deep glass jars were set about the room - two on the wood-burning stove, two on the wooden chest near the front door, two on the kitchen counter, one on each side of the candelabra.  That table is the center place for all our indoor ceremonies, I thought, smiling fondly at the table, and then nodding respectfully to it, as if it has a life of its own.  With all the items arranged on and, around it, it seemed so.

Miss Preslee had set out four sets of gloves, four palo santo sticks, and four smudgesticks, all new wicks, new sticks, new gloves.

The only sound in the quiet room was the ticking clock from Karlovac.

I opened the gown closet door and smiled at the four gowns, four bleached and starched bibs, and turning to the table, counted four pressed veils, four caps and four neck-covers hanging individually over the backs of four chairs. 

When I emerged from my rooms at half past five, I lit the candles and thanked my lucky stars, and Godfather and Goddess Mother for how far we have come.  I recalled that it wasn’t so long ago that I was doing the ceremonies alone, under the stars, feeling a bit crazy for doing so. 

Two years ago, I did everything, I was the everything.  One year ago, it wasn’t so, with at least a dozen people around and participating . . .  and though I had more Sisters and more Brothers, I was still doing  pretty much everything, but with helpers.  I was still doing all the menu planning, most of the cooking, and I was candle-fetcher, music director, sermon-writer, moon-phase researcher.  I was garment manager, too, and would sometimes be sewing, pressing, or repairing gowns, bibs or veils up to an hour before the ceremony.

Last night, as I moved from station to station lighting the candles for the coming ceremony, I said a prayer of thanksgiving for the ease with which our full moon events have come to be executed.  It isn’t just a normal ceremony as there is a feast; there is special cleaning and preparing that must be done, preparing of both the physical and the spiritual.  But this time, I didn't do it alone.  This time, I didn't even do the majority of it!  This time, I got to focus on my part and everyone else focused on their own parts and somehow, we nailed it -- with the elegance and grace of professional ballet dancers.

I said a prayer of thanks for Mother Goddess shepherding these women to me, the right women, the right men.   I said thanks for the order and the calm.  It is, after all, the order that we crave; it is the simplicity of an elegant dance that we all wish to be part of -- it is the lack of a need to discuss and over-discuss every little thing.  We strive to be like our ancient mothers -- less words, more dignified action.  Last night’s ceremony – and more importantly, the period of twenty-four hours leading up to last night’s ceremony -- was like a graduating step for the Order.  Like a coming-of-age of the Sisterhood.  Everyone had a task to do; everyone had a role to fill, and everyone did their thing, elegantly, gracefully, seriously, and excellently.  I couldn’t be more proud.

February 10, 2017

Ice Moon / Full Moon

Celebration of Sister Kassidy Taking Her Final Vows

Opening Song – #1 Sacred Ancestors

First Reading – Sister Kate / Pope Joan

Song – #3 Earth Joy Dance

Light Sage and Palo Santo Incense

Song - #5 We Are a Circle

Second Reading – Sister Freya / The Strength of the Moon

Light Sage and Palo Santo Incense

Song - #8 We All Come from the Goddess

Sister Kassidy Vows & Gifts from the Tribe

Final Song - #7 I Hear You Calling

Photos by Jaime Riley.

The Inauguration of Trump and the Up-rising of the Women

I have to get something off my chest.

For over two months now, there has been a moral tug-of-war going on in my heart.  It is the tug-of-war between sensible commerce and moral duty.  It is a tug of war that kept my political views off of our facebook page for the business.  Mostly.

But I am done with that.  I am, today, officially done with that.

It happened with the Women’s March on Washington and the solidarity march we attended here in the central valley.  It happened because so many people posted angry comments under our photos.  We were harshly judged for standing in solidarity with the women.

We are Beguine revivalists.  If you don’t know who the Beguines were, maybe you should look them up.  They were progressive activists for women, in the middle ages.  Their core mission was to lift women from poverty by giving them housing security, food security, and training, and jobs.  This is who we are.  This is what we want to be.

Our capitalist enterprises are there to support our spirituality and activism.  It is not the other way around.  Our capitalist enterprises are for the women, for the people.  Our progressive activism is for the women, for the people.  Our spirituality?  That’s for us. 

Here’s what you need to understand about our origins.  This order was given birth by the Occupy movement.  Our origins are in protesting.  While out with the people, the formalization of this order came as a result of so many people asking for it – from so many asking for an order that has, as its holy trinity -- service, activism, and spirituality.

We grew a business from nothing, two years ago, to employing nine folks full-time and another nine to twelve in various specialty positions, and this all began from five thousand anarchist, activist, facebook friends.

Let’s just take a quick stroll through what we are all about. 

Mission statement: 

The Sisters of the Valley is a newly born, new-age group of Sisters whose fundamental mission is to get plant-based medicine into the hands of those in need -- and to do that in a responsible and sustainable manner.   The mission is supported by their founding principles, which are to honor Mother Earth and her intelligent plant, provide a valuable product to the people, empower other women to succeed, and participate in peaceful progressive activism.

Vows:

#1  Chastity.  Do you think that when we take a vow to privatize our sexuality and keep ourselves covered at all times in public, do you think we can support a pussy-grabbing president?  How does that work?

#2 Activism.  Yes, activism is a vow.  So now, tell me, if activism is a vow we take, do you not expect us to join protests?

#3 Service.  This is our medicine-making.  We use non-psychoactive cannabis to make tinctures and topical salves.  We have hundreds of testimonials from people around the world thanking us for alleviating their suffering.  Trump is trying to appoint a man who has contempt in his heart for this intelligent plant.  Do you expect us to get behind that?

#4 Ecology.  This is the part of our vow where we respect and repair mother earth, try to reduce our foot-print, migrate to a more plant-based diet, and more friendly co-existence with her.  By Trump’s Exxon appointment, do you think he is taking an earth-friendly approach?

#5 Living Simply.  Trump represents the opposite of that.  He is all glitz and glamour and largess and wastefulness. 

Which political party do you think best represents the ethics and values of the Sisters?  The Green Party, naturally, and Bernie, who is green at heart.  With a few controlling our media propaganda machine, with a two-party grid-locked system, with DNC corruption, neither had a chance. 

People like to come onto our facebook posts and tell me ‘get behind your president’.  No, sorry, we cannot.  He represents the opposite of all we stand for.

One more thing, our business grew fifteen times the second year over the first.  We have, since the very beginning -- sold out of every jar, every bottle, of every product we have ever made.  We have hundreds of stores around the world who want to carry our products and over seven thousand loyal repeat retail customers.    

We do well because of our commitment to excellence, our commitment to making and protecting the medicines in an ancient-ritual spiritual environment.  We do well because of our commitment to using best business practices, to being ‘audit ready’ at all times, to ensure all taxes are paid, that no cheats are used, ever.  We do well because we are committed to making our customers happy and we are committed to being responsive to their calls, emails, and inquiries from many different social media platforms.

Sometimes I wonder if we were Trump supporters, if we adopted Trump’s business ethics, would our medicine do as well?  If we meditated on Trump-think, instead of the suffering of the people, would our products still do what they do for the people?  Do any of you seriously feel any compassion radiating from this new President of ours?  Do any of you believe we could be in a prayerful, spiritual, meditative environment with a picture of Trump hanging on our wall?

If you think you are punishing us by refusing to buy from us because of our politics – you are not.  I have maintained since the beginning that if we only had the progressive activists around the world supporting us, we will always grow and thrive.

Are we angry at the Trump-voters?  Heck, no!  The decision the American public was faced with was horrible, dismal, disturbing.  In the end, we had a choice between two shadow characters and the people chose the one who is 'out' about his darkness; they chose authenticity over pretense.  We don’t blame.  We don’t shame.  We accept that everyone did the best they could, with the deck stacked as it was, against the people.

The American people chose to throw a torch to the system.  One half of the people didn’t vote.  One fourth of the people voted for Hillary.  One fourth voted for Trump.  He does not have and never held majority support.   I take comfort in that.

So please, stop threatening us, as if we rely on your purchases.  We do not.  We try to be sensible in regard to our capitalist enterprises, but you are asking us to support a man who mocks our vows.  You are asking us to ignore our vows and mission.  It is too much to ask.  If it offends you, there are many places you can find CBD and it does not offend us if you wish to buy from others.  

On another note, I have had a half dozen women declare that they will not buy from us because they perceive us to be ‘pro-abortion’.  We try to explain -- it isn’t abortion we are proponents of, it’s just that we trust the women to make their own decisions for their own bodies.  Have you read our mission statement?  Regulating the vagina is the opposite of women empowerment.

We are well aware of the fact that first term abortions didn’t ‘become a sin’ in the Catholic church until one hundred years ago, coincidentally, at the same time the intelligent plant became demonized.  It is the same time that mankind stepped up the effort to trash the planet.  Do women not see that the divine feminine is under attack all the way around on this planet?  From the planet, herself, to the women who occupy it, to the vaginas of the women who occupy it?  All are under attack.

We are well aware of the fact that where women have food, housing, healthcare and education security, when they have equal rights and equal opportunity and equal pay in the work force, they have two children.  Inside a marriage.  Zero abortions.  Zero population growth.  So we are trying to understand why people want to regulate women’s vaginas?  Why wouldn’t you want to fix the root cause of the reason for abortions instead of just attacking the women on a moral basis?  Why does one woman want to control the vagina of another woman?  Is that thinking sticking to us because of 200,000 years of male energies dominating the planet?  Can we not shed ourselves of that and think only in terms of Sisterhood?

Here’s a special little note to the men, who have the propensity to give orders to the Sisters without thinking them through.  In the past month, I’ve had two men reach out to us – one to say ‘stick to weed growing and get the hell out of politics, you are making yourselves look stupid’ – and one to say ‘stick to weed growing and stay the hell out of spirituality, you are not a trained theologian.’

My answer to them both?  Sorry, we don’t take orders from men, but it’s cute that you tried.

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest.  I feel so much better now.

Being Beguine (Dec 2016)

Originally published December 5th, 2016

My fascination with Catholic nuns, my ever-on radar for nun-news, comes not so much from having grown up with them all around, but the fact that they are going extinct.  (If someone knows of a Catholic nun revival surge, please point it out to me.) 

It is the fact that we are alive to witness the extinction of a twelve-hundred-year-old tradition that is fascinating.  It is the fact that they ‘stood by their men’ through some pretty egregious happenings that suggests extinction is inevitable, perhaps even karmic.

As a child educated in a Catholic school, I had to swallow some pretty bizarre concepts, presented to me as ‘truths’.  The pope is infallible.  Purgatory is a place.  The Holy Ghost is a thing.

Recently, I heard a modern-day Catholic nun tell a news reporter that the white habits they wear represent being married to God.  She said they put on their wedding dresses every day to celebrate their anniversary of marriage.  The nuns I grew up with wore black, so I never heard of such a thing as the habit being a wedding dress!

It got me to thinking.  If no-one objects to the rather bizarre notion that nuns wear their wedding dresses daily, to re-live their marriage to God, then certainly people can wrap their heads around the concept of a Sisterhood of women who work with cannabis plants, make home-made tonics and tinctures, and support themselves through their own labors and without need of alms?

Our earth family should be able to accept the fact that we wear the gowns to honor our ancient Beguine fore-mothers, that we put them on to show respect for the plant and Mother Earth, that we put them on to remind ourselves to make our sacred ancestors proud, that we wear them to announce our presence to the people, as regalia, to honor them, whenever we are among them.  Yet, word on the street is that our local officials can’t wrap their heads around this concept.  Yes, word on the street is that they are fine with our cannabis business, but not with our uniforms.  So I can only assume that if we claimed to be married to God, if we claimed our uniform was a wedding dress, then it would be ok?

Actually, try as they might to make it about something else, we know too well why they object.  They object because there are no men in charge here.  They object because there is no male-founded, male-run, male dominated church here.  There are men here, of course, but they don’t run the show.  Furthermore, our order is ‘self-formed’ and, as ‘weed-nuns’, we are self-declared, which makes us empowered, and the old grey-haired white dudes running the central valley of California find that to be frightening.

In case you hadn’t heard, we are leaving a two-hundred-thousand-year-old period of male energies ruling the planet and are entering the age of feminine energies ruling the planet.  We are leaving our ‘conquer all’ mentality that formed our civilizations and we are entering an age of preservation, nurturing, nesting.  Of course, female energies must now rule, if we want to keep our people inhabiting this planet.  (Never mind Trump, Brexit, Geert Wilders, Marine Le Pen, and the others of their ilk, they represent the last gasp of a dying paradigm.  You didn’t think the conquerors would go down without a fight, did you?  But worry not -- hate is not a sustainable political platform.)

Before we bought our farm, we checked the history of the land to make sure no blood was spilled here.   We purchased as ‘near virgin’ land as is possible in these parts.  No animals were caged or slaughtered here, no one was ever hurt here, and we made a big upset in this place by putting a digger in the ground and splitting a line through the property diagonally, to lay electricity for lighting.  We had to do a special healing ceremony for the land, to repent for the cut we made.  The split in the land upset the energies of the property and made people who love each other quarrel and bicker.

In the same manner that we checked the land and the house before offering to buy it, to make sure that the energies here were right for the women and the work to be done, we would not reach for a spiritual practice or religion that had blood on its hands.  If murders and pedophilia and dark plots lurk there in the history of the enterprise, we don’t want it.  

We are starting anew.

Our holy trinity is S.A.S.  Yes, because we are political activists, we do ‘give sass’ (now and again), as Brother Emery calls it, but no, the acronym stands for Service, Activism, and Spirituality.   The most important part of our ancient-wisdom medicine-making is the environment the products are made in.  Therefore, we sought a pure place.  An untarnished little farm, a little closer to the gangster-town than we might have preferred, but the land, all the same, is clean.

We would not do our Activism, if it required blood or harm to anyone.  Burning fuel to get to our events is harm enough, and we pray for forgiveness and try to double up.  We yearn for solar powered cars, but what we have is fossil-fuel-burning carriages.

We approach our activism and perform our activism with pure hearts, good intentions, and would not go where dark forces gather.  The intention of our activism is to inform, educate, elucidate, where the media machine would rather you remain ignorant.

In service to the people through the cannabis plant, we are working in a space of ‘no harm’, because try though they might, no-one has ever died from an overdose of the Cannabis medicine.

And finally, our spirituality.  We are Beguine revivalists.  

The Beguines pre-dated Christianity and though they lived together, dressed alike, and prayed together, their mission was not to spread any kind of dogma.  Their mission was to rescue women from poverty and give them independence and property (wealth).  They were very good at it.

They were so good at it that during different times through-out their history, they were persecuted by different religious and political groups – mainly because the products they made were of such consistently high quality, and because their work had garnered them such loyal followings.  The attacks on them were for jealousy of their success, and because the Beguine mission was to empower women.    Our research indicates that in medieval times in Europe, many towns had Beguine villages within their castle walls and many travelers came from far and wide to purchase their products.

Eschewing Christianity is not because we are ‘anti-Christian’ – we are not.  It is simply that our practices identify with our pre-Christian mothers, those early enclaves, whose stories and practices were largely lost to history because they existed before books and written records.  Because of the lack of information, we must use our own imagination and intuition to build something akin to what their lives would have been.

This Yule Tide Season, I want a book on the Beguines, and more importantly -- time to read it.  But I am interested in the ancient Beguines, not the ones that recorded history is most likely to discuss – the Catholic Beguines.  

The first Catholic nun didn’t come about until the late 800’s, and I am interested in the enclaves of our Beguine mothers before that, because I am pretty sure that their conversion to Catholicism was coerced.  And that this move to Catholicism actually accelerated their extinction (just a personal theory at this point).

Because Christianity (widespread) happened when the first books became distributable, one might falsely come to the conclusion that our Beguine mothers were Catholics.  That would be un-true.  The Beguines were around long before Catholicism became mainstream.  The Beguines thrived during the dark and middle ages, when daily life was not so well documented, but just because it isn’t written, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

It’s not a surprise that the first book mass produced was the Bible, because the man who developed the printing press was Catholic.  I have to say I’m a bit surprised and pleased with the blunt Wikipedia entry on the history of the Bible (and the added apology to Catholics).

By 500 A.D. the Bible had been translated into over 500 languages. Just one century later, by 600 A.D., it has been restricted to only one language: the Latin Vulgate! The only organized and recognized church at that time in history was the Catholic Church of Rome, and they refused to allow the scripture to be available in any language other than Latin. Those in possession of non-Latin scriptures would be executed! This was because only the priests were educated to understand Latin, and this gave the church ultimate power… a power to rule without question… a power to deceive… a power to extort money from the masses. Nobody could question their “Biblical” teachings, because few people other than priests could read Latin. The church capitalized on this forced-ignorance through the 1,000-year period from 400 AD to 1,400 AD knows as the “Dark and Middle Ages”.

Pope Leo the Tenth established a practice called the “selling of indulgences” as a way to extort money from the people. He offered forgiveness of sins for a fairly small amount of money. For a little bit more money, you would be allowed to indulge in a continuous lifestyle of sin, such as keeping a mistress. Also, through the invention of “Purgatory”, you could purchase the salvation of your loved-one’s souls. The church taught the ignorant masses . . . Pope Leo the Tenth showed his true feelings when he said, “The fable of Christ has been quite profitable to us!”

Editorial Note: Let us state at this point, that it is not our intent to offend or “bash” Roman Catholics. It is unavoidable that every historical account has its “good guys” and its “bad guys”. Just as it is impossible to accurately tell the story of World War Two without offending the Germans and the Italians who were undeniably the enemies of world peace at that time… it is equally impossible to accurately tell the story of the English Bible without unintentionally offending those who continue to revere the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches.

The Beguines thrived during the dark and middle ages.  They were focused on helping the women.  Their methods and order and spirituality drew women of all classes.  They built housing and many devoted their lives to the enclaves and when they died, left their wealth to the enclave so more unfortunates could be brought in, taught a trade, put to work, given honorable lives.  They didn’t live in the same house, but clustered their homes.  They owned businesses and houses, grew their own food and hemp and made clothing for themselves and to sell.  They made medicines for themselves and to sell.  They made jobs.  That was their mission.  That is ours.

Right now, this planet has a lot in common with the dark and middle ages.  Just like back then, women and children suffer the brunt of the poverty stick.  Just like back then, there is a certain hopelessness that sickens the spirit, when people cannot have gainful employment.  There is a malaise that happens when the deck is stacked against you – born poor, die poor.  We are re-living that again.  I call it the castle syndrome.  But we, the descendants of the Beguines, intend to occupy the castle, as our ancient mothers once did.

Samain* Season at the Abbey (November 2016)

Originally published November 2, 2016

*pronounced Saa-ween or Saa-win

Samhain's long association with death and the Dead reflects Nature's rhythms. In many places, Samhain coincides with the end of the growing season. Vegetation dies back with killing frosts, and therefore, literally, death is in the air. This contributes to the ancient notion that at Samhain, the veil is thin between the world of the living and the realm of the Dead and this facilitates contact and communication. For those who have lost loved ones in the past year, Samhain rituals can be an opportunity to bring closure to grieving and to further adjust to their being in the Otherworld by spiritually communing with them. (Selena Fox)

This year at the abbey, Samhain was another trip down ancient lane.

To accommodate the children and their modern-day custom of ‘Halloween’, the Sisters weren’t able to practice all the pieces and parts together, but beginning at sundown, we managed to get in all the seven services of Samhain and by the time the bonfire was lit, we were together as one.

With the coming of sunset, one Sister arranged the pumpkins and candles on the feast table.  She then joined an older Sister for a meditative walk through the countryside, setting the energies for the evening.  Meanwhile, one Sister was out trick-or-treating with the young ones, and would, no doubt, be late to dinner.

A harvest meal, made by the loving hands of the day-time staff, was shared in a prayerful environment, in honor of the ancestral spirits.  Simple fare . . . potato kale soup and a vegetable pine-nut pasta salad, with several kinds of bakery breads. 

One Sister prayed over the feast table, taking special care to invite ancestors from the other side to join in the Feast of the Dead.  The table was set with an extra place as is custom, with a filled plate and bowl and wine glass, later set outside for easy access by the spirit world.

After dinner, two Sisters consulted their pendulums for predictions of the coming year.  Outside, the men built the bonfire.

A solemn ceremony was held.  The Sisters gathered around the fire, robed in their formal gowns, holding hands and chanting, “We are the circle, within a circle, with no beginning, and never ending.”

There were prayers of thanksgiving and prayers for the coming years’ blessings.  There were prayers offered for those recently departed and those who have long departed the earth plane.  There were individual prayers and prayers for the Sisterhood. 

The women took their candles and sang as they moved first counterclockwise, then clockwise around the bonfire:    “Sacred Ancestors come to me, Sacred Ancestors please help me, All my Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, and Relations, too, Who have loved me for always, I’ll keep the light for you.”

And the service ended with an ancestral story:

Imagine that we are standing at a bonfire in Northern England in the year 50 of the current era.  Christianity wasn’t a thing, yet.  The Bible was centuries from being written.  The country had been torn up by one war or another for the past fifty years and the people and the land had not yet recovered.  But here stand the women, ‘round the fire, on land recently conquered by the Romans.

Take yourselves there, to their fire. The women are gathered as we are, to pray, to talk.  Let’s sit. It is cold there, so they gather close to the fire.  

They share information that is not for others’ ears, so they gather close to speak softly and still be heard.These women, like many of us, have children.  These women, like many of us, are raising those children alone.  These women had to fight to get a loaf of bread each day and spent much of their precious lives begging or borrowing.  They knew they were not alone.  They knew they weren’t ‘special’.  They knew the men could join the military machine and get food, but their choices were far less.  They knew that other women, all the women, suffered the brunt of the poverty. 

“I have heard the Romans wish to end the conflict, to civilize this place, and live peacefully.”  Said one woman at the fire.  She paused before she continued and then spoke with unabashed hopefulness:   “There will be jobs, and medicine, and food.” 

Another Sister at the fire countered her:   “We will just be slaves for them and the profit will go to Rome.”

But then another Sister interjected an idea, a good idea.  “We must begin our own business.  We must own and control something, something that is ours, that will keep us safe.”

“They are allowing us to grow hemp,” says another woman, another face around the fire.

What followed, then, was a serious conversation about what was needed and how those needs could be fulfilled, so that the women could begin participating in a newly de-regulating business.  What followed, then, was a serious conversation about making jobs, creating housing and food security, through farming, textiles and medicine.  What followed, then, was an all-night conversation that didn’t end until the sun began to show its light. 

That night, at their fire, an era of empowerment was born.  This is not uncommon.  Women create in more than one way.

That night, at the fire, a lifetime of purposeful living, a life-time of sustenance for themselves and their children began to manifest.   That night, hope and purpose was re-born in the embers of the Samhain fires. 

And these are the ancestral mothers whom we honor and emulate.   These are the ancestral mothers whose blessings we pursue.