Saturday, August 10, 2024

News From the Muse

 The Muse of Kamala Devi

Without mud you cannot have lotus flowers. Without suffering, you
have no way to learn how to be understanding and compassionate…
No mud, no lotus.
                                                                           Thick Nhat Hanh


What Story Are We In?

I keep a Kamala Harris campaign button from 2020 on my bureau, among jewelry boxes and dancing goddesses from various cultures. I’ve asked myself why I hold on to this souvenir of her unsuccessful run for president in the long ago Before Times. An inner voice argues: “Because you love her name, her smile and her slogan: ‘Kamala Harris For the People.’ She’s a Muse for Truth and Justice. Hold on to her.”

Kamala Campaign Button 2020

Like so many who watched Joe Biden’s devastating debate performance on June 28th, I fell into a void of terror and despair. I’ve known this place since childhood, when a chorus of ancestors who died in the Shoah visited me frequently, filling my soul with unbearable lamentations. My father taught me to keep my eye on the political horizon, always looking for the next Hitler. He has appeared in myriad incarnations—Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Strom Thurmond, Bull Connor, George Wallace, and most recently, in 2016, that berserker with orange hair. He’s back, big time. 

I saw our good President Biden looking like a ghost at the debate, his tongue frozen, unable to articulate the truth as lie after lie came out of the mouth of the wanna-be king. Seized by ancient dread, I saw myself wandering among hordes of other lost souls, tramping through the muck of our desecrated country, besmirched by hate, rage and the terrifying MAGA plot—Project 2025—to dismantle our democracy and our constitution.

And then, suddenly, in just a few hours, as though someone had waved a magic wand, everything changed. Our President made the painful decision not to run for a second term. He endorsed his vice president, Kamala Devi Harris. That our president put the good of the country before his own ambitions caused the world to fall back into order for me. An enormous weight lifted from my shoulders, and the shoulders of everyone with whom I spoke. Maybe our democracy is not on the chopping block, after all. 


Kamala Devi, with her beautiful smile and compassionate eyes leapt into the fray with so much joy and verve that we find ourselves wondering, what story are we in? She glows and laughs as she speaks truth to the torrent of lies and inanities coming from the MAGA candidates. 

A bright burst of hope for our country, the kind of hope I haven’t felt since Obama ran for President in 2008—hope for our poor beleaguered planet, hope for women’s rights—so devastated by the Dobbs decision—hope for the future of our children and grandchildren, hope for our agonized land, fills my heart. Maybe we’ve been transported into a redemption story, a story of love and freedom. I find myself praying to every goddess I know to protect and bless Kamala Devi. I find myself wondering what myth we are in.


What Myth Are We In?

Curious about the meaning of Kamala Devi’s names I reach for a favorite book—Hindu Goddesses, by David Kinsley, and am astounded at how deftly they spell out her destiny. Kamala means lotus flower—sacred in Hindu iconography. Kinsley writes of the lotus: “It is a symbol of fertility and life which takes its strength from the primordial waters. . . Rooted in the mud but blossoming above the water, completely uncontaminated—the lotus represents spiritual. . . authority. (p. 21)

Devi, I learn, is Sanskrit for “shining one” or Goddess. Kinsley writes of Devi that she “represents the ultimate reality in the universe. . .a powerful, creative, active transcendent female being. . . said to be the life force of all being. . . the root of the tree of the Universe. . . [whose] essential nature is Shakti. . . the active dimension of the godhead.” Devi is the Mother of all Goddesses, but especially associated with the goddesses Lakshmi and Durga. This is particularly apt because Lakshmi—the Goddess of beauty, happiness and good fortune—is often portrayed sitting on a lotus blossom—and Kinsley writes, “is often called Kamala.” (p. 21) Durga, on the other hand, is a fierce warrior Goddess whose “mythological function is to combat demons who threaten the stability of the cosmos. . .” (p. 95) “Durga,” writes Kinsley, “violates the model of the Hindu woman. She is not submissive, she is not subordinated to a male deity. . . She is an independent warrior who can hold her own against any male on the battlefield.” (p. 97) I wonder if Shyamala Gopalan Harris contemplated the mythic forces she was invoking, when she gave her first born daughter such powerful names, which embed her in Indian culture and foretell this astonishing moment we are in. 

Goddess Devi

Kamala Devi is filled with the energies of these three goddesses—Lakshmi, Durga and Devi—full of love and laughter, fierceness and resilience, seated on the lotus blossom of her spiritual authority, in touch with her Shakti, and with our culture’s profound need for the deep female energies she manifests. It’s no wonder that, as our Muse, she is so vital, so inspiring, so able to make us feel full of creativity and possibility. Just hours after Biden endorsed Kamala Devi, 44,000 Black Women got on a Zoom call and raised $1.6 million dollars for the campaign. Next day, 53,000 Black Men raised $1.3 million. These events inspired Shannon Watts, a white gun control activist, to organize “White Women: Answer the Call” a few days later. I got on that call, with 164,000 white women, the largest Zoom call ever, though it kept crashing, freezing, and then coming back on. We raised $10.5 million. Many women spoke of their hopes and fears. One woman said she’d been waiting for “love to arrive,” she was so sick of all the hate and the fear. And love did arrive, in the form of Kamala Devi. Another woman spoke of her subgroup—“Witches for Harris” I was thrown back in time to the late ‘60s early ‘70s Second Wave Feminism that changed my life when I was young. It was then that I learned about witches, that they were healers and priestesses of the Great Mother; it was then that I learned about the Goddess. It was in those years—1973—that Roe vs. Wade became law, and that I stopped hearing dreadful stories about back-alley abortions. 

Many other fundraising events have raised unheard of amounts of money for Kamala Devi, including “White Dudes for Harris,” “Cat Ladies for Kamala”—a dig at the Republican vice presidential candidate who attacked Democratic women activists as “childless cat ladies,” and “Elders for Kamala” which focused on climate change and how supportive and knowledgeable Kamala Devi is on those essential issues. 

With Kamala, we are reclaiming the Myth of the Goddess who inspired so many of us half a century ago, and whose transformative powers have been forgotten in the agony of the patriarchal backlash we have been suffering.

Goddess Lakshmi

“The Spell is Broken”

So says Governor Tim Walz of Minnesota, who has been chosen as Kamala’s vice-presidential running mate. I find this profound. Walz speaks to the mythical shadow world we’ve been trapped in—a scary fairy tale about a demonic sorcerer, who has had our country in his thrall since 2016. Listen to the berserker chaos man—there is something hypnotic in how he speaks, how he riffs on names, plays with nasty nicknames, conjures terrifying visions of invasion and disaster, puts his followers in a nightmarish trance, proclaims himself the only one who can save them. For the rest of us he is a bully, a boogie man under the bed, the intruder who chases you down dark corridors in frightening dreams. And now, thanks to Kamala Devi, thanks to Tim Walz, he is unveiled as an unhinged old man.

Goddess Durga

Walz is also the one who said, of the berserker and his circle—“those guys are creepy and just weird.” Creepy is spot on. But usually, I’m a fan of weird. I’m drawn to the uncanny and the eerie—portals to the unconscious realms of dream and imagination. However, I get that Walz is naming the shadowy underbelly of our country which has been revealed during this frightening time. He is not hyperbolic about this. Just matter of fact. He doesn’t buy into the terror and the chaos. He says it plainly and directly: “These guys are the anti-freedoms.” “Who is asking to ban birth control?” “Who is asking to raise the price of insulin?” And then he stuns me by returning me to the political values I held as a child and a young adult. He says: “Don’t ever shy away from our progressive values. One person’s Socialism is another person’s Neighborliness.” In such plain yet profound speech he sums it all up. And then challenges us: “How often in 100 days do you get to change the trajectory of the world?” As I write it is just 90 days. By the time you read this it will be fewer. 

Dear friends and fellow survivors of the shock of 2016, this is our moment. It is a great gift. We can’t waste it. Kamala is our Devi, and Tim is our favorite uncle. They have already changed our lives. Please support them in any way that suits you. Donate, Volunteer, Vote! Here are some places to start:

Volunteer: votesaveamerica.com/2024

Donate: kamalaharris.com

Find your polling place: Iwillvote.com

Divine Mother


Tuesday, June 4, 2024

The Sister from Below

is delighted to announce

Your Face in the Fire

is an Amazon Bestseller!

Cover art by Kathleen Russ

This happened because so many of you joined the book launch and
ordered a copy on June 1. A beautiful community effort.
Thank you, thank you!

If you haven’t ordered your copy yet it’s still available on Amazon.


Here’s another poem from the book:


Only the Blind

You have always belonged to the moon
Though sometimes it leads you astray

Past willows across the swinging bridge
To somebody’s grave by the river

Stuck in the cave of your skull
You grope for the disappeared moon

Down where it’s blue so blue
Only Blind Willie Johnson

Can sing your way home
Only Isaac the Blind can see

The banshee has got your bones
She’s beating her drum with your bones

And you’re stuck in the cave of your skull
No willows no swinging bridge

Who will plant you deep in the earth?
Who will water your toes?

When the banshee has got your bones
When she’s beating her drum with your bones

You have always belonged to the moon

Only Isaac the Blind can show you
That glow beyond the bridge

Only Blind Willie Johnson
Can sing your way home


Moon Goddess
Jemma M. Young


Friday, May 17, 2024

The Sister from Below

is delighted to announce the publication of

Your Face in the Fire

Launch Date: June 1, 2024

Help this book become a best seller!! 
Order your copy from Amazon on June 1 

Here is the first poem in the book: (Images added)

Sun Goddess, Jonny Ujiokubas
























Fire is Your Name and Your Maker

Fire is your god’s
eye gleam     the tiger that prowls your dreams 
Fire is your sun     and your rising

Tiger, Franz Marc



















You had to tamp your fire
down hard     back in the day of pointy bras
and girdles     when a spark in the back of a Chevy

could knock you up     Remember
when a fiery tongue could get you
                                                    burnt alive?

Fire in the hearth     now that’s
a woman’s business     embers
from Mother’s fire     offerings 

Peasant Woman by the Fire, 
Vincent van Gogh, Thomas Nugent




















from the tree     kitchen fire
bedroom fire     birth fire fire
from the core of the earth     When cauldron boils

there is no fire that can’t escape     no fire
that will not leap and sass     change shape
be burning snake in summer grasses

The Tiger Lucky Eight, Thomas Nugent













hot breasted home wrecker
funeral pyre         I ask you
how do you keep from burning

Open Fire in Hearth, 
Black Horse Inn, West Sussex




















your love to ashes?
l tell you how
Take a twig from the tree     Whittle a sharp tip

Mix Mother’s fire with yours     Burn
Make ash marks
on white paper     Write yourself down

your leap and your sass     your hot breasted
double edged axe     the tiger that prowls your dreams
                                                            your sun and your rising

(Poem first published in Ginosko )

Sehkmet Goddess of the Sun  
Robbie Bailey


















Tuesday, April 23, 2024

The Sister from Below is delighted to announce the publication of

Your Face in the Fire

Launch Date: June 1, 2024


Watch this blog for more information

* * * *

News from the Muse of the Double-headed Axe*

*The Double-Headed Axe or labrys was sacred as a tool and a weapon. It belonged to the Minoan
Goddess. It is associated with the labyrinth—“house of the double axe.”

Roi Faineant

an online literary publication
has published four of Naomi Ruth Lowinsky’s recent poems.

It is difficult to find literary magazines which will publish long poems, and/or poems that take on the difficult issues of our terrible times. Hats off to the editors of this brave publication. You can find all four poems here:


The Muse of the Double-headed Axe

insists on sharing Her poem, below.

Labyrinth

Pilgrimage in the Shape of a Prayer

I.
You never know    where    you’re going
                                                until you get there
You never know    what    you’ll stumble into
                                                until you’re in it

so said the Labyrinth       one afternoon
                                                in late November
as your feet faltered     round the sudden     twists and turns
                                                 of the double-headed ax
When at last    you emerged    from that pilgrimage
                                            in the shape of a prayer
ruby red and gold trees    flared up    into a glory
                                            and you suddenly remembered    the Dream


II.
The Dream knows you    are a wandering Jew
whose bones ache    with the agony weight
of the world    forever    seeking sanctuary
forever    on a pilgrimage    in the shape of a prayer
you stumble    into    a small    Black Hole    A temple?
A trap?    A desecration of the Holy Land?    Can’t see a thing
but the bony labyrinth    of your ear hears    demonic chanting
bibinetanyahubibinetanyahubibnetanyahu
The One and the Only    Mr Security
The One and the Only    Judge and Jury
rousing your ancestors    to warn you
This double-headed ax blow    to the stomach
this manic metronome    with its hypnotic spell
means to render you    powerless    or is it
a call to witness    how swiftly sanctuary
                                                can turn    treacherous?


Nova Music Festival

Hostages

III.
The Dream knows you    will stumble
    into this damp and gloomy     spider web of tunnels
        a double-headed ax    a labyrinth of passageways
            You walk    with the walkers    who can’t see
                                                    you    seem to be    a spirit    in this underworld
                You come at last    to a well-lit room
                    a group of young people    wounded    bandaged
                        dazed    confused    held prisoner
                            Are you called to witness    the abducted?
                        Are you called to hear    what they remember?
                     Just yesterday    they were ecstatic    trance dancers
                a synchronized flow    of mandalas    within mandalas
            spheres beyond spheres    in the company    of Great Buddha
        on a pilgrimage    in the shape of a prayer    for peace    for joy
    between Jews and Muslims    loving the land they share    all day
all night    in the desert    until suddenly    at sunrise    Nirvana cracks

    gun shots    hand grenades    terrorists are hunting them    running
        running    weeping     shrieking    corpses scattered    everywhere
            and they    the survivors    abducted
                Where was the army?    We served our time
                    We would have saved us    Now we’re stuck
                        in this hell hole    without our phones
                            How can we text    our terrified mothers?
                                What would Buddha say?


Destruction in Gaza

Eye and Child

IV.
The Dream transports you stumbling    into a temple    or is it a mosque by the sea?    The Dream
shows you    the spirit of a girl who reveals    I am the “Unknown Trauma Child” of Gaza
Did anyone survive under the rubble that terrible night   when the bomb crashed into our home
like a double-headed ax?    All I could hear was    shrieking    shrieking    Then nothing a tunnel
of darkness    a sudden bright light    as the ancestors gathered    fragments of my soul
so I can visit with you    in your dream    so you can see me whole    a radiant loving child
of radiant loving people    May they come to me    as ghosts who walk the labyrinth
a pilgrimage    in the shape of a prayer    May you greet them    here in this sanctuary
made sacred by your sorrow    Sit with us    Meet my mother who was tender    Meet my father
who was playful    Meet my older brother    the joker    Meet my younger sister    the dreamer
and that unknown unborn one  in mother’s womb  who never will see   the light  of the new day
This is my family   broken pottery  shattered lineage  cast away flesh and bones  No one is left
to identify   our bodies   No one is left   to grieve   May you be our witness   our weeper
                                                                                     May you gather  and treasure  our souls


Underworld

V.
The Dream knows   you are weary                still stumbling   on difficult terrain
    This pilgrimage  in the shape of a prayer    has not yet revealed the  Temple of your Soul
        The Dream is a labyrinth   in motion            in the shape of a butterfly
            in the shape of a double-headed ax              it cuts through tumult  and you find yourself
                ascending a Rock   given a hand up            by kind people   who know   sorrow
            “This Rock”   they tell you                       “is our Sanctuary   without walls
           where all who love this land                call it Palestine  call it Israel  may gather to pray
        that the Rock will hold us   know us     help us face   the hard truth   of our history
    the hard truth   of our geography           the hard truth   of our kinship   in catastrophe
        We bring prayer rugs   and prayer shawls       We prostrate ourselves   we daven

We’ve come to hear    the Stone speak”

I am the voice    of the land you love
Hear O Israel    Hear O Palestine
I am your Mother
I say    “Enough Already!
Salaam is Sholom    Sholom is Salaam

Make Peace!”

Sacred Rock