Spinning In Circles

So, hands up - who has ever heard of a red tent? I hadn't until about 4 years ago when they were explained to me at a workshop in Glastonbury by the lovely Michelle the priestess who was nurturing us in her Goddess workshops. For those who are wondering, like I did why the colour of your camping gear really matters, a red tent is a gathering for women to talk, listen and share at a particular time in the lunar cycle, either at the new or the full moon. 

Goddess relief bathed in red light at Knole's Orangery

This movement has grown over the last twenty years or so years, increasingly popular since the novel the of the same name The Red Tent was written by Anita Diamant (Well worth a read) which has recently been televised in a mini series.
These red tents have taken their name from the menstruation huts or moon lodges that women gathered in away from the rest of the tribe in early and primitive societies whilst they were bleeding. I have to say that this did stir thoughts of oppression in my head, that the women were somehow considered unclean and shunned by being made to leave the comfort and maybe safety of their homes, but the thought that these red tents became rich sacred spaces where love and wisdom was shared by generations of women weaving a rich tapestry of words and song, passing down women's mysteries through their matriarchal line pervaded and I didn't think much more about it.

People have been mentioning Red Tents to me again lately, then the tv series was advertised whilst I was watching something else, bit of a nudge from Goddess? I remember Michelle telling me that I'd be good at hosting a red tent, me laughing saying what because I'm bossy and talk too much? Then I thought about it and decided yes I am friendly and talk to everyone and yes I am good at organising things...why not? There is one in existence locally, I even joined up several years ago and have never gone, never felt the pull to it, absolutely nothing against the ladies there but instinct was telling me to create my own Goddessy/Witchy/Pagan circle - all that zingy energy flying around at Imbolc that made me do it! So I did it, I tentatively asked ladies in my local Maidstone Pagans group, that by chance or more likely some Godessy design I have ended up running as least as the admin of the group, organising the moots and arranging stuff - told you I was a bossy boots! Anyway I was delighted to be mobbed with interest, women saying 'yes this is exactly what I need', 'I love this idea' and more importantly when and where??

Honour The Goddess Within

Then it nearly all crunched to a halt, my friend Richard who I had been discussing Red Tents and a more recent movement  White Tents for men (- their name taken to represent semen as their source of fertility in case you were wondering, I did!) messaged me to say he'd found some articles to suggest that this was still enforced in some parts of the world, where women were forced to inhabit menstruation huts in absolute squalor whilst they are bleeding even resulting in deaths from cold and infection. Horrified I did some research and sure enough he was right. I knew in my heart of hearts that this would have been the origin, that women would have been shunned for their very womanliness, but this was the stark reality and was still happening now, could I wholeheartedly create and support something that had it's roots here? Was it making a mockery of what we all believed?
As luck - sorry I mean the Goddess would have it, over the next couple of days I was using up a few days annual leave and had planned to take some time to recharge, including doing a deep meditation, listening  to one of my favourite meditation CDs - Sacred Womb Sound Journey. As usual I soon drifted away on a trip deep within to the dreamtime, even himself will agree with this, he'll kill me for telling you but he's done this with me a couple of times and fallen asleep!

Sure enough I came to dribbling a long while later with a snort, a couple of cats in situ taking advantage of my warm stillness. Stretching and trying to catch fragments of my dream journey, I was still unsure quite how I felt about the whole red tent idea but I felt lighter. Washing up later, (of all the unGoddessy activities I could be doing) it hit me with a start that women had created these beautiful circles out of a fused sense of shame, sorrow and oppression, that rather than be bowed or broken they had turned the very abuse they suffered into an opportunity to share wisdom and love, the support that they would have offered during these dark times shouldn't be wasted. It probably helped to set this clear in my mind as we approached the 100 year anniversary of Women getting the vote - we'd hardly not vote because of the treatment the Suffragettes suffered in their cause would we or because Emily Davison lost her life? No, exactly.We could even use our circles to raise awareness, campaign for the end of these abhorrent practices and involve ourselves in projects that support women across the world. 
So with that, I created a page for the interested ladies called it the Moon Circle and now we have a date booked at the next New Moon to gather here at my house...EEEK! To be honest I'm slightly concerned that I'm responsible for holding and facilitating it, what if no one comes? What if everyone comes? But hey ho I can chat a lot and am good at organising things.......

Have a Blessed Week x x

References used in the links:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/life/why-women-are-gathering-in-red-tents-across-the-uk/
http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/world-menstrual-hygiene-day-first-hand-account-nepal-menstrual-huts-death-confinement-a7752951.html
https://www.bustle.com/articles/198540-menstrual-huts-still-exist-and-heres-why-thats-a-problem

The Callieach, Bride and Angus - Og Or How The Battle Of Spring Was Won

Blessed Imbolc  Everyone!

I learned about this Myth at the weekend and today felt inspired to sit and write this today, so look away now if you don't fancy an Epic Saga of a Poem !!

The Callieach, Bride and Angus- Og

Or How The Battle Of Spring Was Won

(Pronouncing Bride as Breed)

The ancient legends of long ago,

Tell of an icy realm of frost and snow.

Ruled by Callieach the Crone,

Hard and unyielding as a stone.

Each spring when warmer days should come,

She hid the land from rays of sun.

The earth stayed bare, no green would show

Frozen rivers barely dared to flow.

She roamed the frozen wastes of land,

Her fearsome staff in withered hand

And stamped out any sign of growth

With muttered ancient, cursing oath.

Crone kidnapped the beautiful Maiden, Bride

And although she tried to beg and plead

She kept her wretched as a slave

And hid her in her dark foul cave.

The maiden asked each day to be set free

The Callieach laughed and smirked with glee

‘When this marked fleece is white as snow

I will consent to let you go’

Each winter’s day she sent her forth

To dark icy waters in the north

Bride scrubbed and scrubbed to no avail

Her hands were frozen-cold and pale.

When Father Winter came a wandering

He stopped and listened to her sing

Enchanted and tender to her plight

He shook the fleece til purest white.

The grateful Maiden ran back home,

To show her captor, the heartless Crone

She picked some snow drops on the way

To celebrate the fateful day.

The Crone went wild, she shrieked with ire,

Whilst Bride possessed of new found fire

Claimed her right and left her prison

Just like a fiery phoenix risen.

Her flight was watched by Crone’s own son

Known as Angus Og - the Ever Young

Who had only ere seen Bride in dreams

Now knew he saw his wondrous Queen

Through greening lands he rode his horse

And found fair Bride amongst the gorse,

Proclaimed his love on bended knee

And kissed her under a Rowan Tree.

The raging Crone was wild and mean,

With horror she saw the land turn green,

Shy violets emerging in darkest hue

Frozen waters flowing blue.

She cast a spell to call forth a gale

Of sleet and snow, of wind and hail.

The storm raged on for three more days

The land a bitter wintry haze.

She knew that if she crushed all new life down,

She still could wear her Wintry Crown

But if Angus married Bride the fair

She’d be banished back to her dark, dank lair

No sign of spring was left to show,

All life had vanished deep below.

At last the Crone thought she had won

She hadn’t counted on her son.

Now Angus Og was calm and wise

Had up his sleeve one last surprise,

He borrowed three days from summers end

And warm winds and sun began to send.

Whilst Crone slept her exhausted sleep of glee

The buds unfurled on every tree,

The grass grew green across the land

Flowers bloomed when touched by Bride’s own hand

So that’s the tale of how spring became

And every year the battle flames

Crone tries to fight with cold and rain

Yet very year she fights in vain

Spring bursts forth, then Summer too

With Sunny days and skies of blue

Until the autumn chill draws near

And we know that Winter will appear.

The Callieach will stir and claim her throne

And take her place as Winter Crone.

Bringing with her darkness, bleak and cold

And so at last, my tale is told.

Have a Blessed Week x x