An Ode to Figs

Those of you who know me well might want to skip this post altogether, because I'm about to wax rhapsodic about my favorite fruit and one of my favorite foods: the fig.

For years now, I've been eating dried figs every day, usually on their own, but sometimes baked into French tarts (with fig pastry cream and paired with grapefruit wedges on top); sliced and placed on top of bread spread with mascarpone cheese and garnished with fresh basil leaves; or (perhaps my favorite) stuffed with walnuts and baked in vin santo, honey and some orange zest.

The real treat, of course, is the unparalleled fresh fig - proof that despite the madness in our world, the pleasures of this Good Green Earth can make us remember that life is full of deep joy.

"Why now?" you might be asking with impatience. "Why does he blather on about his obsession on this particular day? "

Mostly, because my hubby sent me a link to a story on NPR about the fresh fig.

Also, because one of my favorite vendors at the farmer's market told me that she would have figs this coming Sunday. I plan to be there before the 9 a.m. opening bell so I can sweep them up by the bucketful.

For someone with Italian roots and someone who is a deeply sensual person, this fruit is an orgiastic culmination of what life has to offer.

So, as a spell of indulgence and pleasure, I challenge all of you to go out and buy fresh or dried figs and eat them daily, perhaps chanting some mantra to sensual delights or allowing the flavor, downright naughty texture and juiciness to be the prayer itself.

A Trip to Siena

The Catholics understandably get a bad rap for a lot of destructive behavior over the years, but there's one thing I have to hand to the Mother Church: the preservation of some form of Goddess worship in a patriarchal world.

This was so obvious at Siena's famed cathedral, Il Duomo. Started in the 1300s and worked on for 500 years, this large shrine to the Virgin Mother was breathtaking and the site of some profoundly spiritual moments for me.

The floors of the cathedral are all done with stone inlay that depicts different biblical events, but also some serious pagain imagery. Included in this are the seven Sibyllae (the Sibyls), prophetesses from all over the ancient world. They're present here, because according to legend, they heralded the birth of Christ (or at least a figure of great love who would bring much change to the world). Interestingly, the Sibyl of Cumana, outside of Naples, gave one of these prophecies to the ancient Roman poet Virgil (composer of the Aeniad, the Ecologues and the Georgics), who was also initiated into the cult of the great Mother Goddess, Cybele.

These images still resonate with power that I could feel travelling up from the stones and into my body, and, of course, they are works of incredible beauty.

Scattered throughout the Duomo are other amazing pieces, including this triple goddess image holding a serpent. I stood with mouth agape at this piece for quite a while, stunned by the brazenness of this pagan image in this "Christian" church.

After some intense experiences with the Goddess and being dizzy from the incredible energy of the place, I was happy to wander the streets of Siena, purposefully avoiding the cermaics store (how on Earth would I get that huge serving bowl home) but not even thinking of avoiding the gelaterie in town.

It was truly a divine experience to eat gelato in the Piazza del Campo under a clear, stunningly blue sky. I'm pictured here with my gelato buddies and workshop friends. (I got two scoops of gelato - one was hazlenut and the other was panna cotta - if I had time, I would have gone back for another until I was sick with the heavenly delight!)



The same day we went to two other sites, collectively called San Galgano. The first was a ruined and unfinished monastery from the Middle Ages, and while here, we played ancient Italian songs to the Black Madonna and danced one of the healing dances among the still-standing walls.

Then we headed up a hill to a smaller chapel where Saint Galgano, one of the Knights Templar, returned from the Crusades and swore off war by thrusting his sword into a stone. The sword in the stone (one of many throughout Europe) was still there, in the center of the chapel honoring the Black Madonna, and I finally realized what this was all about. I saw it as an incredible spell-working for peace - turning a weapon of death into a kind of sacred marriage, phallic symbol in the womb of the mother - a testament to keeping the ways of love as opposed to violence.

I could feel the power of this magickal act still resonating in the earth below the chapel, and the energy flowed into the countryside surrounding it. So incredible!

This was also the place where a small shop sold lots of wonderful goods, and I swept up jars and jars of local honeys - honeys from gira sole (sunflowers - the Italian word comes from the verb for "to turn" and "the sun", therefore, turning toward the sun), lemon, acacia, rosemary and corbezzolo (a type of Mediterranean tree, the Latin name is Arbutus unedo - a picture is below). I also picked up some bee pollen from the region to use in some upcoming ritual work, keeping me connected to the experiences I had in Tuscany, the things I learned there about myself, and the commitment I have going forward to continue the work of the Black Madonna and the deep power of the Tarantella.

Food Is Love

The food prepared by the lovely Rosanna Passione at the villa was some of the best I've ever eaten - and I'm no lightweight in terms of food appreciation. Call it something in my blood and then something honed by the company I keep, but I deeply believe in the power of food to heal and transport us to living lives full of joy.

Breakfast was always very simple but delightful - plain yogurt, muesli, fresh peaches, pears, figs, and plums, wonderful honeys, plus tea and coffee. Not to mention the homemade breads that were present at every meal - unsalted, interestingly enough, something not uncommon in Tuscany.

Lunch and dinner were more elaborate affiars. We ate both meals outdoors, and the food coming out of the kitchen was downright magickal. Rosanna always cooked with produce that was coming straight from the villa's organic gardens, and at this time of year, that meant lots of zucchini, eggplant, various kinds of peppers, and, of course, some of the most delectable pomodori (tomatoes) I've ever had in my life. (Above is a photo of some of the gardens' offerings, notably on the right, fennel. A wonderful plant, "finocchio" is also negative slang for gay men. Some of the reasoning behind it is that fennel seeds were tossed on the pyres of gay men burned for their various proclivities as a way of masking the smell. I suspect there's something deeper and older there, too.)

Frittate were par for the course, and they were very thick, with roasted eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes tucked into the fluffy eggs. There were pastas to be sure, served with a lovely pesto and capers or simple tomato sauces. Risotto made an appearance, and then there was a barley grain likely cooked in the manner of risotto (it had a wonderfully creamy and chewey texture leading me to think that she cooked it in the traditional risotto style).

Not surprisingly in Italy food is not just fuel - it's part of the day's ritual and integral to this particular workshop's healing experience. Every meal was presented with beauty and forethought, and the native Italians in the group always led a round of "Buon Appetito" or "Salute" with wine glasses raised. I realized that as an American I'm really only accustomed to toasting on "special occasions," yet here, every meal was an expression of deep joy and vitality. So why not wish everyone good health and pleasure each time we sat down together?

Most days, I jotted down notes or took photos, and since my return, I've been experimenting with some of the food I enjoyed in Tuscany. This past Sunday I came home from the farmer's market laden with bags of eggplant, zucchini, wonderful tomatoes and peppers, and I've been slow roasting tomatoes with thyme and olive oil, making pappa al pomodoro (a traditional Tuscan bread stew that's out of this world!), and filling my fridge with various experiments.

One of my greatest joys when I cook is to call the power of my grandmothers into my hands. I honor them and ask for their guidance while I whip up meals of love, and I feel so grateful to have their blood in my veins and their suggestions for simmering time and spicing. These are the traditions that connect us to our loved ones, the Great Mother Gaia, the shining Sun, and the vital powers of our life.

Buon appetito!



Speaking of the need to change our lives to ones of deep joy, check out Donald Engstrom-Reese's blog about the insane and disturbing goings-on in the Twin Cities during the RNC - a call to action and to living our lives differently to be sure.

That's Amore

Ahhhh, Tuscany. Honestly, what's not to love?

On Friday, I returned from my adventures in Italy, where I spent a week with the incredible Alessandra Belloni, a world-renowned percussion artist, Italian folklorist and incredible spiritual healer. She's so inspiring, and her week-long workshop on the sacred dances, songs and rhythms of Southern Italy was easily one of the most joyful and fulfilling weeks of my life.

The beauty of the land itself is just remarkable, and the comments I'd heard about the light of Tuscany were all true. The sun casts its remarkable golden glow over the landscape, and as it nears the horizon in the evening, the color deepens into amber, setting olive groves and vineyards alight in ways that were breathtaking.

The villa where we stayed for the week, La Chiara di Prumiano, was an hour outside of Florence. (Can I just say America needs to take a page from Italy's public transit system? Not only was the hour-long bus ride only about $5, but it was on what was essentially a charter bus - big seats, slightly tinted windows, curtains on the windows and space below the bus to store your bags.)

Surrounded by olive groves, vineyards, and gardens full of fennel, zucchini, pumpkins (a wonderful green-skinned variety), eggplant and, of course, tomatoes, the land was like something out of a fairytale.

Every day, I ate fresh figs straight from the trees behind the villa, and for those who know me, this was a huge treat. I am downright addicted to figs, eating dried ones nearly every day (as well as stuffing them with walnuts and baking them in the Italian dessert wine Vin Santo and honey), but pulling them off the tree and slowly eating them was one of the great sensual pleasures of my week.

In the mornings, I would walk amongs the olive trees, marvel at the sky, sing a traditional Southern Italian song to the sun (Jesce Sole) and feel the pulse of the Great Earth Mother Cybele below my feet and in the very air I breathed.



One of the greatest impressions I had from the week was the sense of deep joy with which we lived every day. There were times when many of us dove into some of our greatest griefs through ritual and dance, and yet, that was never the end point. We continued to dance, sing, drum and release our pains, disappointments and fears, until we pulsed with the vibrancy of life that was ecstatic, full of laughter and tears of what I can only call bliss. Then with arms around one another, we made our way back up to an outdoor dining spot amid roses, grape arbors and herbs, and ate, drank wine and laughed loud and long.

More to come on the the food (my goddess, the food!), a trip to Siena and, of course, some of my spiritual experiences along the way.



(Above is a picture of me, standing on a balcony above the villa's main entrance - click on it for a closer view. I'm dressed in the traditional colors of the tarantata, red and white. More on what a tarantata is another day. Also above are some of the figs - there were two varieties, green and a purplish-brown - both wonderful! Olive branches against a blue, Tuscan sky. Also some sunflowers in the gardens of the villa.)

Between Fire and Water

The Hawaiian islands are obviously marked with fire and water, and perhaps nowhere more actively so than on the Big Island.

When we went to Maui last year, I deepened my connection to a Mysterious One I call the Ocean Mother, and during this trip, she and I took it further.

Every morning, I would get up right around dawn and head out to the beach, walking in the surf as the sun came up, often singing a Southern Italian traditional devotional song to the sun. Blossoms scented the air and, often, I would see turtles either in the water or waking up from their nighttime slumber.

Large, black bees zoomed from flower to flower, birds chriped merrily away and crabs peeked out from their lava rock perches. I would then greet the Ocean Mother and bathe in her waters, making sure to get wet from head to toe. I came upon a great lava outcropping in the water where I would dance to the music of the waves while the they washed over my feet, rooted to the remnants of Pele's flowing eruptions.

Our spot at the Waikoloa Marriott was fairly calm compared to many of the glorious beaches elsewhere on the island. The Pololu Valley is one of many black sand beaches, but this one had flecks of gold in it. We hiked down a fairly precipitous, rocky path to the beach below where I did some spirit mapping spells for Queer Mystery with rocks and drawing in the sand, marveling at how the gold shone on the beach. (This is a photo of us on the way down to the site.)

Another favorite spot was on the southern side of the island, where the lava hadn't yet been pounded down to grains of sand. Here, the rock was irridescent with indigo, purples and reds reflecting in the sunlight. The waters shifted color, too, from deep blue to a brilliant turquoise as the waves pulled back and then crashed into the hardened lava, sending spray everywhere.

This magickal interplay between rock and water gave me the impression that Pele's lands are hotspots (no pun intended) of creation and opportunity. There's some major earth magick going on here that I don't quite understand yet, but hopefully, with repeated visits I'll get more of an idea. All I can verablize at this point is that major creation magick is taking place that is a model (and reminder?) of a balanced way of living for humans and other elements of our world. I've never so clearly felt just a part of the living fabric of the environment as I did in Hawai'i, partly because in the face of a volcano and crashing waves, it's hard to forget that we're just as delicate a part of the ecosystem as any other creature.

I also think that Pele (and the Ocean Mother, too) is all about non-attachment. People on the islands can build up their lives and villages, but with an eruption, a lava flow, an earthquake, a tsunami (which has twice destroyed the town of Hilo), all is gone and things must start anew. When tromping over rocky lava cliffs, I saw Ohi'a Lehua plants staking their claim on a seemingly inhospitable environment, demonstrating the rich opportunity provided by Pele. Constant newness and fecundity abounds.


This is the smoke pouring out of the Halema'uma'u Crater, which is part of the larger active caldera of Kilauea, Pele's longtime home. On the rim of Kilauea, people still leave floral offerings to the goddess of the islands, who is everywhere in art, ranger talks and even the names of dishes at restaurants.




To the left is a photo of the vent at Kilauea Iki, one of the side craters of the main caldera. I can't describe how large this vent is, but the part in the small mountain that looks like it's caved in is actually a large vent that spewed enormous amounts of lava in the mid-20th century - so much so that it created (from what I recall from the pamphlet) a 400-foot deep lake of lava in this sub-crater. Amazing! We did a hike across this crater, which had cracks in the lava from which steam poured, and olivine crystals (the beginnings of peridot) glittered from the black surface despite a mist and rain the pounded down on us the entire time.

Visiting the home of Pele and hanging out with the Ocean Mother were some of the highlight experiences of my life so far. I am so grateful to both of these amazing Mysterious Ones for sharing their magick with me.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Tuscany for a week-long workshop on the sacred dances, songs and goddess worship of Southern Italy with Alessanda Belloni. Here's a link to the villa I'm staying at.

I hope everyone has a great week and I'll blog about my Italian adventures when I return.

May our every gesture,
May our every movement,
May our every step,
May our every action,
May our every word,
May our every thought,
Be ones of
Peace
Beauty
Love
and Compassion.

A Journey Through Time

While visiting Hawai'i, we went to two sites which feature extensive examples of petroglyhps (and I would suggest spirit mapping).

The first site we visited was at Puako, north of the Kona airport and located on the grounds of the Mauna Lani resort. During a walk through a beautiful forest of gnarled kiawe trees, we passed small examples of lone petroglyhps, including the one pictured above. I was struck by the expression of the figure and what seems to be the yonic symbology between her/his(?) legs.

This next image was also one of the ones along the route to the site's main viewing platform. I got the impression that this was one of "the ancient Mysterious Ones" of Hawai'i - this is what I heard from the spirit of the place and Pele. When viewing other petroglyhps on the island and doing some reading upon returning home in "Spirit of Place: Petroglyhps of Hawi'i" by Georgia Leee and Edward Stasack, I realized there are a number of representations of composite beings - those who appear as combinations of human and animal. I (and researchers) take these to mean that they are representations of shamans, priestesses, Mysterious Ones, spirits, etc. - something related to mystery.

Of course, the turtle is prominent among the petroglyhps, and it's no wonder. These lovely creatures are everywhere around the island, and in the petroglyhps, there are examples of the composite images I mention above - a melding of turtle and human. (Interestingly, while dancing one morning on the beach, I met what I realized was a Queer Mysterious One who was part turtle and part human. Most lovely...) However, Lee and Stasack note that turtle petroglyhps aren't a common element in Hawaiian rock art - still, I saw them with some regularity - perhaps it was just the spots I visited.

At the end of the path is a very large slab of lava with carvings all over it. Taking pictures of this area was not only impossible but seemed rude somehow, given the power emanating from the spot. I experienced lots of visions going on in this place and incredible ancestral power bumps here. I got the impression that there was a gret deal of spirit mapping happening on this spot - the life of a people writ in the remnants of an ancient eruption. Lee and Stasack suggest that many of the figures are dancing here, and many are strongly female, with carved vulvas being very clear.

The second site we visited was Pu'uoloa in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park, and it features over 20,000 petroglyphs. Looking at these images, I couldn't help but remember the spirit mapping work I've done with Donald Engstrom-Reese and how we've often discussed tha this type of expression can be found where-ever humans dwell. For me, this site reflected some of the maps I've done with various groups - people overlapping and adding to each other's images.

Most prominent at this site are small concave shapes dug into the rock. It is believed that at least some of these were used (and are still used) by Hawaiians to place their babies' umbilical cords in.

This image is one that I was particularly struck by. There really seems to be a story here of some sort.

I felt great ancestral power in this place, and as with much of the island (and on Maui last year), I had the impression from the spirit peoples of this land that there is a longing for Queer Priestesses of all stripes to return to their traditional roles. We have various vital functions that are going unfulfilled at this time, and of all times, the planet could really use it now. (See an interview with Malidoma Some for one idea about all this.)

That's it for today. More about the Ocean Mother and the glorious beaches of Hawai'i coming soon!

I Love Hawai'i

Philip and I returned from the Big Island, Hawai'i, late on Thursday, and the trip was just as glorious as I hoped.

It's a magnificent spot, full of stunning beauty, incredible power and some incredible experiences that I don't think I'll ever forget.

After leaving the Blade, I found that escaping into a completely alternate reality was just what I needed. We arrived at the Kona airport, which is on the side of the island that is very desert-like, covered over by a large lava flow (I believe from Mauna Kea, or perhaps Mauna Loa). The land is completely blackened by lava, and along the road, people have used coral to create messages for passers-by.

All the words were of the friendly, loving variety - never once was there a crass "fuck you" to an ex-lover. Just symbols, including sea turtles, names and hearts. It was a sweet welcome to the island.

We stayed at the glamorous Waikoloa Marriott for the first five days, and the hotel butted up against the glorious, warm and loving Pacific. Every morning, I went out and walked along the beach as the sun rose, bathing myself in the waters of the ocean, dancing to the music of the waves on a lava outcropping and inhaling the deep scent of flowers blooming next to the waters. Most amazing.


At the hotel were groups of Green Sea Turtles who beached themselves at night and headed out in the dawn hours back to their feeding haunts. What gracious and beautiful creatures! We saw them in a few places, including swimming in the water. The island is also home to the endangered Hawksbill Turtle.

Tomorrow, I'll write about our trips to petroglyph spots on the island - so amazing!



(The first photo of me was taken near the Holei Sea Arch on the lava fields near Kilauea, home of the goddess Pele. We took photos quietly of the turtles who seemed oblivous to our presence, exhausted from a long day's swim. The final picture is one of the petroglyphs on the Waikoloa side of the island. More to come!)