“To diminish the worth of women, men had to diminish the worth of the moon. They had to drive a wedge between human beings and the trees and the beasts and the waters, because trees and beasts and waters are as loyal to the moon as to the sun. They had to drive a wedge between thought and feeling...At first they used Apollo as the wedge, and the abstract logic of Apollo made a mighty wedge, indeed, but Apollo the artist maintained a love for women, not the open, unrestrained lust that Pan has, but a controlled longing that undermined the patriarchal ambition. When Christ came along, Christ, who slept with no female...Christ, who played no musical instrument, recited no poetry, and never kicked up his heels by moonlight, this Christ was the perfect wedge. Christianity is merely a system for turning priestesses into handmaidens, queens into concubines, and goddesses into muses.”
-Tom Robbins. Jitterbug Perfume.
Today was the first day of the 40 Days of Venus Sadhana course and, serendipitously, the new moon. So, I drew a bath and filled it with milk and honey epsom salts, and scattered the remaining white rose petals (less two, for the two loves intertwined in marriage) on its surface. I ate pomegranate arils (minus 8, for 7 years and one to grow on) with fingers that still smelled and slightly tasted of the jasmine incense a peacock feather danced through earlier. I had a prayer for us that I murmured into the night and the candlelight. It is not unusual for me to keep my requests secret, whispered as if into a friend's ear. They are my requests, after all, and no one else's business. Else, I've found, someone may meddle in that business, more's the pity.
I trust me and my heart and the fistfuls of worship my hands hold until they can touch again.
-Tom Robbins. Jitterbug Perfume.
Today was the first day of the 40 Days of Venus Sadhana course and, serendipitously, the new moon. So, I drew a bath and filled it with milk and honey epsom salts, and scattered the remaining white rose petals (less two, for the two loves intertwined in marriage) on its surface. I ate pomegranate arils (minus 8, for 7 years and one to grow on) with fingers that still smelled and slightly tasted of the jasmine incense a peacock feather danced through earlier. I had a prayer for us that I murmured into the night and the candlelight. It is not unusual for me to keep my requests secret, whispered as if into a friend's ear. They are my requests, after all, and no one else's business. Else, I've found, someone may meddle in that business, more's the pity.
I trust me and my heart and the fistfuls of worship my hands hold until they can touch again.
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