Tolerance

The plurality of religious traditions and cultures has come to characterize every part of the world today. But what is pluralism? Here are four points to begin our thinking:

  • First, pluralism is not diversity alone, but the energetic engagement with diversity. Diversity can and has meant the creation of religious ghettoes with little traffic between or among them. Today, religious diversity is a given, but pluralism is not a given; it is an achievement. Mere diversity without real encounter and relationship will yield increasing tensions in our societies.
  • Second, pluralism is not just tolerance, but the active seeking of understanding across lines of difference. Tolerance is a necessary public virtue, but it does not require Christians and Muslims, Hindus, Jews, and ardent secularists to know anything about one another. Tolerance is too thin a foundation for a world of religious difference and proximity. It does nothing to remove our ignorance of one another, and leaves in place the stereotype, the half-truth, the fears that underlie old patterns of division and violence. In the world in which we live today, our ignorance of one another will be increasingly costly.
  • Third, pluralism is not relativism, but the encounter of commitments. The new paradigm of pluralism does not require us to leave our identities and our commitments behind, for pluralism is the encounter of commitments. It means holding our deepest differences, even our religious differences, not in isolation, but in relationship to one another.
  • Fourth, pluralism is based on dialogue. The language of pluralism is that of dialogue and encounter, give and take, criticism and self-criticism. Dialogue means both speaking and listening, and that process reveals both common understandings and real differences. Dialogue does not mean everyone at the “table” will agree with one another. Pluralism involves the commitment to being at the table — with one’s commitments.

(from the Harvard Pluralism Project, taken from the web in 2009…it looks like the essay may have been updated since as the four points have been expanded to five)

From “The Invocation to Kali” by May Sarton

There are times when
I think only of killing
The voracious animal
who is my perpetual shame,

The violent one
Whose raging demands
Break down peace and shelter
Like a peacock’s scream.

There are times when
I think only of how to do away
With this brute power
That cannot be tamed.

I am the cage where poetry
Paces and roars. The beast
Is the god. How murder the god?
How live with the terrible god?

The Kingdom of Kali

Anguish is always there, lurking at night,
Wakes us like a scourge, the creeping sweat
As rage is remembered, self-inflicted blight.
What is it in us we have not mastered yet?

What Hell have we made of the subtle weaving
Of nerve with brain, that all centers tear?
We live in a dark complex of rage and grieving.
The machine grates, grates, whatever we are.

The kingdom of Kali is within us deep.
The built-in destroyer, the savage goddess,
Wakes in the dark and takes away our sleep.
She moves through the blood to poison gentleness.

She keeps us from being what we long to be;
Tenderness withers under her iron laws.
We may hold her like a lunatic, but it is she
Held down, who bloodies with her claws.

How then to set her free or come to terms
With the volcano itself, the fierce power
Erupting injuries, shrieking alarms?
Kali among her skulls must have her hour.

It is time for the invocation, to atone
For what we fear most and have not dared to face:
Kali, the destroyer, cannot be overthrown;
We must stay, open-eyed, in the terrible place.

Every creation is born out of the dark.
Every birth is bloody. Something gets torn.
Kali is there to do her sovereign work
Or else the living child will be stillborn.

She cannot be cast out (she is here for good)
Nor battled to the end. Who wins that war?
She cannot be forgotten, jailed, or killed.
Heaven must still be balanced against her.

Out of destruction she comes to wrest
The juice from the cactus its harsh spine,
And until she, the destroyer, has been blest,
There will be no child, no flower, and no wine.

It is time for the invocation:

Kali, be with us.
Violence, destruction, receive our homage.
Help us to bring darkness into the light,
To lift out the pain, the anger,
Where it can be seen for what it is—
The balance-wheel for our vulnerable, aching love.
Put the wild hunger where it belongs,
Within the act of creation,
Crude power that forges a balance
Between hate and love.

Help us to be the always hopeful
Gardeners of the spirit
Who know that without darkness
Nothing comes to birth
As without light
Nothing flowers.

Bear the roots in mind,
You, the dark one, Kali,
Awesome power.

“A Wild Woman is not a Girlfriend, She is a Relationship with Nature” by Alison Nappi

But can you love me in the deep? In the dark? In the thick of it?

Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle and slip through the crack in the floorboard?

Can you love me when I’m bigger than you, when my presence blazes like the sun does, when it hurts to look directly at me?

Can you love me then too?

Can you love me under the starry sky, shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?

Can you love me when I am howling and furry, standing on my haunches, my lower lip stained with the blood of my last kill?

When I call down the lightening, when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet, can you still love me then?

What happens when I freeze the land, and cause the dirt to harden over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?

Will you trust that Spring will return?

Will you still believe me when I tell you I will become a raging river, and spill myself upon your dreams and call them to the surface of your life?

Can you trust me, even though you cannot tame me?

Can you love me, even though I am all that you fear and admire?

Will you fear my shifting shape?

Does it frighten you, when my eyes flash like your camera does?

Do you fear they will capture your soul?

Are you afraid to step into me?

Surely you have seen the jungles: meat-eating plants and flowers armed with poisonous darts.

Do not worry. They belong to me, and I have invited you here.

Stay to the path revealed in the moonlight and arrive safely to the hut of Baby Yaga: the wild old wise one… she will not lead you astray if you are pure of heart.

You cannot be with the wild one if you fear the rumbling of the ground, the roar of a cascading river, the startling clap of thunder in the sky.

If you want to be safe, go back to your tiny room: the night sky is not for you.

If you want to be torn apart: come in. Be broken open and devoured. Be set ablaze in my fire.

I will not leave you as you have come: well dressed, in finely threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.

I will leave you naked and biting. Leave you clawing at the sheets. Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.

So, come to me, and be healed in the unbearable lightness and darkness of all that you are.

There is nothing in you that can scare me. Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.

A wild woman is not a girlfriend. She is a relationship with nature. She is the source of all your primal desires, and she is the wild whipping wind that uproots the poisonous corn stalks on your neatly tilled farm.

She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.

She will see to it that you shall rise again.

She is the lover that restores you to your own wild nature.

(Originally published at WriteWithSpirit.com.)

Ave Maria, by Niki Whiting

the-madonna-of-the-lilies-1899-204x300

Hail Mary! Mary, woman situated in geography, history, lineage, time, blood. Hail Theotokos! Goddess larger than one woman alone, eternal paradox, universal entity. Full of the glory of apotheosis, full of the grace of other gods’ blessings, full of Life Force. The gods are with you, even the monotheist “God” cannot deny you, for he is with you too.

Blessed are you among women. Blessed are you among the poor, the downtrodden, the Othered. Blessed are you among women who birth, who are situated in time and flesh. Blessed are you among women who grieve, whose hearts stretch across time and space, reaching out to the Mother of All. And blessed is the fruit of your womb, which is salvation, for all things from you are holy. From you all things emerge and unto you all things return.

Holy Mary, Theotokos, God-Bearer, fully realized human who bears divinity with in her, please pray for us who call to you. Pray us who struggle and suffer and call your name. Pray for us who mess up and hurt one another. Pray us who hurt. Please pray for us, for me, now and at the moment of death. Amen.

Originally published at Niki Whiting’s blog, A Witch’s Ashram.

Hestia

thalassa:

Unfortunately this site hasn’t been updated in a while, so I don’t know if the blogger is still active…but for any followers of the Greek gods, looking for contemporary prayers, I recommed taking a look!

…and if you don’t follow the Greek gods, the author also has a blog for the Gaulish and Heathen gods as well.

Happy reading!

Originally posted on Underflow:

Gracious Hestia, gentle-hearted one, soul of the home,
I call to you. In times of old, dear goddess,
all first offerings were yours, so great was your might,
so great your import, so great the need for your blessing.
Noble daughter of Kronos and broad-bosomed Rhea,
honored sister of thundering Zeus, eternal maid
who sits at the center, all honor I offer you.
I thank you for the solid walls I dwell within,
I thank you for the warm and welcoming hearth,
I thank you for the bread I break with friends and kin.
Hestia, constant tender of Olympos’ bright flame,
friend of those who keep and kindle their own hearthfire,
I thank you for making my home a sanctuary
of comfort and peace, of security and strength.

View original

Sigdrifa’s Prayer

Hail Day, hail sons of Day;

Hail Night and her daughters;

look upon us with favor,

and grant us victory.

Hail to the gods!  Hail to the goddesses!

Hail the all-giving Earth!

Bless us with wisdom, with an honorable tongue,

And healing hands, for the rest of our days.

There are a number of translations of Sigdrifa’s Prayer (here’s one, and another), but this is the version I learned a long time ago, and have written in my book of many things…  I’m pretty sure its not an official translation (I’ve never found it written as such), probably a telephone game version of an original translation.  But its the one I know, and its the one whose words resonate with me the most.

 

 

“Lament of the Old Woman”

feb-f2

by Michael Kaluta

 

(Adapted by John Halstead from “Lament of the Old Woman of Beare”, 10th c. CE, Ireland)

Ebb tide has come to me as the sea.
The sea crawls from the shore, leaving weeds like a corpse’s hair.
The sea slouches away from me, leaving me with salt on my lips.

Time was the sea brought kings as slaves to me. 
Now the sea brings only images of the drifting dead.
Women love only riches now. 
But when we lived, we loved men, 
young men whose horses galloped in the open plain, 
beating lighting from the ground.  

I loved such men.
I feasted by the light of many bright candles.  
Now I pray in the darkness of the oratory.
I drank my fill of wine and mead with kings, 
their eyes lingering on my hair.  

Now I drink the bitter dregs with shriveled hags and my hair is gray.
My skin, where glorious kings once pressed their lips, is now tight and thin.
My arms that once practiced the pleasant craft, 
caressing the bodies of comely youths, are now bony and thin.
Then I wore garments of every hue and a cloak of green.  
Now the veil that covers my hair is black and mean.

The wine thrilled me to my fingertips.  
And I stretched at the side of him who would take me briefly for his bride.  
The storms have long since reached the stone chair of the kings.  
Their tombs are old and crumbling.
The maidens rejoice when May Day comes to them.  

But I have spent the summer of my youth.  
I hold no sweet converse.  
No gelded rams are killed for my wedding feast.

What the flood-tide brings, the ebb-tide takes away.
I have known the flood and I have known the ebb.
The sun does not touch me.  
In me I feel the cold.  
But still a seed burns there.
The time is at hand that shall renew me.