Books
Speaking of Mother Earth (Paperback)
by John H. McMurphy with Jeff Davis, Hariet Kofalk and Amy Martin
$10
Table of Contents
Part One: Our Mother Earth Heritage
Part Two: Mother Earth Mythologies
Part Three: Inspired by Mother Earth
Part Four: Mother Earth Rituals
Part Five: Mother Earth Resources
Excerpts of Amy Martin writings in Speaking of Mother Earth
Moonstruck
The magic of the Moon goes beyond lunar rhythms, for it is timeless. We have been ensnared by the goddess of the Moon in all her forms: Hathor, Selene, Artemis, Inanna. She holds her unfailing mirror to our souls for us to contemplate the beauty, and the terror, of the reflection that we see. Standing over the forever sleeping, forever young, poet Endymion, she mourns his soul's unlived dreams, urging us to always yearn for more, to look to our reflection in the sky and ask why.
Second Star to the Right
Adrift in my youth, disillusioned by the apparent senselessness of adult society, my father intuitively gave me an astronomy book. Whatever the state of life on Earth, science was full of miracles and the universe was full of wonder. There were pages of photographs from huge telescopes, ethereal images of celestial lights. That second star in the sword of Orion, a constellation I'd watched for so many years, was more than a little diamond that twinkled in the sky. It was revealed to be nebulae, in shades of amethyst and brilliant white, spinning forth into the infinite the stuff of life. I wish I may, I wish I might, go to that Neverland some night. "The second star to the right, shines with a light so rare. And when its Neverland you need, it's like believing you're there."
Vigil of Weather
The ritual spans all seasons. At the coming of a storm we stand on our porches, enraptured by the sky. The weather still beckons to some instinct deep inside us, even in the urban confines of Dallas, Texas. When darkness descends in daytime and the winds begin to squall, we are enticed out of our dens to pay homage to forces over which we have no control, forces from which we can only hide. Secure under the eaves of our houses, never straying too far from the door, we watch the closest thing there is to the gods of Olympus in celestial debate.
Finally the Fall
We eagerly pull sweaters smelling of cedar from drawers, grab our jackets from the back of the closet, and pull on thick socks. Fall beckons long afternoon drives in the country to watch tractors cutting vast fields of hay, farmers plowing harvest stubble to fallow until the spring. Breaking from our cars, the smell of bonfires in the air, we walk through the woods amidst falling leaves and tarry for the sunset. Golden rays cast their fading warmth on lakes rimmed with the red and yellow oaks of autumn, adorned with bobbing flotillas of migrating fowl.
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