Drawing Down the Moon (38 page)

Women in feminist covens seem to agree with Starrett, and so their rituals differ greatly from those in the “traditional” Craft.

Deborah Bender described the kind of ritual that might take place at a meeting of Ursa Maior. First the women might do a breathing exercise to achieve an interconnectedness within the group, “to make the ‘circle' a present reality instead of an abstraction.” Bender then described one case where the group worked to help one of its members, a woman who was upset and had been threatened with losing her job. The purpose was to replenish the energies of the woman and give her new strength. After all the women breathed and chanted together, a woman began to chant the woman's name, let us say “C”: they chanted, “C strong woman, C strong woman.” Other women joined in, adding new verses created spontaneously: “Like a redwood, strong; like a she-bear, strong; mountain-strong, strong woman.” Bender said, “We spent a good half hour singing and praising C, calling out images of strength and sending her energy through our clasped hands.” The woman in question said she felt much more self-confident, and she kept her job.
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It's important to stress that feminist covens, like most of the Witch covens we have been talking about, are diverse, autonomous, and difficult to generalize about. Since most successful covens are places where personal growth is a major concern and no dogma prevails, they are constantly changing. This situation of great flux has been noted by a member of academics who have judged, rightly, that the Neo-Pagan scene is even more fluid than the general situation pertaining to “cults.” Since they believe in the great value of stability, they judge such fluidity to be a weakness. Only if a religion becomes institutionalized, is it judged “successful.” But Neo-Pagans and Witches often regard fluidity as a strength, since the more institutionalized groups are less able to put primary emphasis on the personal growth of their members.

Occasionally, a feminist Witch coven will come together because of the energy and leadership of one particularly dynamic woman. Such was the case with the Susan B. Anthony Coven and Z Budapest. But most feminist covens do not have, and in some cases do not want, a strong, leading priestess. These covens have certain advantages and certain weaknesses. Many feminists have had strong experiences in collective decision-making beginning in their consciousness-raising groups and continuing in other feminist organizations. It is therefore not surprising that most women who come to the Craft from the feminist movement favor a nonhierarchical, informal structure. In general, they are suspicious of rules and formalized rituals—at least at first. Bender stated it this way:

Feminist Witches seem to prefer the loose types of decision-making that have evolved in other radical feminist groups. This includes rotation of responsibility and leadership. In Ursa Maior, for example, leadership was based on initiative and knowledge rather than degree or length of experience. And any commitments, any bonds or oaths, were purely voluntary.

Bender gave me a series of characteristics that seem to distinguish many feminist covens:

In 1976 Ursa Maior was a small, intensive, active group of women who worked well together. Their experimentation and spontaneity apparently led to great creativity and growth. This has not been the case with all such groups. In some covens, where the group has not solidified or where the group is too large, the distrust of structure and formal ritual can lead to none at all, and an unwillingness to take responsibility for making things happen. As one woman wrote to me, “These covens and groves seem to melt like spring snow.” In contrast, the mixed covens that exist in more “traditionalist” Wicca have a large body of formal ritual and practice, rules, chants, psychic exercises, and oral teachings, but often lack the energy and spontaneity of some of the feminist groups.

In the winter of 1977 the members of Ursa Maior dissolved their coven by mutual consent. Two of the members wanted to explore more deeply the “traditional” Craft. The others wanted to continue to involve themselves in feminist spirituality and holistic healing. In 1978 one former member wrote to me:

Meanwhile Deborah Bender and another feminist Witch began the
Women's Coven Newsletter,
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“to provide some kind of accessible institution outside of the small groups that appear and disappear,” as well as “to help build a large body of formal ritual and practice, rules, chants, psychic exercises and oral teachings, that seem to be one of the strengths of the mixed covens.”

On a Friday night in Boston, April 23, 1976, some one thousand women sat down on the benches and pews of the old Arlington Street Church. The benches filled up and the women spilled over onto the floor and into the aisles, and became silent as the flute music of Kay Gardner created a sense of peace. The lights were dimmed and Morgan McFarland, Dianic High Priestess, came to the front, wearing a long white robe, accompanied by four members of her women's coven, the same coven that we have seen mentioned in
The New Broom.
The occasion was a ritual: “Declaring and Affirming Our Birth,” to mark the beginning of a three-day women's spirituality conference, with the unusual name “Through the Looking Glass: A Gynergenetic Experience.” The conference was attended by over thirteen hundred women, and besides an address by feminist theologian Mary Daly, the conference was most noteworthy for the large number of Witch priestesses who attended from as far away as Texas and California.

This relationship between feminist spirituality and the Craft is complex. Perhaps, if we had to choose one instant to catch all the qualities, problems, strains, and enormous potentialities in that uneasy relationship, this ritual would be such a prism. There are Morgan and the women in the coven standing in the church, looking a bit apart, somewhat too elegantly dressed, too stereotypically “feminine.” I remembered how much more at ease they were working a ritual in a Dallas living room, where none of us wore anything except a string of beads. But here they are, standing in front of the altar of a church, holding candles, while a thousand women watch and wait. Morgan steps out in front and speaks.

“In the infinite moment before all Time began, the Goddess arose from Chaos and gave birth to Herself . . . before anything else had been born . . . not even Herself. And when She had separated the Skies from the Waters and had danced upon them, the Goddess in Her ecstasy created everything that is. Her movements made the wind, and the Element Air was born and did breathe.”

A candle is lit in the East. Morgan speaks.

“And the Goddess named Herself: Arianrhod—Cardea—Astarte. And sparks were struck from Her dancing feet so that She shone forth as the Sun, and the stars were caught in Her hair, and comets raced about Her, and Element Fire was born.”

A candle is lit in the South.

“And the Goddess named Herself: Sunna—Vesta—Pele. About her feet swirled the waters in tidal wave and river and streaming tide, and Element Water did flow.”

A candle is lit in the West.

“And She named Herself: Binah—Mari Morgaine—Lakshmi. And She sought to rest Her feet from their dance, and She brought forth the Earth so that the shores were Her footstool, the fertile lands Her womb, the mountains Her full breasts, and Her streaming hair the growing things.”

A candle is lit in the North.

“And the Goddess named Herself: Cerridwen—Demeter—the Corn Mother. She saw that which was and is and will be, born of Her sacred dance and cosmic delight and infinite joy. She laughed: and the Goddess created Woman in her own image . . . to be the Priestess of the Great Mother. The Goddess spoke to Her daughters, saying, ‘I am the Moon to light your path and to speak to your rhythms. I am the Sun who gives you warmth in which to stretch and grow. I am the Wind to blow at your call and the sparkling Air that offers joy. I give to all my priestesses three aspects that are Mine: I am Artemis, the Maiden of the Animals, the Virgin of the Hunt. I am Isis, the Great Mother. I am Ngame, the Ancient One who winds the shroud. And I shall be called a million names. Call unto me, daughters, and know that I am Nemesis.'”

Later, the cauldron is filled with fire and the chanting begins, at first very softly: “The Goddess is alive, magic is afoot, the Goddess is alive, magic is afoot.” Then it becomes louder and louder until it turns into shouts and cries and primeval sounds. Morgan speaks for the last time.

“We are Virgins, Mothers, Old Ones—All. We offer our created energy: to the Spirit of Women Past, to the Spirit of Women yet to come, to womanspirit present and growing. Behold, we move forward together.”

At the end of the ritual the women in the church begin to dance and chant, their voices rise and rise and rise until they shake the roof.

Later, a few women said they didn't want priestesses standing apart on pedestals and altars; they did not want to see energy sent “upward”; they wanted it aimed “at the oppressor.” Despite this, acknowledging this, the uneasy, explosive, potentially powerful alliance between feminism and the Craft was apparent for all to feel, during this conference where many women said they felt, for the first time, that a new “women's culture” was a reality.

 

Morgan and her priestesses stand at the crossroads. This Dianic coven was perhaps the most feminist of the “traditional” groups. But that night in Boston many women found it too formalized and structured. These women were determined to set their own terms and start from scratch.

Alison Harlow also stands at the crossroads. She told me that her greatest mission is to be a bridge between feminism and the Craft. Still, she has doubts. She wondered out loud what, if anything, feminists want or need from the “traditional” Craft. She talked candidly about the intolerance she has felt from some separatists toward her bisexuality and the personal enjoyment she gets from associating with Neo-Pagan men. We both wondered if separatism was the ultimate answer for these women, or whether it was but a necessary time of healing and renewal. We both felt that one thing the Craft did have to offer feminists, outside of its knowledge of ritual and lore, was the polytheistic perspective and its view toward diversity and flexibility. And I expressed to her my own feeling that some of the feminist groups had a startling lack of curiosity about other forms of working outside their own.

What can the two Crafts give each other? Perhaps the most important thing that the feminist Craft can give the “mainstream” Craft is the understanding that Witchcraft is a religion and a practice rooted firmly in rebellion. Feminists see the Craft as a people's survival tool; as a source of affirmative power and strength; as a way of living and working creatively with vital energies; as an empirical
folk wisdom,
but one that is
never far removed
from daily life and from human needs, human problems and “mundane” concerns. “Paganism,” Z once told me, while remembering her youth in Hungary, “fits the common people like bread.” Many feminist Witches see the Craft as a kind of village woman's wisdom, the knowledge of village midwives and healers. This notion of folk wisdom is often denied by more “traditional” groups, who still tend at times to be impressed by ideas of royalty and by titles such as “Lady soand-so,” and by “bloodlines” and lineages. These groups also fall victim to the illusion that they can exist and practice comfortably within our society by simply pulling the blinds and dancing in secret in darkened rooms. “Mainstream” Craft members often split their lives in two; they have two sets of friends, two sets of interests. This kind of split life leads easily to the notion that something called “politics” is separate from something called “spiritual life.”