I've celebrated August 15 in an inward sort of way for quite a few years now. But I don't know why. I learned about the day from one of my all-time favorite books, Gertrud Mueller Nelson's To Dance with God.
I don't understand and just-plain-can't articulate my relationship with Mary, but I enjoy it. And I suspect it points me to an even broader goddess/Sophia love. I need to read this book next.
Yesterday I spoke with my dad on the phone. He told me about a 24/7 dairy farm he visited in Vermont. Robots milk the cows. I find that depressing and disrespectful to the process of lactation. I have been moving away from cow's milk over the last five months, and see myself continuing in that direction. Never say never, and everything in moderation and all. No need for extremism on this end. Yet it's that subjugation thing at work, even (or especially) at the dairy. The suppression of female energy, the distortion of male energy, the absence of balance.
None of it is new, and it's not getting me down, really. But I am captivated by the exploration, by the old women I meet in my dreams, by the intersections of past and future that are as near as a baby girl's soft skin next to a mother's withered hand.
Knowing I'm never alone on this exciting leg of the journey of life is a great consolation. I'm wondering and noticing things women have wondered and noticed forever. And change still happens, even as the questions persist.
