Kindle Notes & Highlights
‘A single sun shines here and in the land where I was born, though we call it by different names. In the realm of Idea, the great principles behind the forms that we see are the same.’
“I am the flower that blooms on the bough,” said the Maiden. The voice was light, sweet with promise, as familiar to me as my own, even though I was certain I had never heard it before. To hear it was like listening to the song of my soul, and I knew that this was the Goddess indeed. “I am the crescent that crowns the sky. I am the sunlight that glitters on the wave and the breeze that bends the new grass. No man has ever possessed Me, and yet I am the end of all desire. Huntress and Holy Wisdom am I, Spirit of Inspiration, and Lady of Flowers. Look into the water and you will see My face
...more
“I am the fruit that swells on the branches. I am the full moon that rules the sky. . . .” This voice was all golden, powerful as the purr of some great cat, honey-sweet, and comforting as newly baked bread. “I am the sun in her splendor, and the warm wind that ripens the grain. I give Myself in My own times and seasons, and bring forth abundance. I am Mistress and Mother, I give birth and I devour. I am the lover and the beloved, and you will one day belong to Me. . . .”
I shivered as the dark draperies that swathed the third figure stirred. “I am the nut that clings to the leafless bough,” came a whisper like the rubbing of bare branches in the winter wind. “I am the waning moon whose sickle harvests the stars. I am the setting sun and the cool wind that heralds the darkness. I am ripe with years and with wisdom; I see all the secrets beyond the Veil. I am Hag and Harvest Queen, Witch and Wisewoman, and you will one day belong to Me. . . .”
“I am the nut that clings to the leafless bough,” came a whisper like the rubbing of bare branches in the winter wind. “I am the waning moon whose sickle harvests the stars. I am the setting sun and the cool wind that heralds the darkness. I am ripe with years and with wisdom; I see all the secrets beyond the Veil. I am Hag and Harvest Queen, Witch and Wisewoman, and you will one day belong to Me. . . .”
“Some dreams are more real than what men call reality,” the Lady said tartly. “The gateways to Faerie are fewer than the Doors of Dream, and yet there are more than most men believe. One has only to know the times and seasons to find the way.”
For a moment then, my inner silence overwhelmed all outside sound. In that hush, I heard, not a voice, but the sound of water flowing from a pool. It sounded like the Blood Spring at Avalon, and it came to me then that all the waters of the world were connected, and where there was water, the power of the Goddess flowed.
I realized then that a woman is never free to bear a child unless she is also free to abort it. A man must know that he is breathing because his mother looked on his face and saw that it was good and chose freely to nourish him. This child, who lived because I had given up so much in order to conceive and bear him, must never be allowed to forget that he owed his life to me.
Nonetheless, as I put him to the breast I took a secret satisfaction in remembering that every woman has within herself this tremendous power to give life . . . or to deny it.
“No, no—my point is that you must learn critical thinking, so that you will be able to judge for yourself whether something is reasonable, rather than accepting blindly what you are told,”
“Learning how to think should be a part of everyone’s education, just as everyone must learn to care for a horse or use numbers.”
“You will be like Sappho among the maidens of Lesbos,” exclaimed Corinthius, “beloved of the gods!” “Perhaps not quite like Sappho,” I replied, smiling, for when we lived in Drepanum I had read some of her poems that my tutor had never shown me.
I had been around Christians long enough by now to know that far from fearing martyrdom, they welcomed it as an easy way to cancel out all sins and win the favor of their gloomy god. The blood of the martyrs, they said, was the nourishment of the Church. Killing them only reinforced their belief in their own importance and made the cult stronger.
‘Know first, the heaven, the earth, the main, The moon’s pale orb, the starry train, Are nourished by a Soul, A Spirit, whose celestial flame Glows in each member of the frame, And stirs the mighty whole.’ ”
“Certainly, it makes more sense to see the Highest Power as female, if one must assign a gender to Deity, for it is the female who gives birth. Even Jesus, whom the Christians say was the son of God, or even God himself, had to be born from Maria before he could take human form.”
“You will pass through a long, dark tunnel, as once you were forced from the darkness of the womb. This is the journey of your birth in the spirit, and at the end of it you will emerge, not into the light of day, but into that radiance that is the true source of the sun. . . .”
It did no good to point out that the Empire had flourished for more than two centuries while tolerating a wide variety of cults and creeds. The bishops who had come to the council were representing the people who had let themselves be slain rather than throw a pinch of incense on a pagan altar fire. I wondered sometimes if they had become so accustomed to persecution that now that they were the Emperor’s favorites they were compelled to attack each other.
