Love Conquers All

February 14, 2011 By saraa

My coven’s more or less unofficial motto (we never went through a formal process of adopting it, on the other hand nobody saw fit to argue with me about it) is Omnia vincit amor.  I am a devotee of Ishtar, and its her kind of turn of phrase. Love…and battles.

Courtesy aeneastudio via Flickr CC license

My inner eleven-year-old recalls that the phrase “Love conquers all” is the parting syrupy chorus in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, a story that like so many things was much darker in the original version.  According to Disney, it means that if your young romantic love for a handsome prince is deep and pure enough, and his for you, all obstacles to your imminent wedding and subsequent domestic bliss will be overcome, even if some wicked fairy has to turn into a dragon and die first.  If that’s what the phrase brings to mind, I can’t blame you; Disney made its imprint on our collective psyche, and so we all think that Cinderella’s fairy godmother helped her out instead of the ghost of her dead mother.

However, that’s not what I mean by it at all.

There are two forces in the world that will break your life in two and turn it upside down, that will raze through your soul like a whirlwind, and which visit us all…male, female, young, old, rich, poor, lucky and misfortunate, no matter who we are, sooner or later, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. We cannot control them, no matter what illusions we may have about the matter, and to try is to invite madness.  One we rightly fear, even though sometimes its ministrations bring peace and release from pain; the other we long for, though as many tears are shed in its wake as the other.  Recognizing that, some try to turn that second one away…which inevitably only makes matters worse.  They are both deeply necessary; together they are the engine which drives the whole of human existence, and perhaps life altogether.

One of them is Death, represented in Sumerian and Babylonian mythology as Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld; the eldest of the two.  The other is her smiling, charming but no less dangerous sister, Love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.  Omnia vincit amor.

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Brighid Poetry Festival: The woman of seven stars goes hunting

February 1, 2011 By saraa

The 6th Annual Brighid Poetry Festival is an internet tradition to honor Brighid, Goddess of Smithcraft and Poetry.

It is that time of year again, when bloggers around the world post a favorite poem in honor of Brigid, the Irish goddess and patron saint of smithcraft, poetry, and healing. Brigid’s feast day is February 1st, so between now and then is the perfect time to publish a poem to celebrate.

Here at Pantheon we decided to join in:

The woman of seven stars goes hunting
by Sara Amis; originally published in Jabberwocky 3 by Prime Books in the US and in Datura: An Anthology of Esoteric Poesis by Scarlet Imprint in the UK.

Do you regret turning your ear to the dark,
you who were born the morning star?
Do you regret it, peacock woman?
Did you forget yourself in your descent?
Did the gold rub off your skin?
Did you consume your warrior’s heart?

Queen of heaven they called you, the woman of largest heart
Your heavy scented hair grows dark
and curling like vines across your skin
We look up at the falling star
Burning even in descent
And say yes, that is a woman.

All lights may be extinguished, even yours, star woman.
You surrounded emptiness with your heart,
and listening, began your descent
to the no return, the dusty dark.
You came down like a visiting star
Like a royal barge, a queen, perfume on your skin

I know you felt it on your naked skin
The disdain of that envious woman
For you, the morning and evening star.
Your pride, your arrogance, your willful heart
Like hers, the woman whose home is the dark
This is where you come to in your descent

You struggled to rise, in rage from your descent,
attacked her, and she removed your skin
Hung your corpse above her gate in the deep dark
All lights go out here, even yours, sky woman
This is what happens when your heart
eats dust and emptiness. You forget you were ever a star.

Two companions come to guide you—only flies, not a star;
Small and wily enough to follow your descent
without notice, wise enough to weep and turn the heart
of your dust gathering sister and beg from her your skin.
Let the water of life turn you back into a woman.
Let your woman’s feet bring you up from the dark.

A heart can be shaped and burning like a star,
It can open up the dark and plunge into descent
As I am a woman, this is my return, my holy skin.

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