Tuccia and the Basket

Tuccia showing the sieve with water.
Art: Giovanni Batista Benaschi

One of the most popular and enduring goddesses in Ancient Rome was Vesta, goddess of the hearth, and it was – and in so many houses still is – the cozy hearth fire which is regarded as the central focus of family life. Vesta’s popularity endured into early Christian times, and even today her name survives (although rather commercially!) as a brand name on boxes of matches.

The temple in Rome bearing the name of the goddess was served only by those dedicated women who were chaste of body and pure of spirit: the Vestal Virgins, and it is the story of one of them which has become legend. In the 3rd century B.C. the Vestal Virgin Tuccia found herself accused of being less than the pure one which her services in the temple of the goddess demanded of her.

From one deceitful mouth to another the false and ugly rumours about Tuccia quickly spread, and the poor young woman saw herself being threatened with expulsion, and separated from the temple – and from the goddess – to which she had chosen to dedicate her life. What must she do against these cruel and baseless claims? How must she show that she was as fully worthy to serve the goddess as she ever was?

Rather than protest her innocence with words of denial Tuccia chose to keep her silence. In so many situations actions can speak louder than any words, and Tuccia’s action in her own situation was to pick up a woven wicker basket. The basket was used as a sieve, and its base was a loose open weave with many holes. She carried the sieve down to the banks of the Tiber and, silently asking a blessing from her patron goddess, dipped the sieve into the flowing waters.

The sieve held. With the wicker basket full to the brim Tuccia carefully and dutifully walked back to the temple to offer the water as a libation to the goddess. Not a drop of the Tiber’s water was spilled, and all who saw her actions were silent and astonished. They knew that only the most pure of heart, only one who was the most deserving of Vesta’s blessings, could perform such a modest miracle. And it was this that was the clear conclusion of all those who witnessed Tuccia’s feat.

How many of us have at some time suffered through injustice? How many have, like Tuccia, been forced to show that they are not guilty of the accusations against them? Sometimes words of protest are not enough, but what then? We might not manage Tuccia’s small miracle, but to remain pure of heart, to be true to ourselves even in the storm, can also be enough. That… and perhaps also to remember that small miracles can, and do, sometimes happen.

Isis

Who, upon their entry to the world,

can look up and know

that their mother is so beautiful?

Who in the light of day

can look up and see

their mother's arching form

fill all of heaven's mystery?

Who, when the great Disk voyages

in its night barque below the world,

can gaze at their mother's darkness

and see how it has filled with endless stars

a lapis heaven-cloth unfurled?

I, who wonder at the beauty of my Mother

also tread the ground that is my Father:

every valley, every dune and every stone

is part of Him, who wed the heavens

and gave me life, but not for me alone.

Mother Sky and Father Earth:

your daughter greets you, and gives thanks

to you who gave her and her husband birth.

I would be worshipped!

I would be glimpsed by mortal eyes

I would be seen for who I truly am:

daughter of earth and heaven's starry skies

a goddess, god-begotten,

and not just this alone:

wife to my husband,

sister to my brother,

giver of new life,

immaculate mother,

trembling young bride,

wise and venerated crone:

I am all these

and many another.

Woven symmetries of form

beget their own reflected love

the hawk's wing flutter of the Soul

greets the incandescent Spirit dove

Heaven and Earth, in brief conjoining fire

emit the spark that captures life within

as hawk and dove release the gods' desire

and new worlds from an old world order can begin.

The Veiled Goddess

In the west of the Nile Delta in the times of the Pharaohs was a sacred centre called Sais. In the heart of the centre stood a temple, and in the courtyard of this temple stood a statue of the goddess. Engraved upon the statue’s plinth was this mysterious description: “I am all that has been, all that is and all that will be, and no mortal has raised my veil.”

The Greek writer Plutarch, who tells us of this inscription, further tells us that the statue was that of Isis, although the centre is now known to have been dedicated to a more ancient goddess known as Neith. The goddess Neith had associations with weaving and the loom, and this powerful creator goddess was said to have used her loom to weave the world into existence. The power of Neith was therefore not so much that she could create, but that she could create without the need of a god. Neith was complete unto herself.

It was Neith who gave birth to the life-giving sun, Ra the great, who went on to create all things in the world. Ra is so powerful, so glorious, that even now we know that we cannot look directly at his face for too long without risking damage to our eyesight. But what of Neith? The mysterious inscription tells us that no mere human has raised her veil. Is the inscription a warning? Would the sight of the face of this goddess be too overwhelming for us to bear?

This idea is echoed in the Greek myth of Semele, the mortal woman who begged mighty Zeus to reveal his face to her. The god obliged, and Semele was struck dead on the spot. But is this idea what is also intended for Neith? The fact that feminine Neith is a goddess, not a god, seems somehow to alter the picture. In the nineteenth century Neith became a favoured subject for artists who, surrounded by the growing advances of the time in science, interpreted the subject of lifting the veil of Neith as uncovering the secrets of the natural world. In this interpretation, each new discovery of science was lifting the veil of Neith just that little bit farther. It is science that is raising the veil of the goddess! But is it?

Gnosticism, which itself is steeped in such mystic ideas, suggests that there are two different kinds of mysteries: there is the kind of mystery that might not be known to us now, but will in time come to be known. But there is also a more powerful kind of mystery: the kind that by its very nature is mysterious, that always will remain an unknown. The inscription on the statue of Neith clearly tells us that the goddess is eternal, that she is beyond time. She is “all that has been, all that is and all that will be.” These are things that no mortal can know. We cannot know of things which are yet to come. We cannot raise the veil of the future. 

The veil of wise Neith remains lowered. Her features always will be hidden from us, and for that we should be grateful. In refusing to lift her veil the goddess has given us a precious gift. We cannot know what is to come, and so we must learn to live in trust.

Sculpture  Le Souvenir by Marius Jean Antonin Mercié, 1885, detail

Sophia. the Spirit of Wisdom

"I called upon God, and Sophia, the Spirit of Wisdom, came unto me."

"I loved Her, and sought Her out from my youth, 

I desired to make Her my spouse.

I was a lover of Her beauty.

I loved Her above health and beauty, 

and chose to have Her above Light: 

for the Light that cometh from Her never fails."

"Sophia blesses the world with Supreme wisdom, 

and allows all people to realize their unity with God.

"She is the Supreme Spirit: All-knowing and sacred;

One, yet pervading many, subtle, ever-free, 

lucid, clear, and invincible.

"For Wisdom, which is the worker of all things, taught me: 

for in Her is an understanding spirit, holy, one only, manifold, 

subtle, lively, clear, undefiled, plain, not subject to hurt, 

loving the thing that is good, 

penetrating Intelligence which cannot be confounded, 

and always ready to do good.

"She is all-powerful, the witness of all, 

and found in those who are wise, pure-hearted, and humble.

"Sophia moves more easily than motion itself;

By reason of Her purity She permeates all things.

She is like a fine mist rising from the power of God,

The divine radiance streaming from the glory of the Almighty.

Nothing can stain Her immaculate purity.

"Though one, She becomes everything; 

from within herself, by Her own power, makes all things new.

"Age after age She enters into holy souls, 

making them perfect, and leading them back to God.

For God loves none but those 

who have made their home with Sophia.

"She is fairer than the sun, and greater than every constellation.

She is more radiant than the light of day

for day is overcome by night, 

but against Sophia 

no darkness can prevail."

"For God loveth none but him that dwelleth with Wisdom."

*

From: The Wisdom of Solomon

Chapter 7 & 8

King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba by Piero della Francesca

The Quest of Isis

My Beloved, how I have searched for you.

Yesterday, as my Lord Ra kneeled

to touch the horizon,

I stood among the great river’s reeds.

The waters were high,

swelled with the tears I have shed for you.

Now Ra has again returned 

from his voyage through the nether world

and his radiance once more floods the heavens,

filling the gracious body of Nut with light.

And still I continue my search.

Where are you, my Beloved?

Nowhere can I find you,

and all the land feels as empty as my heart.

Were that it never had happened.

Cruel Set, our dark brother, flattered you,

and like all those who flatter, wished to be you.

And so you lowered yourself

into that treacherous box:

the perfectly-fitting box made even more perfect

by your beautiful body that still lies within,

sealed by dark arts and honeyed words.

Where must I search for you,

my beloved husband?

Where do you lie, sweet Osiris?

If you were abandoned to these waters

then it is these swollen waters that I must follow

and my guide will be my own footsteps

for they surely will grow lighter 

When they sense that I grow nearer to you.

I will follow these waters swollen with my tears

and note my lighter tread

northward to the lands of the great delta,

northward to the lands half-glimpsed in visions

northward along the coast to Byblos

and the miraculous tamarisk of my dreams.

*

The episode in the story of Isis which my prose poem relates concerns the events leading to the entrapment of Osiris by Set, the jealous brother of Isis and Osiris, and the subsequent search of Isis for her missing husband. Set desired to take over Osiris’ position as the principal god, and invited him to a feast. At the feast, Set revealed a box which he knew would fit Osiris perfectly, and invited Osiris to lie in it. As soon as Osiris had done so, Set sealed the box shut and threw it into the Nile. The box eventually drifted from the Nile delta into the Mediterranean Sea, finally coming to shore at Byblos on the northeast coast, where it became embedded in a tamarisk tree that formed one of the columns of a palace. Isis, desolate at the loss of Osiris, shed so many tears that it caused the Nile to flood. Her search eventually brought her to Byblos, and the remarkable tree which concealed the box in which her husband had become trapped.

This is the first part of the myth of Isis and her search for Osiris. On one level it of course makes a wonderful story, but the myth speaks powerfully on a deeper level. In the entrapment of Osiris is mirrored the story of the soul, and its entrapment in an incarnated material body. The Spirit (Isis in the myth) longs to be reunited with this body, for as with Isis and her beloved Osiris, Spirit and Soul are never complete without each other.

Painting Nile Reeds by Susan Elizabeth Wolding

Inanna and the Old Woman at the Gate

This is dangerous work, this thing we women do, feeling everything, passing through the gate that way. This is our play with the spirits: we gain what we risk. So it is with Inanna; what she would gain and therefore what she must risk is life itself. Inanna hears Ereshkigal crying, so she has to go. She has to go: after all, isn't Inanna a woman?

We stand on the crack between the worlds in our women's bodies. We look both ways on the horns of life, forward, to see our children through, backward, to remember. That's why our love takes so much courage. Inanna comes through here, asking me the way. I know her symptoms - haven't I seen them a hundred times before? I would have cried for her if she hadn't so many tears for herself already. I am Daughter of the Sun, Inanna says, but I am so wet, I am so wet, I am rain without a river to collect me, I am a flood with no banks to embrace me, and still I cannot stop crying. Old Woman, what can I do with all my water?

"You have the water of life itself in you", I tell her, "It is your responsibility to cry it home." How Inanna cries! She cries as if she has already become the wind: It's not enough, she says, the way I've made myself up, it's not enough; my crown and my kingdom, it's not enough, all my light - not enough, my stores of wealth - not enough, the soldiers who would trade away everything for one night with me - not enough. My sweet companion Ninshubah, who has stepped her path from childhood to womanhood alongside my own - not enough. Even Dumuzi, my king, flesh of my flesh, not enough. My own beloved sons - who are to me as life itself, not enough. There are some kinds of tears that cannot be wiped away. Like prayers, they announce us.

My body! Inanna cries, this hopeless beauty of mine is like the skull of a melon. I don't know who has eaten my insides. This candle of flesh I carry only illuminates everything yellow as bones of sand. I know what Inanna is saying when she asks me how to get through that gate, when she asks me how to dream. Old Woman, Inanna says, teach me how to dream.

"Don't ask me that!" I tell her, "We all know how to dream. Just some of us listen to our dreams. So you just listen to whatever it is stampeding inside you, pulling you over. You just ride it where it takes you. Aren't you yourself the morning and the evening star? There's no woman can't walk through walls, navigating her dreams. There's no woman can't walk through time - don't you have two sons to prove it?"

Can't I give her something more? Inanna wants to know. Something to make it safe? But all I can give her are the words I keep as the witness at the gate: "Ereshkigal is your own sister, and all the scribes in Sumer haven't any more power than what's written in the mother's milk you shared: that's the ink that draws us into this world. And what draws us in draws us out again, both directions."

I didn’t tell her the rest. What good would it do? What must be, must be. But even the underworld rewards the courage of love.

Text: The Descent of Inanna ©Madronna Holden

Photo: model Anna Chipovskaya by Nicolay Biryukov

Kuan Yin's Gentle Rain

“The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.”

This eloquent description of mercy’s virtue, expressed by Shakespeare through his wise young character Portia, could also be said of Kuan Yin. Kuan Yin, the elegant goddess of love, mercy and compassion, is the most popular and widely-worshipped of all Eastern deities. She is sometimes thought of as a bodhisattva: a being who denies herself the opportunity to enter heaven in order to remain in the world and give help and guidance to mortals. 

Kuan Yin embodies loving compassion, and is the support, guide and protector of all living beings. Her name, which means ‘She who sees sounds’, can be interpreted as ‘She who sees the prayers and cries from the hearts of all people as visible images, and gives them her aid and consolation’. When we open our hearts to her, we feel this ‘gentle rain’ of the goddess: a deep and profound understanding of all our sorrows which goes beyond mere language to describe it. We use such terms as ‘compassion’, ‘love’ and ‘mercy’. But these are only words. These qualities well forth from the goddess in an intermingled whole, inseparable from each other. Kuan Yin sees our sufferings, experiences them herself, and bears them all gladly for our sakes. 

Kuan Yin is the creatrix, the friend in need and negotiator with fate. She is the great goddess of life itself, and even goes beyond all boundaries of religion. Statues of her may be found on almost every Taoist holy mountain, and in almost every Buddhist temple. She is honoured in Shinto, and even within Christianity her identity and what she stands for is widely known. She is petitioned by those women who wish to conceive, and her aid is sought in times of illness and adversity. 

Kuan Yin helps us with the relinquishing of our control over situations, allows suppressed emotions to surface, brings tolerance and empathy, and supports us in the development and experiencing of our softer, more feminine side. She is the patroness of women, and children newly come into the world. Kuan Yin brings the strength of mercy, love, forgiveness and healing to our world. Her colours are white and lavender, and her flower is the five-petalled lotus. For our sakes she remains among us, always ready to take our burdens upon herself, and to give her own virtues to us in return.

But even more than this: it is Kuan Yin’s presence which invites us to become as she is, that we ourselves reflect her being in our own behaviour, both towards others and towards ourselves. Her example is a reminder that the goddess is really us, and that transformation is always possible.

The Goddess in the Well

One of my pendants which I like to wear depicts the design which is on the cover of the Chalice Well. This well is in the gardens below Glastonbury Abbey at the foot of Glastonbury Tor in the county of Somerset, England. The well itself was originally believed to have been built by the Druids, although the well cover was designed in 1919 by Frederick Bligh Bond. His design depicts the overlapping twin circles of the Vesica piscis symbol combined with a spear with a sprig of oak leaves and tendrils of intertwining holy thorn. In local folklore the waters of the well are believed to possess powers of healing and even of immortality – a sort of fountain of youth. In 2001 the site became a World Peace Garden. 

Two springs are found at the Well: the White spring, which is associated with masculine energy, and the Red spring, which is seen as containing feminine energy. It is the interweaving of these two energies that is believed to provide the Well waters with their healing properties. These energies are reinforced by the rising masculine tower of the Tor above the gardens, and by the receptive feminine form of the well itself. For these reasons, the Well has been a popular destination for pilgrims and contempory pagans who seek a contact with the divine feminine.

In the design of the Well cover we can perceive symbols of Christianity: the spear which pierced the side of Jesus on the cross, and the holy crown of interwoven thorns. Where the design is so powerfully effective is in its layering of deeper, more ancient worlds lying beneath this Christian symbology: worlds which invite us into the realm of the goddess. The sprig of oak leaves reminds us that the oak was a sacred tree. And its presence reminds us that, wherever we are, wherever we happen to be, we may connect with the goddess in the sacred grove which lies always within each one of us.

Vesica Piscis

The two circles are seen as the meeting of the worlds of spirit and matter. And the overlapping area of the two circles appropriately forms a shape known in Sanskrit as the yoni: the vulva of the goddess (the male organ is known as the lingam). In the imagery of our contempory world we have become used to thinking of the yoni as a passage of penetration by the male. But it is the very form of the Well that invites us to go deeper into these meanings, to see beyond this masculine perception of the female vulva, and to reverse the image from one of penetration to being one of a passage for new life, not just in the physical sense of the vagina being the birth canal, but in the deeper sense that it is also the passage of the soul from the realms of the spirit into the earthly world of its material incarnation. 

It is this deeper awareness of these forms which brings us into the presence of powerful creative forces, for from the yoni flows all life. It is the source of life itself, and a reminder of the journey that every one of us has made to come into the world: that journey from the realms of spirit into our own earthly existence. And it is also this deeper awareness which brings redemption: a releasing of the yoni from its crippling associations with the guilt and shame of Biblical sin, and from the aggression perpetrated against women as victims of rape, both in society and in war zones, for these violations are not about sex, but about masculine denigration, humiliation and conquest.

“I am a child of earth and starry heaven”, the beautiful hymn of the Orphic mystery schools reminds us. When on a clear night we gaze into the depths of the Well, it is not the darkness which is reflected back to us in its waters, but the compassionate goddess who reaches down to us from the stars overhead.

Keeper

Broad and immaculate

I rest here

with my whole body,

my woman's body

moulded from labour pains,

warm primal clay,

a keeper kiln-fired

in the furnace of my existence.

Behind closed eyes

I see them come and go again

the women, the children,

and the lost

those who would nestle

between my breasts,

drown themselves in my flesh,

or shed their tears

in the bowl of my lap.

Men, boys, young gods

small of hip

or rough-hewn as I am

though hewn from granite

all the same.

Where is the one

who is without sorrow?

 This is why I console all those

who seek my consolation.