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The Sacred Feminine is the ancient voice who sings the song of creation…that brings the divine spark into being—a quote taken from the Oneness of Life website. This description, in my perception, imbues each word in the 1941 novella, The Snow Goose written by Paul Gallico, a classic for generations.

Readers care deeply about the characters: the snow goose, the hunchback artist Philip, and skittish Fritha. Readers care about the setting: the abandoned lighthouse—home to Philip—off the coast of Essex, England, the teeming wildfowl from other continents, the restless sea of blues, greens and grays, and winter’s sting. Readers also care about the leitmotif of brokenness, exacerbated by the onset of World War II.

Within this breathing world of extremes, sparked by glimpses of the Sacred, readers can make peace with their own life passage; others, as well. Despite irregular joinings and awkward beginnings, everything fits together, and newness emerges to continue the song of creation.

In its utter simplicity, The Snow Goose speaks to our Covid-enmeshed world, a restless sea filled with uncertainty, change, even death. Denial, rationalization, and idealization have no place here, as also in the novella—Both Philip and Fritha face daunting experiences that brilliance their true spirits.

Certainly no one expected such upheavals in the fabric of our accustomed lives, but they are here. Acceptance pries open hearts, lets go of the inevitable, and deepens trust in the Sacred Feminine…the ancient voice who sings the song of creation…that brings the divine spark into being: within you and me.

Together, we help facilitate freshness in barren places and breathe deeply, despite winter’s hoarfrost. For this, total reliance upon the Sacred Feminine is critical.

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

So concluded Amanda Gorman as she bowed to the audience’s tumultuous response gathered in front of the Capitol, the afternoon of President Biden’s inauguration. Everyone was deeply glad to be American, devoid of divisions, if only for those moments in the sun.

Yet, Something had caught fire and would not be extinguished: powerful, resplendent, omnipresent, it released a common vision tinged with joy. It felt like a spearhead for change, perhaps similar to the one relished by our Founding Fathers.

Perhaps it was the new dawn blooms, the light—energy critical for growth; with it, comes responsibility, discipline, and honesty, hard-won virtues that enervate sloth’s hold upon our unconscious and jettison us from this never-ending shade inherent within our centuries-old history.

However our near future evolves, we can return to this vision of light with its empowerment for change and remember. Many, perhaps, will discover their God, within, and be amazed.

Again, my kitchen window stopped me from rinsing a cup in the sink. Upon the wintered grass of my backyard, sat a hawk, almost motionless, its mandibles slowly moving. On closer look, its yellow claws pinioned a junior squirrel, its chest split apart. Piercing eyes seemed to scan the perimeter as if another bird of prey might be around and spoil its feeding. Then, its beak ripped more of the squirrel’s entrails and continued chewing—unhurriedly, methodically.

After moments, revulsion pulled me from the window to grieve the plight of the squirrel and to accept that animals’ survival depended upon such feedings, but I was still rattled while holding onto my stool. Never had I seen killing so close.  

Later, I returned to the kitchen window and looked out. No sign of the hawk, probably a broadwing with its wide speckled chest of feathers. No sign of the junior squirrel either, only the grey fur of its pelt marking the place of the slaughter. Other squirrels looked on at a distance.  

Despite the ordinariness of this feeding, it raised my sensitivity toward violence: its universality, its swath of destruction, and its ripping apart communities and infrastructures. Yet, within the welter of such mayhem, rebuilding occurs or sites abandoned—at least until last Wednesday’s desecration of the U. S. Capitol and the despoliation of our moral fiber.

We’ve yet to see how this tragedy will be addressed, especially since we belong to the human species, not that of raptors or birds of prey. Certainly more law and order will not work: its verbiage, meaningless with loopholes for more diversion.

If only our leaders knew how to kneel…

Available on Amazon

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