Prayer to the Dark Madonna

Guest Post by Leni Hester

Hold me in your embrace, as you hold the stars close in your dark skies,
Great Mother of the Void, O Brilliant Darkness!
I call to You, Dark Mother, Eternal Spring of Mercy,
And ask for your benevolence and comfort.
Sacred Black Madonna,
You who are the healing force of the well, of the sacred grove,
who causes sacred trees to weep tears of myrrh, be witness to our wounding
and heal us of illness and shame.
You who hear the cries of the world, Radiant and Compassionate One,
who is our mountain sanctuary against the storms of a troubled world,
I ask for your blessings of peace and liberation,
Shield the vulnerable from violence and greed,
Protect us from harm and malice, you who bear witness to the sorrows of the world.

Beloved Black Madonna,
as you hold all things of the flesh in your loving sight.
Your love is our refuge, always. Blessed Be.

Statement Regarding Police Violence and Racism

We of the Order of the Black Madonna stand in solidarity with other Pagan organizations in publicly denouncing:

• the racist and hyper-militaristic violence of police departments directed against people of color.

• the use of violence by police departments against all non-violent persons engaged in lawful, constitutionally protected acts of protest.

• all policies that encourage police officers to use deadly force prior to discerning the facts of a situation, including policies that enable the reckless hiring of officer candidates that are clearly, demonstrably, and dangerously unqualified to protect and serve their communities.

• all attempts to cover up, manipulate, or erase the facts of cases involving wrong-doing by police officers, including intimidating witnesses, lying, destroying or hiding evidence, and stonewalling or otherwise not cooperating with investigating State and Federal authorities.

We express our solidarity with people of color in our community and in communities across the country. We stand with them in peaceful, non-violent protest of the death and destruction that has been directed at them by a racist, bloody over-structure that has time and again proven itself to be incapable of self-regulation.

We demand the complete overhaul of this system so that all military weapons purporting to be for “crowd control” currently used against non-violent protestors be immediately removed from all police departments nationwide, and all military vehicles and military-grade weapons be removed and destroyed. We also demand that body cameras be issued to every on-duty police officer for the protection of the public against wanton outbursts of violence. Finally, we demand that each and every individual who seeks a career in law enforcement be critically evaluated by psychological and Diversity Education professionals to see of they exhibit signs of unaware racism, racial prejudice, and racial bias.

The Order of the Black Madonna is a devotional society dedicated to Our Lady of Magic, the holy darkness which gives birth to all and receives all. As Our Lady of Czestochowa, Isis, Sophia, Caridad del Cobre, The Magdalene, The Great Dark Rich Mother Earth, The Nameless Cosmic Darkness. She is the silent, numinous, holy sense that is found in moments of un-self-conscious reverence. We stand and hold Her sacred embodiment, and we witness the powerful and courageous emergence of previously marginalized voices of color in our communities. In Her stead, we weep at the innocent blood being shed, and in solidarity with them and with all people of righteous purpose we demand bold, empowering change on all levels of our society. Now.

Blessing for Black Mothers Everywhere

This piece was written by Guest Author Crystal Blanton

From the depths of her soul she mourns

From the fear of her present she cries for the reality that she must hand to her child.

From the shadows of her experiences she gives the lessons of a mother who prepares her child for battle.

She is the carrier of hardship inside of a harsh world, the holder of the painful lessons, and the mother of the endangered.

She is the beginning of all life, and she is the the seeker of true justice.

She is the caregiver for the oppressor, and the trainer for the oppressed.

She is the warrioress stuck in the tower, unable to save her children from death.

She is mother

She is Black mother

She is the forgotten of the bereaved, while she holds the hands of those who dismiss her pain.

She holds the power of the universe, and harnesses the dark shadows of the world.

She is the magic of motherhood, and possesses the thighs often stolen for others' pleasure while discarded for the perception of her ugliness.

She is mother

She is Black mother

She carries the pain of her lineage, and the hope of her visions.

She walks the floors of the bottom, and finds magic when there is nothing else left.

She bears the misfortune of the darkness of society, and passes the culture of survival to the next generation.

She is mother

She is Black mother

As she rises from the bottom once again, take a moment to breathe in her name. Take a moment to acknowledge her need. Breathe out words of strength, encouragement and magic to her. Speak them aloud….. 

Let this energy reverberate into the world… We give it to the Black Madonna as she heals, encourages, protects, and strengthens the Black mothers in our society, and their children, so they can continue the fight to thrive in our communities and to touch a sense of equity in our world. May she be blessed as we all are blessed.

Feast of Our Lady of Montvergine

This piece was contributed by Soeur Marie Verité

Today as we celebrate the igniting of the sacred fires of Candlemas, as we seek within ourselves for that which is our deepest inspiration and hope, in Italy and around the world devotees of the Madonna of Montevergine prepare for a festival honoring Her and Her place in their lives which begins this weekend. They will sing and dance up and down Her holy mountainside which used to be, and perhaps still is, the home of a temple to the great mother goddess Cybele. They will play tambourines and sing songs to Our Lady of Montevergine, and floats will be drawn up by to the monastery where Her icon lives by oxen or horse-drawn carts as they have been at this time of year for hundreds of years.

The Madonna of Montevergine is an icon thought to have been painted by St. Luke as a hodegetria, the “One Who Points the Way” to salvation, and in the painting we see the Madonna with the Christ child on her lap. She is pointing to him to indicate that faith in him is the way to salvation. But the people of Italy and around the world look to Her as well, and have developed a love and reverence for her as their “Madonna Bruna,” their “Mamma Schiavona,” their slave mother, because of Her dark skin. They thought that because She had brown skin instead of white, She must be the protectress of those with equally dark skin, and that’s how She came to be associated with the slave or servant classes. They reach out to Her as their own, who understands hard work and sweat and tears, what it means to be marginalized and persecuted. She is not an icon of the wealthy or the privileged, the “white” class. She belongs to those who know what it’s like to work for a living, to be looked down at, to be pushed aside or thought to be somehow “less than.” 

She is beloved of the sexually marginalized because of the story of Her saving two gay men in the thirteenth century who had been beaten and run out of town, driven up onto the mountainside to die of exposure to the cold and the harsh elements. The sun shone down on them unexpectedly and helped them get to safety and find warmth, which they then celebrated by having sex on the spot. Or so the story goes. The celebration of human sexuality in all its forms is part of what makes Our Lady of Montevergine special, and perhaps what hearkens back to the rites and rituals of Cybele that used to happen on that very mountainside: the sacred union, the refusal to see human sexuality as something sinful or as something that needs to be hidden in dark places. Her festival is sometimes seen as a time to celebrate the joyful rites of spring, which you can imagine many of the monks of the monastery at Montevergine occasionally getting a little wiggy about. They are monks and have chosen the path of sacred celibacy, after all.

But still they come, christians and pagans alike, to do their rites and make their offerings to the Holy Mother in their own holy way. 

Her festival today includes music, dancing, and all forms of celebration: pilgrims sing and dance up and down the mountainside to celebrate Her. But it might also be said that they celebrate the coming spring and the welling up of potential, the coming of new life, which is a miracle after the hard winter. And it’s a miracle for everyone. The Black Madonna, Our Lady of Montevergine, Mamma Schiavona, smiles on us all after all our work, our struggles. She lifts up those who have been left behind, and brings them into the comfort of hope for a new beginning for everyone.

Feast of Our Lady of Candelaria

This piece is contributed by Soeur Marie Courage

All the watching hosts of Heaven know that hard times plague the race of men who, in their suffering, have forgotten to laugh with joy at the gift of Life.

Deep at the bottom of the ocean, in the womb of creation, the Mother's song rises and creates being from nothingness. A conscious choice is made, and the sea births Her holy treasure.

You sway in the waves, cascading toward shore, and when you touch the sand, your fluidity takes form. No longer water, you become wood, and root your love in the land of your arrival. At the sea's edge, you record the song of the Mother upon your feet, to remember your mission, the waves lapping and frothing about you.

EAFM IPNINI FMEAREI

The bottom of the ocean is the place of eternal patience, and so you wait. For men to come. For time to pass. For humanity to welcome love's readiness. You hold your child to you tenderly, for He is hope, and you rock Him in your wisdom, singing a lullaby.

EVPMIRNA ENVPMTI EPNMPIR VRVIVINRN APVI MERI PIVNIAN NTRHN

Darkness descends, and in the warm night you almost feel as if you were back at the bottom of the sea, singing with your sisters. But no. That time is over. You know what you must do. You take a single green candle from the folds of your robe, and ignite it with a whisper. Come.

ETIEPESEPMERI

Here they are just now, two goat herds. Rough men with random thoughts. Humans tend to resist the unfamiliar, and upon seeing you, rather than dropping to their knees in reverence at the soft light of your amazing grace, they react with violence. One raises a stone, the other a knife. They advance with fear and malice.

You move a hand, gently, as if waving. As if writing. As in a caress.

LPVRINENIPEPNEIFANT

The first man's eyes widen in terror. His arm, still clutching the rock, is frozen in an uncomfortable paralysis. The second man is mute with fear. He cannot stop it. He cannot help it. He slices into himself with his knife. Away, like two jackals, they run howling along the beach.

Sometimes it takes a small act of war to wage peace. 

And you wait some more, rocking your babe, who coos at you and looks up at the stars. They encircle your head in a crown of light, as each crashing wave now begins to chant your names. Shh. Shh. Shh. They are secret. They are thousand.

The men come back, crying and bleeding, cowering behind another man who risks nothing but bold eyes. They hang back while he inspects you, the diamonds in your eyes twinkling dangerously as you meet him with steady regard. He orders the men to come and lift you, to carry you back to his village. Aghast, trembling, they approach. One reaches to cautiously grasp you about the waist with the only good arm he has left. Miraculously, his paralyzed arm loosens instantly.

NARMPRLMOTARE

The second man reaches to support you at your back, bleeding on your gown from his knife wound. The blood seeps into your wood, staining it rich. The gash on his arm glistens for a moment, then sears closed and scarless as he yelps with surprise.

NBIMEI ANNEIPERFMIVIFVE

Fully healed and whole once more, NOW THEY BOW WITH REVERENCE. 

Knowing Mother, you teach from the place of profound Mystery. You know the secrets of human-rearing, and you apply them to the children these men have become. Your Yes will only mean something to the race of men if you give them your No first. Otherwise, they will treat your Yes carelessly, dishonoring themselves with casual entitlement. The sea has taught you well.

They enshrine you, call you Mother. Of course.

They venerate you and give you gifts. Silly. You want only their humility. But it makes them feel good to do it, so you turn away nothing.

They give themselves to you in utter trust, weeping, and you devour their surrender. Hungrily.

Another day will come, a day of guns and cannons and crosses. But that is not today. Today you are The Goddess. Today you are The Dark Mother. Today you sparkle black from your Shrine and call me to come. Today is a good day. I'll bring you fishes, gasping in the nets I wove till my own hands bled with roughness. That will be my gift.