Finding New Goddesses
You have no doubt noticed that spiritual and religious writing is
almost without exception Highly Serious. The standard-brand monotheistic
holy books, mainstream metaphysics, Eastern wisdom, channeled "wisdom,"
books on philosophy and meditation—hardly a smile in any of it, never a
giggle. "This is Deep Thought," the earnest and learned ones seem to be
telling us. "Our Religion Is Nothing To Laugh At."
Why not? What on earth (or in the various heavens and hells) is so holy
that we can't make fun of it?
That's why I started Finding new goddesses. What are Found goddesses?
They're made-up deities, goddesses who cope with issues not even dreamed
of in ancient Greece or India or the northern lands. Please note that I
did
not invent Found goddesses. Morgan Grey and Julia Penelope coined
the idea in 1988 for their wonderful little book,
Found Goddesses. Their first Found goddess was Asphalta: "Hail,
Asphalta, full of grace:/ Help me find a parking space."
Finding New Goddesses:
Reclaiming Playfulness in Our Spiritual Lives
The Found goddesses are the new ones, the ones we make up to help us deal
with modern life. The ancient and classical goddesses can help us with
love and abundance and revenge, but whom do you ask for a good haircut
or a good used car? To find a decent apartment to rent? What goddess is
responsible for air conditioning? Which goddess do you go shopping with?
The first goddess I found was Caloria, the triple goddess of potluck. I
also Found three Crone goddesses (Auntie Gravity, Hormonia, and Naustalgica)
and twenty-odd computer divinities (goddesses, their consorts, a brother,
and a power animal named Mouse).
My intention in writing
Finding New Goddesses was to bring playfulness to our spiritual lives.
The book is full of parody, puns, awful verse, and some really strange
literary and cinematic allusions. Don't take it too seriously. Just have
a laugh or two.
The Blessed Bees: Good Neighbors
The Blessed Bees are modern Good Neighbors. Like the traditional Other
Ones—Fairies, Brownies, Elves, and the like—called Good Neighbors by those
who (correctly) fear to offend them, the Bees are magical beings. They
respond with honey-sweet blessings large and small when we cry out for
assistance. Invoke them with these words and in your most mellifluous tones:
Twinkle, twinkle, Blessed Bees,
As I ask you grant it, please.
Wisdom, health, abundancies—
As I will’t, so mote it, Bees.
Slightly larger than the honeybees we’re accustomed to, the Blessed Bees
are shining golden insects with crystalline wings. They live in the Golden
Hive at the summit of a glass mountain, and Melissa, Their Devoted Beekeeper
Priestess (who wears sturdy, non-skid shoes), lives nearby to serve Them.
When They fly among us, the Bees carry tiny baskets, and among Their gifts
to us are magical venom, pollen, propolis, beeswax, and royal jelly. Blessed
Venom is used in “sting therapy” to get our attention in times of crisis,
and Blessed Pollen provokes our souls to flower. Both the Blessed Bees
and their relations in the mundane world have been traditionally seen as
the bearers of peace, harmony, propriety, renewal, fertility, industry,
and eloquence, all of which virtues They have since ancient times modeled
for humankind.
In the center of the Golden Hive, surrounded by Her dancing swarm of Wonderful
Worker Bees, lives the Blessed Queen, one sip of whose intoxicating honey
makes the mortal mouth golden with wisdom both eloquent and endless. We’ve
heard the granny tales, of course, and what child has not daydreamed of
being one of those brave young heroes and heras who journeyed beyond the
sun and the moon in order to seek out the Blessed Queen and serve Her for
a year and a day? Some have actually gone to the Blessed Lands, and when
they come back from the Land of Faerie, they’re always great talkers. Some
of them, alas, also write books.
You are no doubt also familiar with the Lesser Magical Hymenoptera, the
Blessed Spelling Bees and the Blessed Quilting Bees. Some would tell us
that the former invented our alphabets. It’s certainly true that the Overlighting
Spirits of Copyediting and Proofreading seem to have dispatched the Spelling
Bees to their liturgists [like me], and we can only hope that Spelling
Bees will also seek out our computer spell checkers and inject them with
Royal Word Jelly. The Quilting Bees, They Who Inspire Craftspersons, possess
innumerable talents that include all facets of interior design, decoration,
and feng shui. Loyal subjects of their queen, Martha Stewart, they create
Good Things and are often found in gatherings with the Blessed Arachnids,
whose weavings, knittings, crochetings, tattings, macramamayings, and embroiderings
bedeck our homes.
It has long been known that the Good Neighbors tend to have a skewed sense
of humor. It is this fact that has inspired the famous New Age adage, Be
careful what you wish for because you may get it. This is good advice indeed.
The Blessed Bees may be our friends, but They also have our highest good
in mind, even when we don’t. If They disapprove of your request, therefore,
They may decide to surprise you. Ask for a million dollars, and you may
find yourself facing opportunities to give a million dollars to people
whose needs are greater than yours. It is a fact, for example, that numerous
petitioners have been forced to watch public television pledge drives until
they ante up.
Some of us feel—correctly—that people on the Red Path (those earnest New
Age Seekers sometimes unflatteringly referred to as Wannabes) should not
have a monopoly on guidance from the animal world. We therefore consider
the Blessed Bees to be Pagan Power Animals. If you decide to call Blessed
Bee Medicine into your life, therefore, you have a number of options. These
include meditating on Blessed Beesyness, shamanic traveling up the Tree
of Life and into the Golden Hive, planting a Bright Bee Garden, building
a Bee Shrine and feeding the Bees, and dreaming under the Honeymoon.
Chi-Chi: Goddess of Feng Shui and Her Evil Twin, Sha-Na-Na
Here She comes, as old as mud and dust and as up-to-date as this week’s
sale at Home Depot—it’s Chi-Chi arriving to cure your house. And right
beside Her is Sha-Na-Na (who also sings doo-wop and plays a baaad-ass saxophone).
They’re the indivisible yin-yang divas of home improvement.
“Well now,” Chi-Chi says, setting down Her shopping bags, which overflow
with crystals, mirrors, bamboo flutes, red strings, purple ribbons, tin
rattles, red envelopes, green plants, fountains, rocks, and whirligigs.
“Well now,” She says, squinting at your front door, “the first thing We
need to do is paint this door red.” And She whips a bucket of red paint
and a wide brush out of one shopping bag. “Sister,” She says, “paint this
door.”
“Yackety-yack,” Sha-Na-Na sings, “don’t talk back!”
“Just so you know,” Chi-Chi says, dodging splatters of red paint and attaching
an eight-sided mirror above the door to reflect pointed energy back to
its source across the street, “just so you know, metal holds water, water
nurtures wood, wood feeds fire, fire makes earth, earth creates metal—”
“—Up on the roo-oof, dih-dah da daa.” Having finished transforming your
door, Sha-Na-Na is now juggling the I Ching coins that sprinkle out of
Her Sister’s pockets. “Under the boardwalk—”
“—and you’ve also got your five-element three-color cures, your five-element
four-color cures, and your five-element five-color cures.” Surveying your
living room, Chi-Chi grabs Her black hat as it slides off the back of Her
head. “And, My dear, you need every cure We can create.”
Sha-Na-Na is now juggling a large bamboo flute and Her saxophone along
with the I Ching coins.
“Oh my, my, my,” Chi-Chi says, “your living room will never do, never
never never.” With lightning speed and unstoppable will, She moves your
sofa to the opposite wall, hangs an eight-sided mirror on the wall facing
your new red door, snags the flute in mid-flight and hangs it in your hallway,
moves six of your plants to a different corner, installs a little splashy
fountain on top of your antique credenza, and redirects your track lights.
Sha-Na-Na, who has pocketed the coins, decides to play Her saxophone.
“My girl, talkin’ ’bout my girl . . .do wah diddy diddy diddy do diddy
dum.” Sounds waft out of your bedroom. “Dook Dook Dook Dook of Earl.”
Chi-Chi shakes Her head. “That girl never could stand still. Just can’t
keep Her quiet.” She takes an enormous eight-sided bagua chart out of one
of Her shopping bags. “Look at this,” She says. “Here’s your career area,
and this way’s your family area, and wealth is there. Don’t worry. We’ll
get you all fixed up.” She goes into your bedroom.
“Oh, NO. Get those nineteen boxes out from under your bed right this minute.
How do you think energy can flow with all that blockage? Sister, come in
here. Help me move this bed to the proper orientation. And take those mirrored
closet doors down. Oh, bad, bad, bad, bad energy. No wonder you don’t sleep
at night,” Chi-Chi says, and you wonder why you never noticed that you
don’t sleep at night. She goes on. “Sister, while You’re at it, knock the
corners off of those ugly bedside tables, and hang these red cords in all
four corners. Hang this nice romantic painting up here and this purple
crystal over there.”
Now that your closet is doorless, Chi-Chi goes through your clothes. “Were
you born in the Year of the Rat? Or the Monkey?” She asks. “No matter.
From now on, you are wearing only green, blue, black, and red clothing
to increase your wealth and fame.” She tosses eighty percent of your clothes
into a large garbage bag. “Well,” She concedes, “on weekends you can wear
red and green to make you better at sports.”
Stepping calmly over the wreckage that was your bedroom and around the
boxes that used to be neatly hidden under your bed, She goes into your
bathroom. “Horror! Close that toilet lid! Change that shower curtain! Fix
that light! Hang this crystal! You need to add dark red, brown, black,
and yellow to preserve your good energy in here.” Sha-Na-Na, singing “Splish,
splash, I was takin’ a bath, dooby-dooby, Sattiday NIGHT,” is rearranging
your linen closet. Her singing (“Bong, pa-pa bong bong, a-danga-danga,
dong dong . . . they call me Speedo”)is almost loud enough to hide the
sounds of tinkling glass as She cures your medicine cabinet.
Chi-Chi is already in your kitchen. “Oh, dear,” She moans, “this is all
wrong. Sister, come here! Help me move the stove. Let’s hang this mirror
behind it so goodness will nourish everyone who comes here. And this girl
needs a window behind her sink. With good-luck bamboo growing in it.” Having
moved your stove, Sha-Na-Na now makes a window behind your sink and installs
a pot of bamboo. Because clutter is a major feng shui no-no, She also alphabetizes
your spices and snack foods, restacks the cans of cat food, cleans out
the cabinet under your sink, and tidies up the inside of your refrigerator.
“Louee, LouEYE, Louee, LouEYE-eye-eye,” Does She ever stop singing? “Dih
dih dih dih dih dih dih doo-waa, but will you love me tomorrrrow. . . all
you gotta do is call . . . you gotta friend, de-do run run run, de-do run
run.” It’s up to you to decide where to put the results of her cleaning
out and tidying up
“What you need in the heart of your home,” Chi-Chi says, “is peace and
quiet. We’ll just hang these nice little bells here. Now you be sure to
move these boxes, and put all that clutter away right now. Sister, pack
up all those knick-knacks.” Chi-Chi looks around your house one more time
and makes two or three minute adjustments. “There,” She says calmingly,
“you’re all cured now. It’s so nice that We could be of service to you.
Ta-ta!”
Daymentia (Day-MEN-sha): Goddess of the Temp Job
It is said that Daymentia has sixty-four hands. She needs that many. It
takes eight to work at the computer with the efficiency expected of temporary
workers: one to hold the mouse, two to type, one to hold program disks,
one to hold application disks, one to hold Windows for Dummies, and two
to load and empty the printer.
In Her remaining fifty-six hands, She holds Her coffee cup, herbal tea
bags, change for the Coke machine, a large bottle of water, Her brown-bag
lunch, a stapler, a staple remover, the telephone receiver, the phone message
pad, a red ball-point pen, a blue ball-point pen, a black ball-point pen,
a #2 pencil, an eraser, a bottle of Liquid Paper, a box of little paperclips,
a box of jumbo paperclips, a box of binder clips, a steno pad, a fax cover
sheet, big Post-Its, little Post-Its, priority tags, transparent tape,
masking tape, duct tape, #10 envelopes, window envelopes, brown catalog
envelopes, a letter opener, a pair of broken scissors, a photo-blue pencil,
a paperback dictionary, a paperback speller, Strunk & White’s Elements
of Style, a twelve-inch C-thru plastic ruler, an eighteen-inch C-thru plastic
ruler, a wooden straightedge, an X-acto knife, a box of Avery labels, a
box of five-cut file folders, a box of Pendaflex folders, a ream of letterhead,
a ream of copier paper, the gizmo that runs the copy machine, Her photo-ID
badge, a Sort-o-Graph, the company phone directory, take-out menus from
eleven neighborhood restaurants, the keys to the desk She’s using, the
watering can for the philodendron on the filing cabinet, the company procedures
manual (Vols. 1-10, in separate three-ring binders), a giant bottle of
aspirins, a ragged bottle with a few Tylenol-threes rattling around in
it, Her car keys, and two pairs of spare pantyhose.
Why do we do it? Simple. We enjoy paying the rent.
If you have any energy left after a day like this, invoke Daymentia with
these words:
Hail, Daymentia, bold and true,
Have I got a job for you.
Either show a way to make me love it,
Or take this job and kindly shove it.
Can you tell
Finding New Goddesses is one of my favorite books? I keep having
fun with the blessed Verbena and Finding new girls. (I also Found
one god.)
BUY THIS BOOK. I have lots of copies, so if you want to read about
Our Lady of Guilt (all mothers) and her daughter Libida Loca or Mimsy
Borogove, the modern muse and want a signed copy of the book, send
me an email.
Get My RSS Feed