Mother Mary

My life has always been profoundly intertwined with Mother Mary.  I first embodied Her in a nativity play at age 3 in a Montessori school nuns’ production: a tiny, curly-haired, blue-eyed, blonde Goddess in a long blue sheet and a tinfoil and cardboard halo. 

Only in retrospect did I realize that my feet were always planted solidly upon the Priestess Path: roots growing around a stone, encircling tendrils that had, over time, grown strong and substantial; clasped tightly, a mother with her firstborn, an oyster with a single grain of sand, now polishing and honing, polishing and honing, polishing and honing.

Strongly influenced by maternal-line immigrant Roman Catholic grandparents—Lithuanian and Polish—I remember sitting between them at Saturday night services: the scent of frankincense weighty and thick in the heady myrrh of the church, the sight of the towering white candles set in their golden holders, wax flowing, flames glowing through the billowing smoke, the priests in ornate, lavishly embroidered robes, colors and patterns changing with the seasons, the altar boys in austere, fresh white, my eyes wide, a yearning and almost painful feeling in my heart, a prickling behind my eyes, a fluttering deep down in my belly, my toes curled up tightly in my fancy little-girl shoes.  I didn’t know exactly what it was, but knew I wanted it.

At age 6, my parents divorced acrimoniously and my mother moved me and my sister to a rural, woodsy, insulated New England village.  Here, I would spend seven years in Catholic school, personifying Mary almost every year in the nativity, participating annually in the May Procession, the Coronation of Mary, the May Queen.  Our entire school would line up by grade, then parade up the street of the small town to approach Her shrine, She white and unadorned, us with our high-pitched children’s voices ardently and exuberantly chirping out the hymn:

O Mary we crown Thee with blossoms today!

Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May.

Purple and white lilacs from our home gardens were the dominant color and fragrance—the very essence—of this time of year.  Without cease, we sang as we laid the flowers at Her feet:  piling them up, decorating Her brow, Her wrists, Her neck, Her ankles.  When we finished She was entirely bedecked—a swollen feast of sweet pollen for bees and butterflies, a then-misunderstood Pagan festival of renewal and yearly re-initiation for me. 

Here also was my annual bearing of witness to women in their full power.  Only much, much later did I realize that these were my first Goddess rituals, presided over by these nuns—Priestesses, really—their lives dedicated to Mary-as-Goddess, living together as Sisters in devotion and spirit.  A thread of my Priestess magick is eternally tied to these holy women.

Guided by the fervent fascination in my young heart, my beloved grandmother as example, and these annual Christian celebrations, I first dedicated myself to the Goddess in a secret and shadowy fresh-out-of-a-book solitary midnight ritual on Imbolc at the age of 13, my mother and stepdad sleeping in their room across the orange shag-carpeted hallway.  Around this same age I discovered tarot, and my daily magick included carrying my deck to school along with its “little white book,” seeking some sort of meaning in my own life through the cards my friends drew.

I would not personify Mary again until my senior year in college.  Living abroad in a 9^th century Dutch kasteel in a hamlet along the Maas River, the sleazy art teacher likened me to the Virgin Mary and, in the same sentence, Ingres’ Grande Odalisque.  Here I learned how to shapeshift into Mary as Sacred Whore,  Holy Concubine, Ancient Priestess, a place where some of my power-within is rooted to this day.

Many years later, I was asked to dress as Her for the neighborhood Las Posada, an annual reenactment of Mary and Joseph seeking shelter in Bethlehem.  I had been a public Priestess for over 12 years and was thoroughly proficient at drawing down the Goddess during ritual.  I’m sure I shocked and frightened these kind Christian neighbors with my depiction as I was never again asked to participate in the event.  It’s been more than six years since I last embodied Her.

Looking back on all of these experiences it seems natural that I would be a steadfast devotee of Mother Mary, yet I do not consider myself anything but a Priestess of She of Infinite Names, with particular relationships with Hekate, Lakshmi, and Morgan le Fay, first amongst other guises. I have intentionally created a life where I swim in magick and ritual 24/7, where, when people ask me, “What do you do?” I get to answer—most wickedly, gleefully, proudly, and sometimes still with a boundless wonder, “I’m a full-time Priestess.” 

I feel passionately about helping you find your own unique Path and magick, too.  Let me bear witness to your unique story, to hold space for your own truth and self-empowerment, to help you to hone your particular skills.  The portal is open!  Join our vibrant community by signing up for our mailing list at www.MagickandEmpowerment.com.