The Storytellers Goddess Part 22

Juno Lucina (JEW-no lu-CHEE-nah) Queen of Light (Italy) Introduction Like Freya of northern Europe and Isis of Egypt (see stories), Juno, the supreme Roman G.o.ddess, was far too powerful to be fully subordinated by the patriarchy. Instead, Her glory persisted, and She took dozens of forms for Her wors.h.i.+pers. As Juno Fortuna, She was Mistress of Fate; as Regina, She reigned Queen of Heaven. As Juno Moneta, She gave us the word money and was the Great Adviser and Admonisher. Juno Februa was G.o.ddess of Erotic Love; Juno Populonia was Mother of the People. As Juno Lucina, Queen of Celestial Light, She is related to Her Greek counterpart, Hera, from Whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s streamed the Milky Way.

The name Juno is cognate to the Etruscan Uni, root of the word Universe, and to Yoni, the name for the sacred v.u.l.v.a and Womb of all life. Her lily, or lotus, universal symbol for the Yoni, enabled this Three-in-One Divine Mother to conceive the G.o.d Mars without the aid of Her consort Jupiter, and thus was conferred on Her the t.i.tle of Blessed Virgin, borrowed by Christian storytellers for their Mary.

Every woman embodied a portion of the Great Juno in her "juno" or soul, corresponding to the "genius" in every man. Patriarchal vocabularies dropped the word juno, retaining and elevating the word genius and, lexicographic ally speaking, depriving women of their souls. Her sacred month was June, in which She oversaw marriages and family matters. June is believed to this day to be the luckiest month for weddings.

I have used olives, peac.o.c.k feathers, and cowrie sh.e.l.ls to invoke Juno.

I wrote the story of Juno Lucina in order to conceptualize Her regenerative power as it relates to Her Son, the Sun or the Seasonal Year. The story personifies the processes of death and birth in the s.h.i.+fting of light from Fall Equinox to Winter Solstice. (See also stories of Isis, Demeter and Persephone, Inanna and Ereshkigal, Amaterasu Omikami, Changing Woman, and Sun Woman.) Farewell to the Sun King The G.o.ddess, Juno is very great and not easy to understand. For this reason, Her people give Her many names and tell many stories about Her. When the people watch the light of the Year turn short, then long again, they call Her Juno Lucina and tell the story of how She gives birth to Her Son, the Year, how He dies, and how He is born again from Great Mother Juno. Here is one of the stories they tell.

Juno Lucina sat very still at the table before the mirror at the darkest end of her cave. On the table lay a black box and a long dark vial and a comb in the shape of a serpent. Lucina was not looking in the gla.s.s at Her reflection, which, even with Her head bowed, gave out a violet and silver light. Juno Lucina, Queen of Light, was alone tonight, hands resting flat on the front of Her robes the color of pumpkins and dying leaves. She could feel the Baby stirring inside Her, and She felt the same wonder and knowing She felt every year. Soon the new Sun King would be born, and She was glad.

But Lucina's eyes, when She lifted them to study Her face, were sad.

Tonight she must say good-bye to Her grown-up Sun King. She moved Her hands to the tabletop and stared into Her face.

"You have seen many things, Face," She said. Her hand touched the silver of Her hair. She bit her lip. Her fingers shook a little when She touched the wrinkles under Her eyes.

Then Her hands went again to the swell of Her stomach, and Her eyes dropped away from Her reflection. She felt the Baby inside kick, and She thought of the beautiful brown Man who was now Her Son. She pictured the muscle of His upper arm move in its sheath of skin and the largeness of the teeth in His turning head as He had called to Her just days before to swim with Him in the stream. Juno Lucina sighed. His teeth had once been so tiny.

Then She straightened and opened the black box. From it She drew a crescent pendant and clasped its silver chain about Her neck. Her robes made a whispering noise as She rose and gathered up a black hooded cape that lay rumpled on the bed. Throwing it about Herself, Lucina made Her way to the front of Her cave and stepped out into the evening.

On the other side of the stream, She met Her Son. He smiled at Her and reached for Her hand. Together the Queen of Light and the Sun King crossed a desert, climbed a mountain, and came to the sea. There, its prow beached and wrapped in seaweed, waited a boat with fire-bright sails.

Juno Lucina stood at the edge of the sea facing Her Son, hands holding His. The wind blew the black hood from Her head.

"I love you, Mother," said the Sun King.

A sound of grief came from Lucina, and She pulled Him to Her.

"Good-bye, wonderful Son."

Eyes glistening, She watched as the Sun King climbed into the boat with the blinding sails. Hair streaming silver light, toes clamping the sand, She waited as the tide flooded nearer and nearer to the boat's mooring. Finally the waters loosed the boat, raised it, and began to rinse it toward the west. Son and Mother waved and waved until They could see each other no longer.

Never would She see this Man again. Memories filled Her. A long time went by. Then Lucina unhooked the silver chain from Her neck and reached high to hang the crescent pendant in the sky. All was dark, but the light from Her face and hands caught on the curve of the crescent, and it glowed where it hung.

Juno Lucina pulled the hood about Her head again. Then She turned east for the homeward journey. There She would wait in Her cave home for the birth of the next Sun King.

Demeter (DEM-uh-ter) and Persephone (per-SEF-uh-nee) (Greece)

Introduction.

The G.o.ddess Demeter was once the Mother of the Great Triangle of Life, the Mystery of the Universe, complete in all Her parts: Creator, Preserver, Destroyer. Meter means "Mother," and De is the word for delta, the triangle-shaped letter of the Greek alphabet. Her name was thus a visual pun: it suggested both the sacred v.u.l.v.a and the Great Three-in-One Mother. The G.o.ddess Persephone, who later came to be seen as Maiden, Daughter of Demeter, and simultaneously Queen of the Underworld, was once simply another way of talking about the G.o.ddess Demeter in Her Virgin and Crone aspects.

Cla.s.sical Greek storytellers, however, working with a masculinized pantheon of deities, regularly split the Great Mother into many personalities, each with Her own superhuman story. The Great One was thus shaved into the Mothers, Daughters, Sisters, Wives, Consorts, and Victims of the G.o.ds, raising to new heights the level of instruction about the workings of the relatively recently established patriarchal system.

The story of Demeter Herself once recapitulated the mystery of the planted seed. Her journey from flower to fruit, from seed to burial, and death to rebirth was once told annually in some tremendously healing way. Ancient writings praise, but do not detail, this annual ritual, called the Eleusinian mysteries. In the mystery ritual, the Daughter of Demeter was like the seed in the fruit. As the fruit holds the seed, so every seed holds the fruited plant within Herself, and so on endlessly.

Patriarchal bias did more violence to the how-and-why tale of the seed and its seasons than just splitting the G.o.ddess into Her Mother and Daughter aspects. In the story of the kidnap and rape of Persephone by the G.o.d of the Underworld, it not only masculinized the originally Feminine Deity of the Deep but also postulated that rape was the Maiden's introduction into Her own life-giving s.e.xuality. Tragically, this story may well have reflected a growing reality in a culture newly given to exercising power over people, places, and things, rather than cultivating a reverence for the power alive in every being.

I preserved in my tale of Demeter and Persephone the expression of the Great G.o.ddess as Mother and Daughter. From an Earth-centered point of view, however, wisdom and growth in this story are not predicated on the experience of victimization, but on the choice to plumb one's own depths. Grains, seeds, jewels, and rocks all symbolize these G.o.ddesses for me. I long for the days when we mothers and aunts invoke Demeter and Persephone with flowers, bath, and song at the pa.s.sages of our children when they first menstruate, when they first leave home.

The Beginning of the Four Seasons

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there were no seasons. There were no changes in the weather or the plants. Animals played outside all the time, because the only season that the Earth knew was Spring.

Always there were hopping birds, chirping flowers, and fluffy clouds in a blue, blue sky.

That was the time when the Great G.o.ddess Demeter and Her Daughter Persephone roamed the meadows and the hills, picking flowers, laughing, and swimming in rivers that took them whoos.h.!.+ down to the next curve.

There They climbed from the water, skins glistening in the sun, and ran back to throw Themselves in again, rush down in the water perfect around Them, and start all over again. They did everything together, Demeter and Persephone: They ate and ate of pears, apples, and oranges.

They ate bananas, persimmons, pomegranates, and grapes. They made gra.s.s and flower salads with dew or dressing and necklaces of berries and nuts. They braided strands of golden barley into Their hair.

Demeter loved to sit on a rock and watch Her Daughter's brown legs flash when She ran with deer and wolf. Then She would loop Her skirts and join, and the Earth would bustle with the sound of feet and bees.

Demeter was so glad to have this Girl. Persephone was Her friend and Her mirror, and sometimes Demeter hugged Her grown-up Baby for joy.

One day Persephone wandered away for a longer time than She ever had before. When She came home to Demeter, She was quiet, and Her eyes were looking far away.

"Where have you been, My Baby?" asked Demeter, and She tipped Persephone's chin up a little.

Persephone moved Her head down.

"Out, Mother," said Persephone.

"What's wrong, Little One?" asked Her Mother.

"Nothing," said Persephone.

"And I'm not little."

Her Mother fanned Her hand through Persephone's curls.

"Of course You're not, My Baby," She said.

"Of course You're not. Now come eat."

So They ate and They laughed. But the next day, Persephone stayed away a long time again.

When She came back, Demeter took both Her hands.

"Tell Me," She said.

"Sit down and tell Me."

"I have to go," Persephone whispered.

"Speak up, Persephone," said Her Mother.

"You have to what?"