Week of September 20, 2016 - ZB Goddess Festival

Tuesday, September 20, 2016 7:42 PM | Anonymous

ZB’s Goddess Festival in the Redwoods

Celebrating fifty years of Dianic Goddess Gatherings organized by Z Budapest, who catalyzed the woman-spirit awakening starting way back in the 70’s. At ZB’s Goddess Fest, we learn from each other and the redwoods. We sing and dance and make ritual. There are ordinations and initiation, prayers and laughs. We eat well. We become well. We are well. Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again. We meet again, in two years, in the redwoods, with our momma: ZB. Join us.

Signs of the Times

For different reasons, these two signs caught my eye; one of the way to the gathering, and the other at the gathering.

As for the first, never in my wildest fantasy would I have imagined a sign on the road advertising for an “experienced herbalist.” Love it. May it spread. (I especially note, with joy, that it is an “experienced” -- not licensed – herbalist that is wanted.)

And the second made my heart leap with joy. I have held Moonlodges at the Wise Woman Center for more than thirty years now. I have encouraged my apprentices, and all women, to start their own Moonlodge. Many have, and some preferred to call them Red Tents. For many years, I been happy to have Moonlodge be synonymous with Red Tent: a space and time set aside to honor all ages of woman. This year, while visiting a red tent, I was told that I ought to be in the Purple Tent, because I was too old to bleed. My heart broke. I contacted the creator of the term, to no avail. “It is too late,” she claimed, “And women are setting up Pink Tents for the maidens.” I cry. This is not the Moonlodge. This is not safe space for all women of all ages. This is separation. This is not Moonlodge. While a Red Tent may (or may not) be a Moonlodge, no Moonlodge is a Red Tent. They are different now. I think you can guess why this sign brought a smile to my aching heart each time I saw it.


The gathering begins with laurel. Bay laurel. By the basketful. By the bucketful. By the bagful. Laurel in abundance. Laurel in profusion. We are up to our elbows in laurel. We weave ourselves a crown of laurel, a laurel wreath to be worn at the ceremonies – or anytime we feel like it. And how glorious it feels to be wreathed in the scent of laurel. Sunlight and moonlight, firelight and soul-light, the smell of laurel is sweet. In ancient times, the winner was crowned with laurel, sweet-smelling laurel. And we still speak of the “sweet smell of success.”

~ Magical Plants in California ~

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