Connecting To Sacred Space

A Certain light infuses Cape Cod, especially at waters edge where we inhabit a thin arm jutting out into the Atlantic. Artists come here to paint in the light, the result of a low tree canopy and the endless blue reflection of the surrounding sea. You can still find the sibling of this light inhabiting Dutch art, flirting with the viewer from ornate museum frames, and running wildly off-canvas through the Dutch countryside. Light is energy in motion and energy is the fuel of all life.

The marshy place where this life proliferates, where land meets sea against a backdrop of sky is a sacred place of beginnings and endings, alpha and omega, book ended by the seasons, earth's knowing cycles. The tide goes in, the tide goes out. We receive, we give. There is stillness, and the odor of salt, the taste of salt, the recall of our first floating in the maternal ocean, the recall of the first salty soup from which all life emerged eons and eons ago. Our origins are here in the water, and they are preserved in the salt of our blood.

Excerpt from Homebound Publications' Anthology Wildness: Voices of the Sacred Landscape. 

 

The Goddess Dances at Dunino – the Hill of the Seven Daughters

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The Goddess Dances at Dunino-the Hill of the Seven Daughters

No one knows who the seven daughters were, but the goddess still dances above the sea at Dunino.

The road curves up and out of the Scottish town of St. Andrews, leaving the harbor below to the left. A small, unobtrusive sign appears on the right, pointing down a narrow lane. Dunino is very easy to miss, and we only found it with the help of a local who knew the ancient sites.

Dunino means the Hill of the Seven Daughters.

A lane leads to a church, which probably dates to the 19th century, but is surely built upon much older foundations. St. Andrews has been an ecclesiastical center since the 9th century, and Pictish stones stand gray and mute in the churchyard at Dunino.

Seven daughters. One for each direction, north, south, east and west? One for each phase of the moon, waxing, full, and waning? Were they healers, warriors, priestesses? Did they link the people to the heavens and ensure the harvest’s bounty?  Read more at MotherHouse of the Goddess.

 

 

 

Sun Cake

Sun Cake

I can't take credit for this recipe, but I can certainly take credit for loving it. We call it sun cake because it brings us the sun on those winter days that go on and on and on. The airy hint of citrus lightens our palates and reminds us that spring is nigh.

From the cook book Olives & Oranges by Sara Jenkins and Mindy Fox. 

 This Recipe YIELD:one 9-inch round cake, about 10 servings

  • 3/4 extra-virgin olive oil, plus extra for the pan
  • 1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
  • 3 large eggs
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 3/4 cup plain whole milk yogurt
  • Finely grated zest of 3 lemons

Put oven rack in center position and heat oven to 325ºF. Lightly oil a 9-inch springform pan.

  

  1. Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl.

  2. With an electric mixer, beat eggs and sugar in a large bowl on high speed for 5 minutes, or until pale and thick. Add yogurt zest; beat to combine. With mixer on medium speed, add oil in a quick steady stream. Reduce speed to low and gradually add flour mixture just until blended. Whisk batter by hand to make sure that all ingredients are incorporated.

  3. Pour batter into pan. Bake, rotating pan once, until cake is golden, center springs back to touch, and edges pull away from pan, 40 to 45 minutes. Cool for a minute or two on rack, then release from pan and cool completely before slicing.