Mary...

the ornate and puzzling key to everything

In my mainstream protestant, minimally religious upbringing, I only ever encountered Mary at Christmas. 

She wore a blue robe, and every young girl coveted playing her part in the Christmas pageant. 

But also, there was my mother—a non-practicing Catholic for most of my growing-up years. She gave up her beloved faith and raised her children Methodist to keep peace in the family. 

However, she never let go of her Blessed Mother. Her rosary and her plastic Mother Mary night light sustained her. 

I never really understood her devotion to Mary, such a thing being absent in my protestant religious education. Though I knew it was powerful. 

When I was about ten, not long after my father died, I asked her to teach me the Hail Mary. I did not know this prayer, but I knew that she did. It felt like forbidden knowledge. But, like Eve's apple, it was tantalizing, tempting. It promised to open my eyes. I recall sitting crossed-legged on my bed and reciting it to memorize it. Yet, surprisingly, I knew it immediately, as if it was always in my head but had now been jogged loose. 

Once I learned it, I never forgot the words, though I rarely, if ever, prayed them. Instead, I tucked them into my heart and carried them silently. 

Then I went through my evangelical phase (well, two decades, so a long phase). Mary's hold on my mother alarmed me during this time because, well, Jesus. Nothing should compete with his primacy. So Mary was a suspected idol and avoided.

Then my mother went through her evangelical phase. Which, to be fair, was good for her. Having been brought up pre-Vatican two, she knew very little scripture and even less theology. 

Evangelicals are very good at two things, bible study and the certainty of salvation. So she eagerly learned a lot of the bible and was released from the Catholic worry of whether she had done enough to merit salvation. 

Yet even during that phase of her life, she held on to Mary. As she got older, she returned to her Catholic faith. In the end, when dementia dulled her mind and memories, she could still say the rosary and find comfort in her Blessed Mother, Mary. 

Almost immediately after I emerged from evangelicalism, I began encountering Mary. But, unfortunately, it would take another decade to understand her implications.

She was like an unexpected, ornate, puzzling key that unlocked everything.

Now that I am post-all institutional religion and in a decidedly more esoteric place, the mystery of Mary has unfolded in myriad unusual ways and experiences. 

She is as controversial, subversive, and inscrutable as ever. When encountered, she is an enigma. In short, she is alarming, which is why I love her. 

My inner work relies on two powerful practices. First is active imagination, as Jung calls it, or inner journeying in more common parlance. After experiencing the inner realms (or the other realms, depending on your viewpoint), I move into the creative process, usually visual art and writing. 

Below I offer you five pieces of art and writing given to me by Mary. As you ponder them over this Christmas season, I hope they will be an encounter, a jogging loose, an enigma, and the unexpected, ornate, puzzling key you have longed for.  

The Announcement, Jan Blencowe Copyright ©2020

The Announcement

I am Lilith.

I am also Eve,

The Magdalene,

Virgin Mary

and Mother Mary.

I am Guadalupe, the Brown Madonna,

and the Black Madonna, too.

I am Isis,

Artemis,

Demeter and Cybele.

I am Brigid, Freya,

and Sheela-na-gig.

I am the earth,

the oceans

and the moon,

I am the angel of the Lord,

and I have an announcement,

It is time, O prodigal children of earth

to return to your Mother.

Mother of Mushrooms, Mice, and Moss Jan Blencowe ©2020

Of Mushrooms, Mice, and Moss

Queen of Heaven and

Mother of Mushrooms, Mice, and Moss

what a glorious paradox you are.

The theologians say it cannot be so,

that heaven and earth, spirit and matter

are entirely separate things.

One lofty and good,

the other lowly and marred.

The body is a prison for our souls; 

the rest is dead matter.

But here you are, an impossible bridge,

a reed from heaven that bends

to bring the quickening magic.

With tenderness, you fill the world with

Spirit so even the smallest sparrow is enlivened,

divine spark pulsing in it.

The trees and the land, too, receive your touch

and join the living goodness.

What a wonder you are,

a wonder that can only be

if one is a Mother,

and lover of

mushrooms, mice, and moss.

Her Time, Jan Blencowe ©2020

Her Time

Dream deeply.

She who is clothed with the Sun

has passed into the underworld

and her time has stopped.

Her darkest night has begun,

she has fallen into the shadow realms,

and is now far from sight.

Forced underground by the

power and privilege of

king and priest

she rests in dark places.

Though she is a bright Queen

the dark is also her home,

and she can shift her

glory from fire to earth,

water and stone.

Awake now, Dreamer.

The morning has come.

She rises again, bringing

back the light and

warmth to your body.

Lift your hands and rejoice,

the cycle begins again,

Crown Her once more.

She Is, Jan Blencowe ©2019

She is

She is the darkness of the night sky. 

She is the mystery of life. 

She is the space between everything. 

She is everything we know that we don't know. 

She is the soul of the world and the world of the soul. 

She is the past and the future and all times in between. 

She rises as the Sun and sets as the Moon. 

She is the wind and the rain, the cloud and the dew. 

She reveals and conceals. 

She lifts up and casts down. 

She is wisdom and foolishness, hope and despair. 

She is wild and tame, bound and free. 

Some winter night, when you are alone in the darkness, she will ask you if would like to wake from your dream. 

It will take courage to say "yes."

Her Womb Births the Sun, Jan Blencowe ©2019

Her Womb Births the Sun

She rides a great wild bear, 

no docile donkey for her. 

She comes from the celestial darkness. 

She is rooted in earthiness, body, blood, and bones. 

Her upraised arms hold the heavens. 

Her womb births the Sun. 

She is ancient starlight. 

She is the Queen of Heaven and Earth. 

She is the protector of animals and the cultivator of trees. 

She tills the soil and tends the gardens. 

She is the land and the sea, the moon and the stars. 

She is a virgin and goddess, the creator of life. 

She is hearth and home, cradle and basket. 

She is crowned with goodness,

and filled with grace.