Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics

198 Pages·2016·1.37 MB·English

by  Mirabai Starr

To the loving memory of my soul sister,
Elaine Sutton, and of my soul mother,
Sri Siddhi Ma
Dance, Lalla, with nothing on
but air. Sing, Lalla,
wearing the sky.
LALLA
Contents
OPENING PRAYER Prayer to the Shekinah
Introduction
1 Turning Inward: Cultivating Contemplative Life
2 Laying Down Our Burden: Keep the Sabbath Holy
3 Breaking Open: The Alchemy of Longing
4 Melting Down: Dissolving into the One
5 Connecting: Community and the Web of Interbeing
6 Embracing: Sexual Embodiment
7 Sheltering: Mothering as a Path of Awakening
8 Cocreating: Caring for Our Mother the Earth
9 Making a Joyful Noise: Creativity and the Arts
10 Forgiving: The Art of Mercy
11 Dying: The Ultimate Spiritual Practice
12 Taking Refuge: Teachers, Teachings, and Soul Family
CLOSING PRAYER Love Song to the Great Mother
Writing Practice Guidelines
Mystics, Prophets, and Goddesses
Acknowledgments
Permissions
About the Author
Also by Mirabai Starr
About Sounds True
Copyright
Praise for Wild Mercy
Prayer to the Shekinah
O Shekinah,
yours is the feminine face of the Holy, the luminous moon who lights up
the night as we travel from captivity to liberation, the pillar of fire
who guides our way home, the cloud hovering over the mountain
peaks, living sign that the drought is over.
You are the indwelling presence of the Divine.
Whenever we gather to praise the One you are here in our midst.
When we cry out for justice you make our hearts tender.
When we stand with those on the margins you make our legs strong.
When we create works of art and parent our children
and harvest our gardens
you guide and sustain us.
You are the Sabbath Bride, the Beloved, returned from exile.
You restore balance in our relationships and wholeness to our fragmented
souls.
You infuse our lovemaking with honey.
You fill the cup of our hearts, which tremble with longing, with the wine
of your answering love.
You are the song of our homecoming.
You are the Sabbath Queen, the Great Mother, who sits at the heart of the
table tearing off hunks of the secret bread that contains the exact
flavor each of us loves best.
You feed us all, the proud and the repentant, the believer and the skeptic,
from your own hands.
Your unconditional forgiveness dissolves otherness.
O Shekinah,
we are the vessel for your inflowing.
Your radiance requires the clay of our embodiment.
Your flame burns at the core of the earth.
Your warmth penetrates the seedbed and animates the seedlings.
Your warmth penetrates the seedbed and animates the seedlings.
You bless the head of every animal and kiss the tear-streaked face of
humanity.
You are the vision that builds community, and you are our refuge
when the fabric of community unravels.
Be with us now
as we navigate this landscape of mystery where your most cherished
attributes— wild mercy and boundless compassion, righteousness
and wisdom— seem to be cast aside and trampled by imperious
world powers
and we are paralyzed by helplessness.
Help us.
May we remember you and lift you up.
May we recognize your face and celebrate your beauty in everything and
everyone, everywhere, always.
AMEN.
INTRODUCTION
opening
There is a secret fiesta going on in a wildwood, and you are invited. This
party has been unfolding for millennia. Its hosts are women mystics from
all branches of the soul family: Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism,
Christianity, Islam, and every indigenous wisdom way. Its guests include
anyone whose heart has ever yearned for union with the Beloved and the
alleviation of suffering for all sentient beings. Which means YOU.
The gathering is secret simply because, historically, for wise women
to gather openly has been to risk death. It’s not that they have been afraid
to die, but rather they have known in every muscle fiber that they must
protect themselves because their knowledge is needed. Their love and
clarity and beauty are profoundly, urgently needed. And so they have
gone about in disguise, sprinkling party invitations in the public square,
waiting to receive us when we come. They wait patiently, but they are
excited.
Come. Feast on the mercy of Quan Yin and the compassion of Tara,
the brilliance of Sophia and the shelter of the Shekinah. Break the bread
of courageous prophet Mother Mary and dip it in the spicy oils of holy
daughter Fatima. Drink yourself into a swoon with the songs of the
ecstatic bhakti poet Mirabai and then sober up with the rigorous
brilliance of Saint Teresa of Ávila. Dance your ass off with the fierce
goddess Kali and her majestic sister Durga. Roll down into the boundless
Valley of the Tao. Take refuge in the jewels of the Buddha-as-Woman, in
the dharma as taught by women, in the sangha that gathers together a
circle of wild and welcoming women.
You don’t have to be female yourself to walk through these gates.
Men are welcome here. You just don’t get to boss us around or grab our
breasts or solve our problems. You may sample our cooking and wash it
down with our champagne. You may ask us to dance, and you may not
pout if we decline. You may study our texts, ponder our most
provocative questions. You may fall in our laps and weep if you feel the
urge. We will soothe you, as we always have. And then we will send you
back to the city with your pockets full of seeds to plant in the middle of it
all.