I was raised a strict Catholic and therefore familiar with the Divine Mother’s appearance outside of Mexico City in 1531. She spoke to the humble native man she had chosen to be her messenger in his language of Nahuatl. Although intellectually I knew that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was Jewish still deep in me she was Catholic. I have come to believe she was a highly evolved being and clearly was a mystic. The celebration of her appearance, miracles and healings are celebrated in Mexico as a national holy day with masses and elaborate festivities each year. A unique tradition is the torch bearing runners seen on the thoroughfares throughout the country on December 12th.
I had planned to publish this poem on the twelfth but circumstances intervened. Now posting on Christmas makes sense since Christianity, as well as most other major religions, highlight the Divine as male. It is obvious to me that this world needs a resurgence of female qualities such as receptivity, empathy, nurturing, devotion, patience and radiance. These attributes will lessen the massive suffering caused by the eons of domination by the masculine’s negative qualities such as arrogance, aggression, insensitivity and violence. The survival of the human race is actually dependent on us making this shift.
“She is not Catholic”, the wild-haired shaman announced.
The Great Virgin is not Catholic I realized,
What does that archaic term even mean?
You are not Catholic!
You came to end the Aztec’s sacrifice of humans
Including many a infant,
Which can never be holy.
You came to stop the Catholic
massacre of a deeply religious people.
Missionaries forcing their beliefs and traditions on them
So Spaniards could worship at the altar of greed.
The indigenous survivors called out to their Divine Mother Tonantzin.
The soldiers to their Blessed Woman.
Distressed by the sobbing of her children,
Rivers of blood having soaked the precious Earth,
You came to a poor Indian at Tepeyac
An ancient native site dedicated to their Goddess of Compassion.
Juan Diego was pure enough to perceive you.
Again and again you dispatched this simple middle-aged peasant
To the bishop
Until he got it through his sophisticated and educated head,
Who you were and what you needed from him.
Your love is vaster than all of the oceans, Great Mother of Tenderness.
Su amor es gentle and unimaginably deep.
The Indians needed their Goddess’ protection and
The church was forced to acknowledge you.
Esta la Madre de Cristo,
You love us all-perpetrator and victim alike.
As I walked your shrine in Mexico,
Where fragrant Castilian rose gardens appeared magically during the winter frost,
Where water sprung from the parched desert to grab their attention,
The Catholic co-opting of you made me cringe.
You are greater than all these man-made institutions.
Spaniards and Aztecs now both bowed to you.
You brought unity to all your people,
This is the power of the feminine.
The beautiful accounting of Mary’s appearance was documented in the Nican Mopohva. You can read an English translation online at: http://ndclmurray.weebly.com/uploads/3/1/6/2/3162790/nican_mopohua_english.pdf