Women Long for a Timeless Sisterhood
to Heal Their Souls
The Story of the Harvest Celebration
by Dr. Susan Rangitsch

Gradually, like the turning of a season there came to be among women an ancient knowing, a powerful compassion and a deep longing. They could not speak of it, but they saw it in each other; the downward glance, dull flames and short fuses, depression and malaise, worn and etched lines. Yet still, the presence of grace was in them; in their confusion, their unfinished poetry and unsung melody, in their small and large successes.

The longing was felt months and years ago; generations ago. The women who first felt it dared to imagine that such feelings harkened back to the earliest seasonal gathering of the Sisterhood.

Women had always journeyed great distances to be with each other. The dark feminine festivities of the harvest were the most vital time to gather. They came as themselves, richly weathered, full and tired. They came with rattles, drums, feathers and paints.

So wondrous were those gatherings! Ecstatic dance awakened the mysterious feminine. Stories of origin and great times were spoken around the fire - stories that informed and inspired for eons to come.

These women of now - at first their longing was subtle, often barely discernible. But over time, it intensified and became an ache; at times painful, at times like fire. The ache became strong, visceral, nameless and persistent. It was deeply familiar and strangely vague. The women began to notice a loss of vitality. They were less interested, less curious.

They were great women, these women, and so fate's compassion called mystery to awaken them to some ancient knowing. The women began to dream of the communal fire and a deep well in the grotto of a cave. In the dream time, the dark feminine revealed herself to them in countless forms. Bare-boned stories of the ancient grandmothers were spoken in languages that transcended the worlds of then and now. Over some weeks, a keen remembering slowly seeped into the consciousness of these women.

A careful watchfulness came over them. They listened into the silence beyond their dreams. They looked. They saw. The spring equinox came, and then summer solstice. They worked hard on into the fullness of late summer. They were open, poised, ready.

With the hint of fall, life began to slowly ebb back on itself. The women noticed this, and also turned inward. These brave women slowed down. Their breath altered significantly. They felt into their "down deep" rhythm, opened up to their limitations and reached on through. They leaned into the answers of their most difficult questions and the tensions their truth ignited.

When the first chilly breaths of autumn swayed the dry grasses and the vines of the field surrendered her harvest, the women knew it was time. They left lovers, busy schedules, work and children and followed only a whispered "Return! Return! Return!" The one became many from all directions. They followed the hints, the signs, the suggestions and were always on course.

As they neared their destination, the women felt within themselves a growing light. They were beautiful - empowered by the depth of their destiny. They were sisters in time - come to celebrate the depths of anguished tears and broad smiles; come to spin new threads from silk and gold. They were the ones, who by their great love had remembered an ancient knowing but had forgotten themselves. They were the women who came together now, after much time, to weave a new tapestry of love; bold, beautiful and enduring.

The women arrived close to the ancient convergence of east-west and north-south migrational crossings. Ten thousand years ago, they rested here and the elder crones took the sacred stones into the deepest chamber of the cave. In the dark dampness of Mother's bowels, they prayed to the supernatural powers to cast light on what was dark, fearful and unknown.

These women, welcomed by a single candle and each other, a light wisp of sage and the flute. They sat in a circle and began to weave their stories, rich and varied of blessing and losses, achievements and failures. Miles crisscrossed each other and time stood outside of their circle. They saw into their collective dream. They were daughters of the Sisterhood. They were to dance and remember those parts of themselves torn, small and dark. They were to purify, transcend and glorify. They were to hold the mirror and the light for each other. They were to gather great strength.

They forged rituals and ceremonies out of their sweat and truth; relevant and meaningful, spirit and soulful, outrageous and extraordinary. Then these brave woman would rest by the still waters; be nourished and replenished. Until the next turning, the ebb and flow of the way it was.

On full-moon night, the women walked to the ancient Sun Wheel-huge stones, placed thousands of years ago in a circle on the ridge marking the mysteries of the sun and moon. Enclosed in such sacred antiquity, these women lifted their voices to the night sky and and gave their collective grief and despair to sound. In the end, it was lifetimes, generations past and to come. Their sound began as a roar and quickly became a song, and then prayer as it moved into absolute stillness and merged there. In the holy silence, each woman looked through the flames to the one standing across the circle from her. They asked "Who are you?"

A greatness arose as they stood before such a question. With breath drawn from the waters of love and wisdom, the women stood as never before. They were like those great stones, undaunted in a field of luminosity.

The power was too great for the women to hold. They began to move. They turned around, many times. They started spinning, slowly, then fast; then slow again, deliberate and focused. Tears flowed and formed rivers that no ocean could refuse. Strong, barefooted rhythm woke the heart beat of Mother Earth. There was kindness and compassion in place of strife and unholiness.

The women were together for several days-not as long as they would have liked, but it was long enough. Their ache was gone, and they knew, by nature, it would rise again. It was undeniable given their lives and the world they lived in.

So attend to that certain longing. It will be a call to return; to be always evolving and curious, to understand, break free, emerge, heal, forgive, flourish and grow powerful and to love fiercely.

Listen into the time when dark begins to gain on the light aspect; when women remember themselves to each other, and take the first steps of the dances of forever more.