Beliefnet
The Queen of My Self

We are in the energy of the Pink Moon, the name used by the Iroquois peoples. I love that term. And it is so apt. Spring is about birth and new beginnings. The new season is tender and tentative now. Fragile and raw like a new baby. Babies, no matter their race and eventual pigmentation, are all born pink.

As are the buds of trees. Buds are pink when they first appear on their branches. Like embryos, they lie dormant absorbing energy from the sun, which sets off the photosynthesis that releases their chlorophyll and turns them green. Like newborn babes, they are only pink for a short while.

Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
From out night’s gray and cloudy sheath;
Softly and still it grows and grows,
Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.
– Susan Coolidge

Pink is the color of beating hearts and flowers. Tongues that kiss and taste are pink. In Japan, the color, Cherry Blossom Pink is associated with a woman’s yoni, and consequently, soft-core pornographic films are called “pink movies.” Spanish novellas rosas “pink novels” are sentimental love stories marketed to women. People with pink auras are said to crave relationships. Pink colored rose quartz is healing to the heart and stimulates love, warmth, largess, comfort, care and compassion.

The sand in Bermuda is pink. And so is Homer’s “rosy-fingered dawn.” Also cotton candy clouds and pink flamingos. Strawberry ice cream, summer wine, blushing virgins and bubblegum are pink. Comforting, soft and sweet or fiery fluorescent, pink is the color of life.

When we are in perfect condition and glowing health, we are “in the pink.” When we are flushed with pleasure or embarrassed, we get pink in the cheek. When we are deliriously happy, we are “tickled pink.” We toast with pink champagne. And dance with pink elephants.

The color pink is commonly associated with the feminine. Pink is for girls, for sissies and metrosexuals. Pink is sugar and spice and everything nice. Rather than protesting against gender stereotypes and bias, modern feminists have taken a positive position and claimed pink as the color of our standard. We protest proudly in our pink Pussy Hats.

The Swedish radical feminist party, Feminist Initiative, the American activist women’s group, Code Pink: Women for Peace, and the radical Indian Gulabi Gang have all adopted pink as a symbol of feminine pride and power. A pink ribbon is the logo for breast cancer research. Female office personnel are called “pink collar workers.”

Years ago, the Minneapolis Art Institute invited me to do a special spiritual project or event appropriate to the season (or what I call a “Celestially Auspicious Occasion”) during a six week residency in spring. My time there spanned The Full Pink Moon, Women’s History Month and Beltane or May Day.

My response to this great assignment was to create The Tea House of the Full Pink Moon, a public meditation space/cum moon cycle retreat hut. A sanctuary in honor of and in service to Our Lady Luna, the feminine divine.

I discovered an old fashioned gazebo on the campus grounds, which I painted Pepto Bismol pink inside and out. I painted the gravel walkway leading up to it the same hue, and also the pine cones that littered the grounds surrounding it .

After painting, I draped yards and yards of sheer lace curtains around the perimeter, making it look like some sort of girly, frilly fairy house. On the front steps I placed a pair of Dorothy-inspired pink sequined pumps as a silly and subtle invitation to leave your secular shoes outside before entering the Teahouse Temple.

The gazebo had eight sides, like a medicine wheel. Each wall was waist-high and topped by a ledge on which I placed various ritual items. The idea was for people to walk around the edges of the space, stopping at each of the eight altars — like stations of the circle, the cycle — to partake of the gift there, and then to proceed to the center, which was piled with pink pillows.

Each altar offering was an expression of one aspect of the ambiance of the Pink Moon. Pink nail polish. Pink candles. Pink flower petals. Pink glitter. Pink breast-shaped carpentry chalks to draw with. Pink Blessing oil. Pink rose quartz crystals. Pink rose hip tea.

Sitting in that gazebo was like being enveloped in a uterine embrace. It was a secure and comfortable space for contemplation and meditation. A perfect ritual womb room. I cherish the visceral, sensual memory of that sacred shrine and every year at this time I return there in my heart. In my pink heart of hearts.

I invite you to join me there in spirit. We can retreat in its pink embrace, cosseted for a while from the cruel cynicism and negativity that we are constantly bombarded with. We can hold court in safety and allow ourselves to release the defenses that separate us. We can share our cares and concerns and reconnect with the hopeful, humane ideals that we have in common.

“Touched by the rosy-fingered dawn, we can sit together in beauty, in peace and quiet, in calm communion with the sweet pink spirits that surround us always.

Almost all words do have color and nothing is more pleasant than to utter a pink word and see someone’s eyes light up and know it is a pink word for him or her too.”
– Gladys Taber

(c) Donna Henes

For more lunar information and inspiration, see my book, Moon Watcher’s Companion

* ***
Donna Henes is the author of The Queen of My Self: Stepping into Sovereignty in Midlife. She offers counseling and upbeat, practical and ceremonial guidance for individual women and groups who want to enjoy the fruits of an enriching, influential, purposeful, passionate, and powerful maturity. Consult the MIDLIFE MIDWIFE™

The Queen welcomes questions concerning all issues of interest to women in their mature years. Send your inquiries to thequeenofmyself@aol.com.

 

Join the Discussion
comments powered by Disqus