Items related to Moon under Her Feet
Narrative weaving the biblical account of Mary and Jesus, the Egyptian myth of Isis and Osiris, and the Sumerian story of Inanna and Dumuzi to create an exotic tale of a strong, sensual woman.
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From the Author:
Origin of the book title.
I was priveleged to teach Philosophy of Religion and Comparative Religion courses at American River College in Sacramento, Calif. for fifteen years. THE MOON UNDER HER FEET is my attempt to express the richness and harmony of spiritual insights I found expressed through world myths and their evolution into a symphonic whole. Writing the book and seeing it read and appreciatiated by so many people has been a continuous blessing to me. Two mornings ago I got up just before dawn to let Annie, our Airdale in from the deck outside our bedroom where she sleeps. There in the eastern sky was the wonderful sign of the Goddess that Mari learned to watch for as a little girl, Venus, the Morning Star brilliant above the slimmest crescent moon. "...a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet." Ever since I began to write the book, I would just happen to see that sign in heavens before something significant in relation to the book or it's progress toward publication would come about. I don't know why the Mother called me to awaken that morning–perhaps to write this note to you who are my readers, to thank you for your letters, and for the gift of our sharing. Blessed Be.
About the Author:
I was priveleged to teach Philosophy of Religion and Comparative Religion courses at American River College in Sacramento, Calif. for fifteen years. THE MOON UNDER HER FEET is my attempt to express the richness and harmony of spiritual insights I found expressed through world myths and their evolution into a symphonic whole. Writing the book and seeing it read and appreciatiated by so many people has been a continuous blessing to me. Two mornings ago I got up just before dawn to let Annie, our Airdale in from the deck outside our bedroom where she sleeps. There in the eastern sky was the wonderful sign of the Goddess that Mari learned to watch for as a little girl, Venus, the Morning Star brilliant above the slimmest crescent moon. "...a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet." Ever since I began to write the book, I would just happen to see that sign in heavens before something significant in relation to the book or it's progress toward publication would come about. I don't know why the Mother called me to awaken that morning–perhaps to write this note to you who are my readers, to thank you for your letters, and for the gift of our sharing. Blessed Be.
Clysta Kinstler
Clysta Kinstler teaches philosophy, religion, and women's studies at American River College in Sacramento, California.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherHarperCollins
- Publication date1991
- ISBN 10 0062504975
- ISBN 13 9780062504975
- BindingPaperback
- Number of pages336
- Rating
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The Moon Under Her Feet by Kinstler, Clysta [Paperback ]
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. Chapter OneThe Morning StarAnd there appeared a great wonder in Heaven, A woman clothed with the sun, And the moon under her feet. — "Revelation 12:1, KJVOn the day I was given to the Goddess I awakened before daylight, a strange fluttering inside me. The excitement that had wakened me combined with the cold, and I shivered, pulling my cloak around me. I went outdoors with the milking bowl and breathed in the sweet air. Hanging the bowl on Nadja's tether post, I faced into the dawn breeze and climbed the little rise behind our house. The sparse grass showed weak new growth at the crown of the hill where it lay open to the dew and fight frost of the winter just past. There had been little rain this year or the one before, and though my parents worried about it in their talk, I thought little of it. I saw only that sunny days were better than rainy ones."She was there — the Morning Star — just as Grandmother Lili had promised, brilliant in the brightening sky above the far roofs of Jerusalem, and beneath her, just rising over the dark shape of the Temple, the slimmest crescent moon. The cold wind flapped my cloak about me, but I did not feel it, overcome as I was by that heavenly sign. The Goddess was smiling her blessing on my special day, and the moon was under her feet.Presently, chilled, I trudged down the hill and got the bowl. Nadja already stood expectantly on her milking bench watching me with soft eyes. I put two handfuls of oats in her box, and she chewed happily, moving her little jaws and flicking her long ears rapidly."I told you I would milk for you this morning, Mari, because your hair is just washed for the festival Now you will smell like a goat" mymother scolded, holding the dark cloud of her hair away from her face while the dawn wind billowed it about her. I pressed my forehead against Nadja's round belly, stripping out the last drops of milk."Nadja smells good." A flash of unaccustomed anger eased the strange fluttering in my belly. Mother took the milk, and I untied Nadja, led her up the slope to the middle of the grassy mound, and pounded her peg securely into the earth with a heavy rock. I put my arms around her neck and dragged my clean hair over her brown back. She bleated sympathetically. There were tears in my throat.The dawn had bleached the pale sliver of the moon to a bloodless white, but the Queen of Heaven still gleamed like a tiny candle in the blue morning. My sign. She would stay even when the sun rose and hid her light. Remembering that, I felt the fluttering ease.I went in and Mamma pressed a steaming cup into my hand. She began to comb my hair. I drank Nadja's warmth with her milk."Let me do that, Aethel. You need to dress the little ones," Grandmother said, lifting the headband of gold links I was to wear out of her carved jewelry box lined with purple wool.Baby Lazarus was still asleep. Mother combed Martha's black curls and put on her best gown while Grandmother struggled with the headband, which wanted to slide forward over my eyes. Martha was only three, two years younger than I, and she cried for a headband too. Mamma pacified her with a saffron-dyed ribbon and came back to me with her comb."Don't braid her hair Aethel. It is a glory." Grandfather Claudius spoke from the doorway, his arms full of blossoming branches."You would tempt the angels, then?" Mamma said, sniffing handfuls of my hair for goatsmell.Grandmother Lili took the blossoms and began to weave them with linen strips into a garland. "The Pharisees would cover her for certain," she observed."Let the Pharisees veil their maids if they want," scoffed Grandfather. "The eye starved for delight is the one that strays.""Hush " admonished Grandmother. "The child is innocent.& Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9780062504975
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