T i n a K a r a g u l i a n |
Descent
And so we begin. Not as babes newly emerging from the womb, but
reborn in midlife. In my early forties, months before I was to facilitate a
creativity workshop at a Christian conference, I was not aware of the
next round of rebirthing I was to encounter. I was in the middle of
painting a portrait of Christ. I have always felt the presence of Christ,
even as a young child, so I particularly enjoyed having him as the
subject matter before me. I learned about Christ through the Armenian
Apostolic Church, an orthodox tradition rich with beautiful music that
can mystically transport the listener into the heart of her soul, into the
center of life. Whenever I work on a portrait, the eyes have to be just
right, to show the essence of the person. I wanted Christ’s eyes to
show how much I felt loved by him whenever I prayed to him.
A few years prior to the conference, I painted my own version of what
And so we begin. Not as babes newly emerging from the womb, but
reborn in midlife. In my early forties, months before I was to facilitate a
creativity workshop at a Christian conference, I was not aware of the
next round of rebirthing I was to encounter. I was in the middle of
painting a portrait of Christ. I have always felt the presence of Christ,
even as a young child, so I particularly enjoyed having him as the
subject matter before me. I learned about Christ through the Armenian
Apostolic Church, an orthodox tradition rich with beautiful music that
can mystically transport the listener into the heart of her soul, into the
center of life. Whenever I work on a portrait, the eyes have to be just
right, to show the essence of the person. I wanted Christ’s eyes to
show how much I felt loved by him whenever I prayed to him.
A few years prior to the conference, I painted my own version of what
began as a Madonna portrait on canvas. I donated it to the Shrine of the Black Madonna—Our
Lady of Częstochowa—in East San Antonio. Though I am not Catholic, the shrine holds a very
special place in my heart, for it was where I first felt blessed by Her. It began a journey of finding
out who she really is for me. Is she Mary? Is she more than that? Is she part of God somehow?
The God I had always known is a loving and balanced figure, with both female and male
attributes, yet for some reason unknown to me, seeing my Creator as Feminine started making its
way into my consciousness.
I knew that God could not be limited in any way, in name or in attributes. Our Creator is pure loving
energy, our source and essence, alive within us if we are willing to connect. Yet, at times we need
to make the active choice to claim that divinity, to claim that relationship, in whatever way we need
at a given time. Whatever moves us closer to who we really are, who we are meant to be.
Pat and I did not know the impact She would have on our lives when we strolled in the Black
Madonna shrine years ago. We had just made a commitment to be together and decided to go to
San Antonio to visit the missions and the shrine. The building we were in was the original church
at that time; you could feel the years and years of prayers that soaked up the walls, prayers given
up by all the people who had visited before us. Photographs of loved ones were left at the base of
statues of Mary, petitions made by devout followers. But the most striking image was the portrait of
a dark-skinned Mary with a gash on her cheek. She had a face of strength and held her child close
to her. Some legends say that she became dark-skinned by a fire; some say that she survived
rips to her face after theft. What remained was a woman who showed that suffering on her body
would not stop her role as mother, as leader.
We are called to enter fires of suffering in order to get to the other side, in order to be reborn to our
true souls. The Black Madonna is dark skinned—she lives in the shadows of our consciousness,
yet she is stirring many of us back to who we are. Little did Pat and I know, we were being claimed
by that sacred feminine source that lives inside each of us—a source that also links to Mother
Earth, and to each person and animal around us.
When we walked into the Black Madonna shrine, the Polish nuns were getting ready for a church
service. Their white hair glistened and their peaceful energy filled the room. For a moment, we sat
in chairs at the very back of the church. Pat said that the blue light from the stained glass behind
us shone brightly on my head, like a projector beaming a prism of light. I suddenly felt the
presence of angels and ancestors that had passed on, particularly my maternal grandmother,
and in my mind I saw them all smiling at us, surrounding us in a circle. I felt their blessing and joy,
and imagined what probably happened in ancient days, when people married one another in the
midst of nature, standing boldly in the rightness of their choice. I felt immeasurably blessed and
was deeply moved, but said nothing to Pat. When we walked out of the church, Pat turned to me
and said,
I think we just got married.
I was elated, amazed that someone in human form could actually feel what I had long
experienced in my solitary life. That day was the beginning, a marriage of our souls, a blessing of
our union.
Since that day, I made a promise in my heart that I would give something back to the shrine, in
gratitude. I painted a portrait of Her and also created prayer cards with the same image, to honor
the Black Madonna, and all She represents—an intersecting point for all forms of the mother—
Mother Earth, Mother Mary, and leading to a Source of all, a Mother aspect of God or Divine Mother.
She resides within each of us. I had been searching for Her all my life, like an adopted child
searching for her biological mother. I had been receiving pieces of Her along the way, in all the
people in my life: my grandmother, my mother, my father, my uncles, the trees, the ocean, and the
many women and men who have touched my heart and soul during my life journey. Each person
offered a piece of the puzzle. But I longed for more.
Since the blessing of the blue light upon me, I found that something was illuminated within me,
almost an invisible magnet pulling me closer to Her. For many years after that day, I read
numerous books about the Divine Feminine. Such books as Longing for Darkness by China
Galland, The Secret Life of Bees and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd,
helped me realize that there was something more inside of me that was drawn to God in a
feminine form, that I was made in Her image somehow. I felt that whatever was missing inside of
me could only be filled through a connection with Her, and that She wanted to be present for both
women and men, that through Her we could find balance and wholeness in all relationships. The
fact that Pat and I were married in the Church of the Black Madonna was no accident. Our Creator,
Our Mother, was calling us home.
Lady of Częstochowa—in East San Antonio. Though I am not Catholic, the shrine holds a very
special place in my heart, for it was where I first felt blessed by Her. It began a journey of finding
out who she really is for me. Is she Mary? Is she more than that? Is she part of God somehow?
The God I had always known is a loving and balanced figure, with both female and male
attributes, yet for some reason unknown to me, seeing my Creator as Feminine started making its
way into my consciousness.
I knew that God could not be limited in any way, in name or in attributes. Our Creator is pure loving
energy, our source and essence, alive within us if we are willing to connect. Yet, at times we need
to make the active choice to claim that divinity, to claim that relationship, in whatever way we need
at a given time. Whatever moves us closer to who we really are, who we are meant to be.
Pat and I did not know the impact She would have on our lives when we strolled in the Black
Madonna shrine years ago. We had just made a commitment to be together and decided to go to
San Antonio to visit the missions and the shrine. The building we were in was the original church
at that time; you could feel the years and years of prayers that soaked up the walls, prayers given
up by all the people who had visited before us. Photographs of loved ones were left at the base of
statues of Mary, petitions made by devout followers. But the most striking image was the portrait of
a dark-skinned Mary with a gash on her cheek. She had a face of strength and held her child close
to her. Some legends say that she became dark-skinned by a fire; some say that she survived
rips to her face after theft. What remained was a woman who showed that suffering on her body
would not stop her role as mother, as leader.
We are called to enter fires of suffering in order to get to the other side, in order to be reborn to our
true souls. The Black Madonna is dark skinned—she lives in the shadows of our consciousness,
yet she is stirring many of us back to who we are. Little did Pat and I know, we were being claimed
by that sacred feminine source that lives inside each of us—a source that also links to Mother
Earth, and to each person and animal around us.
When we walked into the Black Madonna shrine, the Polish nuns were getting ready for a church
service. Their white hair glistened and their peaceful energy filled the room. For a moment, we sat
in chairs at the very back of the church. Pat said that the blue light from the stained glass behind
us shone brightly on my head, like a projector beaming a prism of light. I suddenly felt the
presence of angels and ancestors that had passed on, particularly my maternal grandmother,
and in my mind I saw them all smiling at us, surrounding us in a circle. I felt their blessing and joy,
and imagined what probably happened in ancient days, when people married one another in the
midst of nature, standing boldly in the rightness of their choice. I felt immeasurably blessed and
was deeply moved, but said nothing to Pat. When we walked out of the church, Pat turned to me
and said,
I think we just got married.
I was elated, amazed that someone in human form could actually feel what I had long
experienced in my solitary life. That day was the beginning, a marriage of our souls, a blessing of
our union.
Since that day, I made a promise in my heart that I would give something back to the shrine, in
gratitude. I painted a portrait of Her and also created prayer cards with the same image, to honor
the Black Madonna, and all She represents—an intersecting point for all forms of the mother—
Mother Earth, Mother Mary, and leading to a Source of all, a Mother aspect of God or Divine Mother.
She resides within each of us. I had been searching for Her all my life, like an adopted child
searching for her biological mother. I had been receiving pieces of Her along the way, in all the
people in my life: my grandmother, my mother, my father, my uncles, the trees, the ocean, and the
many women and men who have touched my heart and soul during my life journey. Each person
offered a piece of the puzzle. But I longed for more.
Since the blessing of the blue light upon me, I found that something was illuminated within me,
almost an invisible magnet pulling me closer to Her. For many years after that day, I read
numerous books about the Divine Feminine. Such books as Longing for Darkness by China
Galland, The Secret Life of Bees and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd,
helped me realize that there was something more inside of me that was drawn to God in a
feminine form, that I was made in Her image somehow. I felt that whatever was missing inside of
me could only be filled through a connection with Her, and that She wanted to be present for both
women and men, that through Her we could find balance and wholeness in all relationships. The
fact that Pat and I were married in the Church of the Black Madonna was no accident. Our Creator,
Our Mother, was calling us home.
BOOKS
It Is Time: a memoir of
reconciliation embracing various
spiritual traditions, healing the
Armenian genocide and the
feminine wound, and claiming
the call of a Divine Mother
Excerpt
Endorsements
New Skin
Lifting Women's Voices
Sustaining Abundant Life
Insights on the Journey:
Trauma Healing and Wholeness
Recipes from the Heart
It Is Time: a memoir of
reconciliation embracing various
spiritual traditions, healing the
Armenian genocide and the
feminine wound, and claiming
the call of a Divine Mother
Excerpt
Endorsements
New Skin
Lifting Women's Voices
Sustaining Abundant Life
Insights on the Journey:
Trauma Healing and Wholeness
Recipes from the Heart