Review: Temple of Our Lady of the Abyss (ed.); Marah. Volume 1 Bitterness; s.l.: Temple of Our Lady of the Abyss 2019, 105 pages, limited to 350 copies 

by Jessica Grote 

As is widely agreed in the esoteric, the feminine principle has been marginalized if not repressed by the Abrahamic, monotheist religions in particular. Even though esoteric currents within the above religions do emphasize a feminine power or figure like the Shekinah in Kabbalism or the divine Sophia in Gnosticism, for example, She is not given adequate or equal standing but a subordinate position, in hierarchy (i.e. power) and essence dependent on the masculine – which is also mirrored in a cult practice often lacking (active) feminine or even female presence. We can certainly claim that many forms of neo-paganism and witchcraft especially have addressed this marginalization by building a countermovement with elements of or even sole focus on ‘Goddess spirituality’. Unfortunately, these often seem rather like the anti-thesis, the quite natural, emotional swing to the other extreme: a reaction and inversion not derived from any historical spiritual current and neither rooted in the esoteric experience, but rather a projection and reflection of contemporary ideals. In my personal opinion, a truly vital and esoterically potent recovery of the goddess must not be born from an image of modern anthropocentric ideals but from a more dynamic and timeless symbol which opens doorways into a transient cosmos of cycles and polarities. So, to me there is still a lot of room on how to work with, discuss and express ‘the sacred feminine’ within the esoteric and occult environment. Thus, when I was asked to write a review on a new journal on The Art of the Divine Feminine, I was very happy to do so as I was curious where it will take this topic and what it will add to the discourse within the occult milieu as such.  

I was also quite intrigued by its title, Marah, admittedly thinking at first of the Night-demon Mara, an implication that is addressed in the journal’s Introduction as well (p. 11). The title’s actual meaning and its import for the journal is emphasized by the following quote on the back-cover, also culled from the introduction: 

Marah means the Bitter Sea. It is a most ancient and forgotten name for Our Lady, the Mother and the Lover, Goddess of Sex and Death. Marah signifies the twisting duality of the Divine Feminine. She is the essence of Form: Binah, Splendor, the realm of Saturn. Marah signifies the inexorable logic that birth leads to death. All that is most beautiful, most necessary, will fade. 

This interpretation and connection of “Marah” with the topics of sex/birth, death and female/feminine is illustrated with an expressive artwork on the front cover by Alba Margarita which is a very good choice as it seems to me to also relate well to this first volume’s title of ‘Bitterness’ – even though I doubt whether it was the publisher’s intent to set the stage for the stereotype of the ‘bitter woman’. Marah is published by the Temple of Our Lady of the Abyss in the US, which is rooted in the Babalon current. Thus, ‘Our Lady’ in question, which in the quote above has already been identified with Marah, is equally embraced as Babalon. The Introduction elaborates this relation as well (p. 11), which certainly also helps to pin down some of the contributions – especially if you are, like me, quite impartial to i.e. not involved with this current in any form.  

But moving on to the actual contributions. Contributors as listed in the Table of Contents are: Luciana Lupe Vasconcelos, Steven Cline, Stephen Fetterman, Loren Fetterman, Casi Cline, Cat Boettcher, Nemo Theaphilus, Orlee Stewart, Soviet Mercedes/Josephine Hoekstra, Takie Ismail, Chris Cathead Reynolds, Melitodes, Lova Delis, Susanna Spearman, Pelagia Pais, Frater Enatheleme, Star Ruby, Maximum Homosapien, Alba Margarita, Christina Francov, IAO 131, Amodali, Caroline Jamhour, and Georgia van Raalte.

Since Marah is a “journal devoted to the art and practice of the Divine Feminine” (p. 9), a focus on art in different forms is to be expected, and quickly browsing the 106 pages strong journal reveals at once a collection of various artistic expressions, including next to literary forms a good amount of visual art. All of these visual pieces, for example by Caroline Jamhour, Alba Margarita, Steven Cline or Christina Francov, stand well on their own and with their range of style and media there is certainly something to the liking of any reader. Personally, I prefer when visual art, in particular if it is more abstract and also meant to be ‘esoteric/occult art’, is accompanied by some words from the artist that help me to relate to its source, the process or encounter involved etc. In Marah, one good example (among a few others) is the art of Cat Boettcher, where the paintings included are put in relation by the accompanying text “Ejection Stains: The Art of Redressal” (p. 26). And although I do not necessarily agree with some of the notions I perceive in that text, it gives the paintings more personal depth and provides another perspective from which to interact with them. In this way, I come to contemplate my own experiences and thought (maybe also in particular because of my disagreement) in a way that none of the images would have achieved on their own; but as said, that is my personal preference and you might have a very different access to paintings and find accompanying or explanatory text rather distracting.

Next to visual art, we find several contributions of poetry, fictional short prose and similar literary expressions, for example by Nemo Theaphilus, Susanna Spearman, Casi Cline, Takie Ismail or Pelagia Pais. Often those forms of literature (e.g. poetry) lend themselves more easily to non-visual artists to express their esoteric experience or insights as they do not have to be clad in rational thought and can be communicated on a subtler, imaginative level. In my opinion, however, such expressions become even more subjective than visual art, whether or not their esoteric content and symbolism is substantial and/or speaks to you. This is particularly true with poetry and a reason why I refrain from reviewing these texts as I think this would miss the point of a collection that requires the individual reader’s engagement with the items in question. For me personally, a good example is Stephanie Fetterman’s text “Sophia” (p. 17) which is at the same time enjoyable to read as well as carrying different connotations and layers of female experience and the gnostic Sophia myth, inviting repeated reading. 

The most extensive writings included in Marah Vol. 1 are two non-fictional essays by Amodali and Georgia van Raalte respectively. Both pieces have previously been published, and are available, online as well, although a footnote (p. 72) informs us that Amodali’s essay, originally from 2016, has been revised for Marah (published in 2019). Her piece, titled Feminism, ‘Weird’ Essentialism and the 156 current shows that the Babalon current is discussing and engaging feminist thought and gender theory while, at least in Amodali’s work, also essaying not to get stuck in it. Instead, Amodali points towards impulses that could be taken to advance the work and aims to move the 156 current as well as magical sexuality per se “beyond the human gender spectrum” (p. 85) by means of emphasizing (first) the somatic experience and the previously neglected “female lived body” (p. 78) in particular. I find this emphasis on soma important as well, and while not having read French philosopher and linguist Luce Irigaray’s work, I agree with Amodali saying that “[...] Irigaray’s ideas on sexual difference could make an important contribution to discourse upon the erotic, divine feminine, but arguably such theories are in danger of being overlooked in favour of anti-essentialist paradigms that valorize the fluid, psychic spaces of gender and sexuality over the realities of the lived body.” (p. 76). Amodali’s essay might seem theory-heavy in contrast to the rest of the journal’s contributions, but it makes for an essential contribution to the Babalon current and provides food for thought on sexual magic in general.  

Georgia van Raalte’s essay concludes Marah and is titled Satariel’s Shroud: Sex, Power and Ethics in Contemporary Thelema but interestingly enough starts off with Dion Fortune. Van Raalte wrote her M.A. thesis on Dion Fortune’s Egalitarian Occultism (p. 89, footnote 2) and most of the essay sets Fortune’s ideas and ethics against those of Aleister Crowley, which would have made for an interesting essay in itself. Unfortunately, however, the author sets forth not only to rectify and reform “contemporary Thelema” but the occult milieu and magical scene in general as it seems (p. 100ff.). I certainly do not reject criticism where it is due nor suggestions for improvement, and I think that some of the problems addressed by Van Raalte might be interesting if not essential to discuss. However, I feel that she generalizes unduly on the one hand (contemporary Thelema seems to be used pars pro toto for Western Occultism), and on the other hand criticizes in a biased way. As for example Manon Hedenborg-White has shown in her book The Eloquent Blood: The Goddess Babalon and the Construction of Femininities in Western Esotericism, there have been fruitful and interesting opinions voiced within the Babalon discourse and the Thelemic communities over the last decades, also by women. By reading Van Raalte’s essay I tend to get the impression as if that was not the case though. And, as an example, to say that women in the O.T.O. are being used as an object (p. 99: “we see that the use of women as an object underpins the entirety of the O.T.O.’s magical system”) while not giving any other woman within that order a voice seems to me a very imbalanced way of criticizing. I do not at all object to the notion that there is an instrumentalization of women in the magical teachings of the O.T.O., but I highly doubt that most women in the O.T.O. feel that they are being used as an object – or whether they actually evaluate it or the Scarlet Woman’s “crystal cage” (p. 91) in a negative way, which is also an important aspect to consider. Anyway, I very much enjoyed Georgia van Raalte’s knowledge and presentation of Dion Fortune’s work as it actually introduced me to the latter’s teachings on polarities and circuits; and topics like power abuse within occult communities should certainly not be ignored within the communities in question. There is never a one-fits-all, however, and such essential discussions must be maintained from a constructive and balanced position.

Van Raalte is herself one of the heads behind Marah and the Temple of Our Lady of the Abyss, and she ends her essay in recourse to the divine feminine with the sentence: “We need a new vision of the Goddess, and of those who serve Her” (p. 103). I understand Marah to be a contribution to this vision-building and it might well prove itself as a “new vision” of Babalon. In Vol. 1 it still seems to me like a well-known vision of ‘the Goddess’, however. The publisher’s and editor’s understanding (or limitation) of the divine feminine as “the Goddess of Sex/Life and Death” appears to me to follow neatly in the steps of the Western ‘Goddess movement’, and just as much includes the risk of creating or developing into an abstract ideal (usually based on the contemporary or individual ideals of womanhood) that simply only replaces the ideal of ‘God Father’ without truly questioning the overall framework. The intent to collect expressions of the divine feminine in art and practice is praiseworthy, however, and since contributions seem to come from different environments of the occult and esoteric, the journal holds quite a potential to unfold in the future. Here I would also wish for previously unpublished non-fictional essays. As it is, I recommend Marah, Vol. 1 especially to devotees of Babalon and to anyone interested in artwork either by one or more of the contributors and/or related to Goddess spirituality. It is a nice collection of various artistic expressions and the proceeds are assigned to a good cause. I am looking forward to Vol. 2 and perhaps we will see a move from ‘bitterness’ to ‘merriness/happiness’ – which is apparently the meaning of the name ‘Marah’ in Arabic.