if our hands could see.

recycled gift.

Hi friends,

Because I have been quiet here for so long, I wanted to share a little gift of writing and seasonal prompts for the season, specially around the feast of Santa Lucia.

This isn’t really the kind of writing I post here, or planned on sharing. But I wanted to give something to you. Honestly I could write an entire piece right now on why I have not written here entitled “nobody wants to keep reading about your dead father and grief”. But that’s as far as I can get for the moment. Because my weirdly wired brain insists upon that nobody wants to read that shit, it has made me take that writing into a private place called google docs (lol) and a series of micro-lyrical-essays are being born that are woven between eros and delore.

Sometimes my self-sabatoge finds its way into something more creatively “right” for me. So, fuck off self-sabatoge. Or else, thank you “self-sabatoge” And props to when we “cockblock” ourselves only to find a better, more secret, more interesting path to take our art.

Anyways.

Here is a little gift around Santa Lucia for you. I love her, I really do. This month is my birthday month as well and I was meant to be Lucia and somehow got named MaryBeth. I blame my mother.

WHEN HANDS HAVE EYES.

On December 13th, people all over the world celebrate Saint Lucy's Day. She’s venerated in many ways spanning so many diverse cultures. She’s one important (and mysterious) ancestor to ponder and honor as we embark upon the darkening days of winter, when we are offered only slices of light between long stretches of dark.

At one point, when the Julian calendar was the timekeeper, the 13th of December was marked as the shortest day of the year— and was celebrated as the “solstice.” 

After Gregorian reform, the date of the winter solstice was changed to December 21st- 22nd. Either that, or, Lucy was venerated on the 21st and was moved to the 13th. Either way, the 13th has always remained the day we honor one of the most famous ladies from Sicily, Saint Lucy or Santa Lucia, whose name is rooted in the Latin word lux :: light— a much needed element for the shadowed, cold, long and unknowing winter.

But who is this woman? She was born in the most southeastern tip of Europe and yet is venerated and celebrated all the way to regions in the northern? How did she travel across the land mass and become the bringer of light to so many? Was she sought out and her stories passed while gathered around winter fires in the woods? Or did she herself venture north, a pilgrim, a seeker, carrying her special medicine and wisdom with her, as a teacher? What kind of power did she really posses?

There is only so much we can gleam (and believe) from the modern Catholic version of her story. What is her deeper meaning underneath the dominate narrative? These aren’t questions I know any answers to, but they are questions worth pondering. Bringing alive the magic and mystery of our Sainted ancestors — just by considering them more powerful than we are even told—can help guide us in this confusing, disconnected and suffering world. Not knowing, and trusting the unknown, can create more intention for our rituals, in our lives.

What I/we do know about her…

Lucy, who is venerated in the Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican and Lutheran Churches, was born in the very southern Sicilian city of Siracusa. Siracusa was a Greek settlement and is known now for its ancient ruins. The city holds crumbling artifacts against the sea. Lucy lived in Sicily between the late 3rd century and the early 4th century AD. We know about her now through the earliest document found that mentions Saint Lucy— which was unearthed in the Catacombs of St. John underneath the city of Siracusa. 

Lucy was born into a wealthy Roman family in Syracuse (Eutychia, her mother, was most likely of Greek origins).  Her father died and her mother had a horrible sickness. She was raised devoutly Catholic, during the early years of Catholic mysticism. Lucy had a mission in life to give away all her wealth and belongings to the poor. Since her father was dead, her mother was in charge of what Lucy did with her riches and dowry.  Lucy's mother didn’t agree with Lucy and refused to give her permission to give away her wealth to the poor. Lucy’s mother was also very sick and nothing was helping her heal. So Lucy convinced her mother to accompany her to Saint Agatha's tomb in Catania, Sicily. Agatha was an early martyr of the Church and another famous and powerful woman of the Island.  While her and her mother were praying before Agata’s tomb, Lucy begged her mother to touch Agatha's relic in the name of healing her mother.  When she touched it, a powerful surge of energy came through her mother, and she was instantly and miraculous healed of all illness.

Lucy’s mother was convinced that Lucy had some seriously amazing spiritual, healing and magical powers and so she trusted Lucy’s calling to give all her money to the poor. But Lucy’s generosity and vocation to give her riches away was met by… an angry man. Lucy had been betrothed to a pagan man that she did not want to marry— and now that Lucy had given away what was to be her treasure of a dowry, this man was livid— he wanted to marry her and he wanted to take control of her wealth. So he denounced her to the local governor and turned her in as a “catholic” which at the time was prohibited as a religion in Sicily.

The story goes that the governor tried to break her Catholic will and wanted to her to give into a life of “pleasure and sin” so he attempted to send her to a temple of sacred prostitution (I would love to know more about this sacred prostitution temple as punishment or reform, but thus far I’ve had no luck in finding out about it). But Lucy refused to go. She became unmovable. She had the will of God and she was unbreakable. As one story goes, not even oxen could drag her to the temple. She stayed put. No prostitution for her.

Then the governor decided to set Lucy on fire. But the flames only danced around her, and never touched this mysterious woman’s flesh. She survived all attempts of being burned alive.

In the end, they stabbed her in the throat with a dagger (she’s often depicted with a large dagger sticking out of her neck). That did kill her. So the story goes.

Local tradition mentions that Lucy removed her eyes when the one she was betrothed to told her he was in love with her otherworldly beauty, especially her gorgeous eyes. So she decided to give her eyes to him in hopes he would leave her alone. She cut them out and handed them over to him on a platter (this is the image we often see her with— a platter with two eyes).  Then, out of nowhere, a brand new set of eyes were miraculously restored to her. 

As with most saints that are undoubtedly connected to pre-Christian mythology, there is very little written information about who they were and what their true medicine was about, but there are still many hyper-local and bioregional legends regarding her, stories that have stayed alive, somehow.

Because of the local legend regarding the eyeballs Lucy sent to the man she didn’t want to marry, she’s usually depicted holding a plate with eyeballs on it, or having eyeballs inserted in the center of her hands. It makes sense that she became the patron saint of the blind and those with eye trouble— but we can also extend this idea to being able to “see in the dark” therefore connected to the Italic goddess of light, Lucina or Lucetia. This goddess was often pictured holding a lamp and a plate of cakes, and it’s been said that the plate of cakes were actually a plate of eyes, the eyes to allow us to see the truth of light. Lucina was also known as Juno, the Roman goddess. 

“As Juno Lucina, goddess of childbirth, she was known as the opener of the eyes of newborn children”- Joanna Colbert Powell

Perhaps Lucy is the Catholic version of these goddesses of between places, the carried of light into darkness or vice versa, of the one who gives us sight/insight, who allows us to see even in the underside of nights.

She’s very important to Sicily historically as the saint who fed Siracusa during famine. During a horrible famine in the late 1500’s, the people of Siracusa prayed for a miracle as they were starving to death. Suddenly, St. Lucy appears on a boat coming into the harbor in Siracusa. Two other boats follow her. Each boat is filled with grain, with wheat, enough to feed the entire town and take them out of starvation. She is the one who fed them during times of hunger. She brought them nourishment when there was no hope. She filled their bellies when they were empty. She was bringer of the seed of grain. All over the Mediterranean eyes are painted on boats, to both give the boat it’s own vision, to navigate and see as well as to protect the boat and what/who is in it. These eyes are said to belong to St. Lucy.

Lucy is also one of the most important and beloved saints in folk magic. She’s closely associated with witchcraft, spell craft, and especially the Wild Hunt— “the marauding host of spectral spirits who ride through the winter nights accompanied by souls that Church considered damned—like suicides and unbaptized babies” (from the encyclopedia of mystics, saints and sages). So she was the leader in the liminal worlds, the in-between, giving voice to those who have been forgotten. Perhaps she’s the patron of purgatorial spaces.

Saint Lucy, no matter who she is, is petitioned for physical healing as well as the center of many rituals to banish the evil eye:

a charm against the evil eye:

• craft a wreath from rue or rosemary and red ribbon

• the person who has the “evil eye” upon them then spits through

  the center of this wreath 3 times will asking St. Lucy for protection.

Lucy is a mysterious wonder of winter. What do her eyes really mean? In a culture where the evil eye is so prominent and wearing small eye amulets are common for protection, could she be a symbol of protection, an all seeing protector that wards away the evil eye? Or as the Goddess of Light, is she the one who enables us to “see” through the underworld of winter? To help us carry on with a new kind of “sight”? Or do her eyes symbolize the are they a secret code, a warning for pending danger, a message to us all to “stay awake, eyes open, watching”? With the symbology of her eyes on her hands, is she telling us she from the ancient sect of sages and healers, using their hands to shift consciousness, heal bodies, and give transformational touch? Perhaps she’s the bringer of  hope and nourishment of grain— and when we are starved of light, of fresh food, she the carrier of the sacred seeds that can be stored during the winter months.

Is she the true goddess, the gatekeeper of Solstice— the one who brings the light but also can manifest the eyes to navigate through the dark? The one who straddles the worlds and brings illumination to the shadow and invites darkness to saturate empty light? The keeper of the gatekeeper of threshold, the one who stands and holds space for the liminality?

Whoever Lucy is, magical daughter of Sicilia, claiming four eyes. She spans land mass as a bringer of light and hope, she brings cultures together from north to south, and we are called to honor her on December 13th. 

“O St Lucy, preserve the light of my eyes so that I may see the beauties of creation, the glow of the sun, the colour of the flowers and the smile of children. ... St Lucy, protect my eyes and preserve my faith.”

How can we honor her?

Ask yourself, how do you hold the light for others who are going through their own darkness? How do you offer your in/sight/eyes to them so they can see more clearly, to guide and support them?

How do you bring nourishment to your own body during these cold months? How do you share your seeds and magic with others?

How can you protect and feed those who are hungry, for food and emotional connection?

How are you using your own hands as a healer, a maker, a tender, a mender?

Maybe it’s as simple as lighting white candles as an offering to her and every day until the 13th and sit with all the ways you might create relationships with the edges of darkness and light.

Maybe you are in need of a protective rue charm to ward of any stuck energy thrown at you.

One of the many ways our Southern Italian culture embodies honoring the season, the saints, the gods and goddesses, is through food and feeding each other. Food is prayer, honor, ancestral medicine and love. 

One of the most popular and common foods to make in honor of St. Lucy in Sicilia is a delicious and comforting dish called Cuccia, a Sicilian word that is derived from the Greek word for grain, kokkìa.

Maybe you woke up many mornings on December 13th with your nonna placing a warm bowl of porridge/pudding like Cuccia in front of you. Maybe you’ve never heard of it and you want to re-awaken your own cultural traditions in honoring the hope of light, the hope of grain. Symbolically — the grain seed represents the miracle that Lucy brought to Siracusa, the boat filled with wheat berries. And the ricotta is an ancestral food, originally brought to the island by Arabs, a typical food of the peasants. This cheese is easy to make and all one needs is a cow/sheep/goat, fire and salt. And the honey, oh the honey, represents the sweetness and sensuality of this life. Honey coming to the island from the Greek goddess Hyblea — whose tombs and sanctuaries still stand right near Lucy’s home of Siracusa— so… always eat this with honey.

Here is a simple and delicious recipe for cuccia for you— each ingredient is a spell for our ancestors, in honor of and offering to Lucy: Saint of light, of (in)sight, liminal spaces, and feeding our hunger for hope during the darkest, loneliest of seasons.

You can use any kind of grain, but I use farro as it doesn’t need to be soaked overnight and well… I love farro. 

Santa Lucia’s Pudding, aka…

CUCCIA:

Ingredients:

1 ½ cup (pearled) farro 

Enough water to cover farro in pot

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 cups whole-milk ricotta (made without gelatin or stabilizers)

Honey to taste

1/2 cup currants, raisins

Cinnamon and/or shaved dark chocolate and/or orange zest for garnish (optional).

1. Put farro in a pot and cover with enough water so it’s all submerged. Cook farro at medium high heat until it boils. Then reduce heat and all it to simmer for 20-25 minutes or until tender. Kernels will open up slightly. Non-pearled Farro will take much longer.

4. Turn off the heat, and leave the farro in the pot to slowly cool. When farro is at room temperature, drain (if needed— there may be no water left)

5. Combine the cooked farro with the ricotta. Stir until fully integrated.

6. Stir in your honey to taste, along with raisins. Turn into a deep serving bowl and dust with cinnamon and shaved chocolate and orange zest. Serve room temperature or warm in small bowls.

As you eat, give thanks to your ancestors. To St. Lucy. To the ancient light. To all those who came before who have kept the stories and the food alive. 

However who choose to spend these days of winter, perhaps an altar of the physical kind or even within your own body/mind— to awaken this mysterious ancestor, and begin a relationship with her, turn on her light, and begin to see in the darker of times.

xx A biatu!!!