I often laugh inwardly as I go through the everyday tasks of asking people ”how they are.”
We are surrounded by collapsing economies, horrific climate disturbance and worse still society is coming apart at the seams. By my reckoning none of us are doing real great. At least those of us still trying to get by on less than 6 or 7 figure incomes. However, my southern raising still demands the question, and the polite listening to answers that sear my soul like a branding iron put to flesh, burning through the hair and leaving a lasting mark.
The Struggle is Real
I live in one of the most crimson colored areas of the country and I can attest to the struggle being real for those of us clinging desperately to our little blue hold-outs. While I can definitely feel a change on the wind, I can also feel the reality that it is much too little, far too late.
In my area of the world we are losing farms faster than Dallas Cowboys lose football games. (I remain loyal to my forever football team. But let’s face it, the Landry days are long gone.) We are experiencing a horrendous drought, leaving us over 25 inches short for the year so far and there is no real relief in sight.
We have one of the highest maternal mortality rates in the country, yet maternity and rural health care facilities are being closed down in record time. We remain at the top of the list for food insecurity and thousands of our children go to bed hungry every night. All while SNAP benefits have been cut to bare minimums and free and reduced lunch programs are being stripped. The educational system is broken and sadly, just unimportant to folks trying to keep food on their tables.
There is no help on its way, and no one is coming to save us. The call is definitely coming from inside the house, and it seems we are all hooked up to the same party line.
Finding Haven
In the midst of all this wrongness, it can become increasingly hard to find a haven of peace and calm and joy. For many of us, those safe spaces may begin to look much different than we had thought they would. And for some of us, it’s going deeper into the truths we have always felt deeply within ourselves that will set us free.
I have spent a great deal of time reading and rereading the books that speak to me in profound ways. I have dug deeper into womanhood and its effect on the world around us, or more precisely its removal from the world around us. The healers and life givers, the wisdom speakers and soul shapers, the rivers of generational knowledge and generational trauma that flows over, around and under everything that surrounds us, the women of my life and others.
Now more than ever, those circles of women on the ground become more and more important, more needed, and more required. In a world that views our personhood as expendable, replaceable and tiresome after a “certain age”, our presence must be felt even more.
To Heal a Broken World
It is a fearful thing to walk out among the world right now in our womanhood. We are faced daily with the brutality worked upon us and see clearly there will be no punishment. There is no crime so great that it demands justice on our behalf. Our bodies are used as altars to the economy, society and much too often even by those that should and that claim to love us.
The whole of womanhood’s history is a horrific story of brutality, control and fear. Yet within those pages lay the brief chapters and stories of absolute grandeur, beauty and unbelievable power. It’s in these pages that the answers live. WE are the saviors, we are the answers, and we are the way forward. We have a responsibility to the world around us that we never asked for yet was laid at our feet, since time began.
If the world is to change it will take our hands to mold a new one. It will take our return to what we know deeply within ourselves. It will take a great commitment to, and a true desire to see real change. It will take building and rebuilding the refuges of the world, to keep us ALL safe.
A Personal Hymnal
As always the amazing Byron Ballard has provided me with a shelter in the storm and a lighthouse on which to train my eyes and thoughts. I have been reading and reading again many of her books, and finding my way through the darkness. As I have pored over A Feral Church again and again with its stories of womanhood and its many curves and bends through life, many of my own stories have come to life also.
Through music and lyric and a deep connection to the root of all women, my own hymnal of sorts has floated to the surface. The kind of keening and longing that I needed badly at this point in my life, at this stage of the world.
Remembering Our Own Holiness
It’s easy to get lost in the grand scheme of things, to forget our own holiness, to forget our necessity, to forget the roles we have played across time. The great Mother that cares for us, that feeds us, that provides for us a place to live and walk and observe beauty all around us, even the first apostle to the resurrection of Jesus was a woman. Throughout time, through histories all over the world, women have held the lines and played a pivotal role in the shaping of all humanity.
It is my hope to help others remember that call to greatness, among the horrors we see daily. To not only find our own refuge, but to build that for others. It begins within ourselves and our homes. We must start within and radiate out.
Refuge by Krista Chapman Green (c) 2026
Refuge
Weave within me the workings To walk this wilderness bare
That I might find my refuge and solace there in her care.
Excerpt of lyrics from “Refuge” (unreleased single) by Krista Chapman Green
Rage and Whimsey
My life motto has become increasingly simple over the last few years. Rage and Whimsy.
On many days I must admit the rage wins. I wish it didn’t but I’m not sure this current state of the world allows for it not to. Somedays the rage is so great it feels like I could burn the world to the ground and dance on the ashes with truly relished glee. I know I’m not alone in this, I know women everywhere that dance on the exact same knife’s edge that I do. I talk to them, I listen, I hear them. I hear the same anger, the same rage, the same despair I often feel within my own bones. The one thing I come back to and encourage other women in is this: whimsy.
Remember who you were before the world told you what you couldn’t be. Remember the joy you felt one night sitting on the grass under the moon. Remember the smile you felt eating your favorite ice cream, melting and running all over your fingers. Remember the ecstasy your body is capable of. Remember you, who you are at your core, and then run back to her full speed.
I have fully embraced the me I always wanted to be, purple hair, fun clothes and unapologetically me. I engage fully with all my “little hobbies” creating the whimsy I need in my life to survive. I cling to joy and kindness like life rafts.
My rage may burn brightly, but may it also be a light to find others to join me in this great rebuilding.
Become the refuge you need and build it out for others. They can not survive without us. It’s time we remember that.
Krista Chapman Green
For more information about Krista Chapman Green, including her collected articles here on Pagan Song, her bio, and links to Krista’s sites on the web, check out Krista’s page on Pagan Song.
All photos, including featured photo, by Krista Chapman Green.
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