I had dinner tonight w/ my brilliant, brave, and amazing friend M., her wonderful husband, and her two granddaughters, here in town to visit colleges. It was a gift, a lovely gift, to spend time with M. and to see the two gorgeous young women who've somehow morphed out of the cute little babies that I remember. One of them is a Pagan and, when we talked about her practice, she noted that no covens will accept a woman under 18 so, "it's just me and my altar."
You know, we Pagans need to figure this out. There are legal and ethical issues related to practicing with teen agers, but we should be ashamed at how many brilliant young women are out there, just them and their altars. There has to be a way to navigate this path.
Came home to find that while I was eating oysters and drinking martinis w/ M., my datura had blossomed under the waxing moon. Here are a few dark shots for all the solitaries out there.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."