It's not even five o'clock and it's dark. The wind is blowing the holly bush near my window back and forth and there's a promise of sleet and icy rain for tomorrow morning. The lamps in my living room are like the sun's archipelagos, tiny islands of light in a sea of growing night. I'm tired from too much work and too many must-attend borg holiday events and not enough sleep. I want more than almost anything to batten down the hatches, lock the shutters, add on extra blankets, and go to sleep. I find myself reading Starhawk:
Set sail, set sail, Follow the twilight to the West, Where you may rest, where you may rest.
Set sail, set sail, Turn your face where the sun growns dim, Beyond the rim, beyond the rim.
Set sail, set sail, One thing becomes another In the Mother, in the Mother.
Set sail, set sail, Make of your heart a burning fire, Build it higher, build it higher.
Set sail, set sail, Pass in an instant through the open gate, It will not wait, it will not wait.
Set sail, set sail, Over the dark of the sunless sea, You are free, you are free.
Set sail, set sail, Guiding the ship of your rising sun, You are the One, you are the One.
Set sail, set sail, Into the raging wind and storm, To be reborn, to be reborn.
Set sail, set sail, Over the waves where the spray blows white,
All: We are awake in the night! We turn the Wheel, to bring the light! We sail the Sun from the womb of Night! To bring the light, to bring the light.
/From a Winter Solstice ritual in The Spiral Dance, 20th Anniversary Edition
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 . . . ."