Some days, I don't know how to be a witch and a grandmother and a lawyer and a gardener and a reader and a writer and an animal body that requires maintenance. Last night, at my wonderful circle's dark moon ritual, I promised the Goddess and my sisters to get even more exercise. And I don't know how. I don't know how to find the time.
I am sure that I am the only one in the world who remembers how Henry Kravitz's wife used to wake at dawn to practice the piano, but I am going to try to emulate (this aspect of) her this coming year. I only know that it's one step after another after another, and making the best steps all the time. I only know that everything matters and that everything exists in that highly joyous state of sheer joy where almost nothing matters because it's all ok.
My goal for the coming year is to live in that space in which G/Son turns on his most beloved object in the entire world: the vacuum cleaner, and claps his hands and yells, "Yea! Vacuum! Yea!" That's how I want to live all the obligations that I have. That's how I want to assume these duties. That's how I'd like to finish this race.
Goddess, I am yours and you are mine. Let's dance.
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 . . . ."