The task is to actually perceive what's real and to act within that knowledge as much of the time as we can.
To actually perceive that everything is connected.
To actually perceive that everything, everything, everything is shot full with divinity, that it's all, in J.D. Salinger's words, "God pouring God into God."
To actually perceive that you have, in Gabriel Roth's words, roots that go all the way back to zero.
To actually perceive that, in Mary Oliver's words, "one morning in the leafy green ocean, the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body is sure to be there," and so it's more than appropriate to cry: "Let the immeasurable come. Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine. Let the wind turn in the trees, and the mystery hidden in the dirt swing through the air."
To actually perceive that everyone, everyone, everyone, even you. art Goddess, art God. That you are a manifestation of the Goddess, growing into becoming your Better Self.
And to then figure out what that all means in terms of what to eat for breakfast, how to stand on the metro, what tasks to perform and how to perform them, what images to hold and which to discard, what to say to your friend, lover, grandchild, enemy, antagonist. To figure out what that all means when you come to your altar, when you waft the incense towards you or away from you, when you sink into scented bathwater, when you make an intention for your dream.
Every morning, I pray, "Allow me, in all that I do, to help to repair the web." And then I spend a few minutes perceiving the web. That's the first part. Holding that perception, paying attention to that perception, acting in accord with that perception: that's the task.
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 . . . ."