[Evangelicals, such as Robertson and Falwell and Dobson, have spent the last thirty years demonizing liberals.] Why in Jesus or Allah or the Buddha's name would I reach out to anyone who's been kicking me for three days, let alone three decades? And don't tell me, "Those guys are the old guard." Instead, show me that they're not [still in charge] by laying off your efforts to control my body, my mind, and my wallet (by agitating for my tax dollars to funnel toward your unconstitutional "faith-based initiatives) and by halting your Thirty Years War against liberals. That means, among other faith-based initiatives, taking on esteemed evangelical "opinion leaders" like the Parshalls, the Parsleys, and Pastor-I-Have-A-Weekly-Call-With-The-White-House Dobson.
If evangelicals think it's time for a group hug, let them do the reaching out for once. But don't be surprised if I'm wary, dirty fucking hippie that I am. Because when people spend thirty years telling me I'm going to hell for everything from not having whatever the hell a "personal relationship with Jesus" is to enjoying sexual communion with the occasional libidinous liberal lad to whom I happen not to be married I tend to be a little suspicious of their embrace.
You know, when I was in grammar school, this miserable little bitch used to give me no end of shit for doing everything from reading on the school bus to wearing the "wrong" sneakers to living on whatever passes for the wrong side of the tracks in one of the toniest suburbs in the northeast. It wouldn't have occurred to me to "reach out" to this little shit until she'd learned some manners, shut her mouth, and got off my back, my idiotic teachers' suggestion to "be the bigger person", notwithstanding. Just saying.
So Evangelicals, you come to me and you be nice. Bring some coffee (I take it light and I don't do artificial sweeteners) and a couple of Krispy Kremes (the chocolate frosted ones, please) from the franchise at your megachurch. Then we'll see if we have anything in common.
Actually, though, res can have my doughnuts. There isn't anything those creepy evangelicals could do to cozy up to me. I wish they'd all just find another planet to go to and practice their weird, sick, unhealthy religion. I'd always be waiting for them to drop the nicey-nice routine and tie me to a stake.
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 . . . ."