Miss Thing dragged me into consciousness earlier this morning than I would have liked. I got up and fed her, tried to go back to sleep, couldn't sleep, got up and took a warm bath in the dark, which usually puts me to sleep, couldn't sleep, went back to bed, couldn't sleep, and, finally, as the many wonderful birds in my yard began to make noise, got up, made tea, and got ready for my day. I carried my steaming cup, barefoot, out into my yard to confront a huge corps de ballet of robins and cardinals and woodpeckers. I love my life. I simply love, love, love my life.
All morning, despite the lack of sleep, I had this lovely, grounded sense, even when I was trying to go to sleep and couldn't, of inhabiting my own life. Of simply being present in my own life, content, aware, not imagining perfection, but, also, not focused only on what needed work, what was lacking. For a daughter of my father, that's a large accomplishment. I went to work, disregarded the opinion (which, to be fair, I'd sought) of an "expert" and went w/ my heart, asked for and got a plum assignment (that, to be fair, is going to require a shitload of work) and, then, after monkfish and cabbage, drove around Arlington looking at yards designed by the landscaper I'm thinking of using. Came home and sat zazen at my altar.
It's enough. It's everything that I've worked for. And, it's enough.
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 . . . ."