Somewhere, in one of Starhawk's books, there's a several-paragraph description of the life that I imagine that I was meant to lead, a few paragraphs that changed my life and gave it purpose and named its directions, a description of a woman who makes confections going down to the docks in the afternoon to see in the boats, in a culture that honors mothers and women and the divine feminine. Lunea reminds me that that world is out there, possible, beginning to take shape.
I was at G/Son's b/day party today. Every one of the ethnically-diverse fathers at the party, from my amazingly gorgeous, brilliant, kind, hard-working, fantastic writer of a good Son, to a guy who works for a local sports team, to a computer guy, to the guy who lives next door to Son and DiL, every one of them was a 100% more involved and caring and great dad than any of the men with whom I grew up in the 1950s. Every one of them was changing diapers (I do not believe that my father ever, in his entire life, ever, changed the diapers of even one of his five children), running after their toddlers while their wives chatted, filling plates for their children, refereeing squabbles over sharing. They give me hope, they do, these young men. Their own sons will be -- so different.
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 . . . ."