But Once, In My Wicked Youth Or Childhood, I Must Have Done Something Good
Really, I doubt that. I doubt that, in my wicked youth and childhood, I did something good.
Grace really isn't like that.
And it's grace, pure and simple -- that well that is sitting there, waiting to be drawn upon -- that gave me a wonderful Son, a delightful DiL, and the sweetest G/Son in the whole wide world, and that brought me -- me, the loner, the INTJ, me -- to a wonderful circle of wonderful women and plopped me in the middle of, and along the edge of, and at the perfect spot in this Circle of Amazing Women. There's nothing "good" in my wicked youth and childhood (and early adulthood and middle adult years) that I ever did to deserve a draught of water this cold and this pure.
Once a year, my Circle spends a whole day on ourselves, on our Circle, on the kind of magic that we've done and that we want to keep doing. Every year, by the end of the day, I'm completely worn out. And, every year, I drift on off to bed amazed at my good fortune. Maidens. Mothers. Crones.
May it be so for you. May it continue to be so for me.
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 . . . ."