I'm a big believer in daily practice. There are witches, wonderful witches, who celebrate only the Sabbats, or only the Sabbats and the Esbats, and that's v good. But, for me, being a witch means sitting down daily at my altar. Daily lighting the incense, daily lighting the candles in the candle spells, daily grounding, daily calling the directions, daily casting the circle, daily saying the Ha prayer, daily working several magics, daily listening to the Goddess.
Today, for no more reason than the law of averages, deep magic picked me up and carried me, the way that some occasional wave at the beach will lift you up and carry you. I've called Water a thousand times; today, West picked me up and carried me. And that feeling is the feeling of deep magic.
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 . . . ."