Ancestors. At Samhein. No One Could Have Anticipated.
So, old news that on Wednesdays I get together w some other women, for ecstatic dance.
Last week and this week, we've been moved to do magic for America. It's one of the great blessings of my life that I get to live with these amazing women, to do magic and fix dinner and do laundry with them, to discuss driving voters to the polls with them.
Every morning, I drive past the Teddy Roosevelt Island, a wildlife sanctuary immediately across the river from Washington, D.C. (Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?) Every four or five months, I'm blessed to see, in the morning, the bald eagle who fishes snakes and fish and frogs out of the lazy estuary rivulet that forms the Eastern border of the island. (Oh body swayed to music, oh brightening glance) I saw the eagle soaring yesterday morning. It's a gift, it's Grace, it's god pouring god into god. That image figured in my working.
When I call North/Earth/Pentacles, I'm calling ancestors, bears, wolves, foxes, moose, caves, mountains, plains, stones, decomposing bodies, the power to be silent. What I learned, almost by accident, tonight, is that, if you call Obama's ancestors to come protect him, well, they will Show Up. No, really. They. Will. Show. Up. He can be protected from the racist hatred being stirred up against him. His ancestors -- from both sides -- will Show Up and deflect the danger.
I pass this along for others who are doing protective magic for him.
He stays safe through January 20th, when his own Secret Service, loyal to him, can take over. This is my will. So mote it be.
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 . . . ."