Maybe there are things that each of us, dead, might prefer to hear said about us. I don't know what they would be.
I stand here today: a priestess, a Pagan, a woman who loves men, women, and transpeople, a twin-spirit, a nerd, a bibliophile, a polyphile, a dancer, a poet, an activist, someone who feels weak and someone who feels strong... Harvey, my closet doors are so wide open, they are yawning, sometimes. People like you have helped me in my quest for honesty and I'm glad to count you among my ancestors of spirit. We chanted your name during the candlelight AIDS marches in the '80s. We have named LGBT centers after you. You and George were ever in our minds. The party continues, as does the work against hate.
Thorn has more, here about the movie Milk, which is getting excellent reviews.
All acts of love and pleasure are rituals of the Goddess.
(Of course, Milk asserted that all "men" are created equal. Fuck that shit.)
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 . . . ."