The witches are out buying bras and having dinner. I am on a conference call at work.
I come home from a long, insane day at work. The whole way home, the gorgeous crescent Moon is to my right, to my left, ahead of me, behind me; wherever I go, there She is.
There are lights on, witches inside my house, dinner set out on my table, a conversation already in progress. I eat. We dance. We divide a box of organic produce from my CSA. We discuss meetings w the mayor, squabbles w/in federal agencies, legal research gone awry, local witch wars. We hug.
I tell the witches on Saturday about my old furnace; it dies on Tuesday; the new one will be installed by next Friday; I'll get the witches to bless it next Saturday. Here's the blessing: may you live a year longer than Hecate. Hah! I hope it's a really good furnace.
The witches gather on Saturday to do political magic. We are in the shadow of the Capitol, we are on a train to NY, we are literally between homes, we are on the other side of the Atlantic, on business. We use cell phones, computers, iCameras, and the love for each other that pours out of our hearts, the anger in our souls. When we feel goose bumps, we know that the magic is working.
I make a reference at a family dinner to turning someone into a newt. G/Son says, "No, Nonna! You're not a fairy or a witch! You can't do magic!" I say, "Yes, I am a witch." Son says, "Oh, trust me, G/Son. She's a witch." I take it as a compliment.
Furnace Guy shows up and says, "I love the Halloween decorations in your yard." While he's figuring out that my 34-year-old furnace is (no surprise) dead, I go out and feed the cardinals, mourning doves, sparrows, and finches. I check the blossoms on the fall camellias. I flip a tarot card. Do I need to replace this furnace? Trumps 13: Death. Yeah, fine, ok, at least I get a tax break.
I cut lavender and sage and bundle them into smudge sticks. When the pineapple sage is done blooming, I'll bundle it into logs to burn all winter long.
I ground, I breathe cleansing breaths into each of my chakras, I call the Elements, my animal guides, some Goddesses. I cast a circle and find myself between the worlds. I say the Ha prayer, I run the Iron Pentacle, I call to the universe for my material needs, I sit within my ruined temple of a place of power next to some heated springs and south of some mountains. I walk back over a high bridge and through a meadow of yarrow, over a field of parsley and thyme. I re-enter my body. I hang my magic cloak back on the hook. I go backwards through the Goddesses, the animal guides, the Elements, back into my own body.
I unload the dishwasher.
Before enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water.
I chop and carry w/in a world alive with magic, w/in a community of magical women. And that has made, as Frost noted, all the difference.
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 . . . ."