To own the word Priestess, I am becoming more brave, beside my thousand thousand priestess-sisters.
I see the Goddess is returning through our troubled skies through wars and violated children, through land raped into angry dust and I will priestess Her, call Her healing love through ritual and my daily living; I know in all her many names she spells the flame of hope.
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 . . . ."