More and more, what calls to us just now is dark, hibernation, rest, the deep. Snowstorms blanket the country and, yet, so many of us ignore the clear message from Mother Gaia: Stay home! and try to pretend that we don't live on a weathery planet, but in some technological bubble where we can always go about as if it were 70 degrees and sunny. The flu, car accidents, broken ankles, and a sense of displacement and anger are the inevitable results. Some great, great, many times great G/Daughter of mine will live on one of those starships, but I don't.
I live on a watery planet that spends at least three months out of every year telling me to stay home, cover up, drink warm tea, wear socks, have a fire, consume soup, feed the birds, and contemplate the deep message in desiccated weeds and skeleton-bare trees.
Yes, in a few weeks, my lovely blue planet/Mother will turn, the days will begin to grow longer, I will turn my focus to the light, to action, to growth, to activity, to the East. But, not yet. Not yet. We do ourselves and our planet wrong to turn too quickly to the light.
Just now, the darkness is growing. We can be with that. We can be of that. We can be for that. Just now, we can explore the darkness, both the darkness within ourselves and the darkness in the world outside. What is the scariest thing that would happen if you paid attention to the dark? What is the scariest thing that will happen if you repress it?
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 . . . ."