Tomorrow (Goddess willing) you are going to wake up.
You are going to wake up in the middle of Sacred Matter (sheets, pillows, mattress, nightgown, self), Sacred Relationships, Sacred Dreams. And you are going to go about your Work. You are going to go about your Work inside a temple that you may not recognize, surrounded by Acolytes of the Teachings of Patience, Priestesses of the Message of the Importance of Assistance, Demons sent from Hel, sent to prod you into Waking Up!
You are going to perform the sacred act of incorporating into the body of a Priestess: sacred grains from Mother Earth (grits or Cheerios or oatmeal or whole wheat toast), sacred beans from the Mountain Forests of the Last Inhabited Continent (coffee), or Tisanes made from Sacred Leaves, grown on the Hillsides of the Himalayas (iced tea).
You are going to accept the gift of ancient dying forests, dead dinosaurs, and the pressure of Mother Earth (oil) in order to get to where your destiny demands that you go: work, your child's daycare center, your school, a field where you will harvest food. (And, given the sacredness and diminishing availability of that gift, what v important thing will you do? How can you honor that gift where and as you are?)
You are going to access a privilege unknown to your mother, your grandmothers, your great-grandmothers, your many-many-many-many-many times great ancestresses and talk, over distances, to friends, employers, family, journalists, even weird bloggers. You are going to flip a switch and wash the dishes that would have taken your great-grandmother hours to wash, push a button and wash the clothes that she would have labored all day to clean, punch some numbers and communicate to distant relatives what she would have taken an hour to pen in a letter.
And, then, tomorrow night, you will go to bed, sigh, and wish that you lived in enchanted times.
But you -- you -- you are called to live as a Priestess, a Witch, a lover of Enchantment, now, today, in this world. This one. The one where you will wake up tomorrow and either add to Enchantment, Magic, the World of the Goddess, or sustain the myth of the mundane.
Whose side are you on, Sister? Whose side are you on?
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 . . . ."