So only a few more precious days of longer and longer sunlight and then we reach the Solstice. At that point, will we or nill we, the days will begin to get shorter and the nights will begin to get longer and longer. After last Winter, I've especially treasured this Spring: warm days, the growing plants, the extra daylight hours to sit out on the porch and sip iced tea. Be nice to me, Summer. This ain't my first time at the rodeo.
The coming week, especially with the waxing Moon, seems like a great one to make an All-Out-Push. Go back to the goals you set at Samhein and take stock. Are you where you'd hoped to be? What could you accomplish if you gave it all you've got this week, between now and the Solstice? What if every single day this week you: did your daily practice, met your exercise goal, worked at getting your finances in order, were kinder to yourself [insert goal here]?
Yeah, of course, slow, steady, regular progress is how most things happen and it's what we all strive for. But in my world, at least, shit happens. A crunch at work means there's not time for much beyond working, sleeping, and the basics. A bad cold sends me to bed for days and, even when it's over, it takes a while to get my energy back. I get discouraged. And it's long been my experience that having a week (or even a day or an hour) devoted to the All-Out-Push is a great way to jumstart stalled goals, revitalize my practice, make enough progress to get me motivated to hang in there for the longer haul. Maybe you can't keep this pace up forever (or maybe you'll find out that, indeed, you can do a lot more than you thought you could do). But that's not the point. Just find out what it means to go all out on your promise to yourself.
What could you accomplish by the Summer Solstice if you devoted this week at an All-Out-Push?
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 . . . ."