By what miracle does this cracker made from Kansas wheat, this cheese ripened in French caves, this fig, grown and dried near Ephesus, turn into Me? My eyes, My hands, My cells, organs, juices, thoughts?
Am I not then Kansas wheat and French cheese and Smyrna figs? Figs, no doubt, the ancient Prophets ate?
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 . . . ."