Friday, August 13, 2010

holy hecate

the weather turned last night - when i woke up at four am and ran outside to check for meteor showers, not only was the sky shrouded in dark gray clouds but there was a distinct chill in the air as well. how appropos for the dawn of Hecate's day.

how appropos Her day falls on Friday the 13th, a day even our own culture recognizes as fraught with the unexpected.

Hecate, goddess of gates and crossroads, chaos and trash, is a goddess to whom i find myself increasingly drawn. Her day falls at the end of a week bracketed by my grandmother's death and my mother's birth.

She's not a goddess to dance with lightly - in my early wiccan days, i was constantly meeting women who would proudly proclaim they were worshippers of Hecate, and then bemoan the fact their lives were full of chaos. part of her Power - and possibly Her attraction for disaffected souls - is that She's one of those Deities that don't seem to care whether you engage Her or not.

maybe because in the end, She's the One to whom we all belong.

and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.
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libramoon said...

Hekate's Child

Child of Hekate,
sweetness and light?
Where is the mark
of your entombment?
Buried prematurely,
to strive for growth
in dark enclosure
striving for a breath
of the pompously negligent
of the blushing Moon
of the squabbling sons and daughters,
of daylight's pleasures.
Striving, tenderly
twisting around corners
aching for an unknown touch.

"Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?"
Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal,
all at once remembering
playfellows on the schoolyard
running, out of breath,
filled with pride
a jolly good game.
Always someone begging
my attention,
but it wasn't really me,
just a story to steam off
or a butt to joke on.
All the silly give and take;
only time is taken
and that in big hungry chunks
of no tomorrows.

One long day
now the part all groggy
waking from fevered napping.
It wasn't supposed to be a tomb
nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines.
It was meant to be a child's cot,
freshly laundered cotton lace.
But the rats got in,
once the cats had been slaughtered.

Slowly wakening
I strive again to find my footing.
Learning to walk
was never as easy
as forgetting to fly.

(c) Feb. 26, 2006 Laurie Corzett

Walk in the Woods said...

For years now - especially as summer wanes toward autumn - I have consciously communed with Hecate, with her Verve at dawn and dusk. I've come to know these places as daily crossroads, two circadian gates of opportunity to recognize the chaos, darkness and death in my life *and* make conscious choices around my observations.

I did not know (or perhaps had forgotten) that August 13 in Hecate's day. Thank you this.