Hecate’s Moon by Sara Wright

I spent hours
writing
you snaked by
underground roots
entering my story
with your
forked stick
‘witches’ are a
lie that christians
made up
to legitimize
harm done
to our kind
Artists, Writers,
Healers,
Visionaries,
Trees,
(men too)
Women whose
Difference
others defined.
Nature defiled.

Hazel Tree’s
 spindles
golden fingers
shoot seeds
like stars
twist magic
flowers old capsules
next year’s buds
become One
each twig
sprouts golden wings
welcoming
Hecate’s moon
a bouquet of
branches rising
over
troubled waters
mourning
those
she loved
and lost.
I still ache
for the mother
I adored
We gazed
at each other
through a distorted
mirror
I was confused
Lost, didn’t she see?
She almost destroyed me
sold me to
a mountain’s worth
of mourning
yet in
the end
leaving autumn behind
sitting in a circle of ashes
Love survived.
Grieve on.

I did not
make the choices
she did
to separate
myself from
those
I loved
they did
and
who
knows
who was harmed
in between
broken relationships
like dreams
run deep
Crossroads
only a fork
in the road
take both
and unite
mycelia running
regeneration
ahead.

For the last week or so I have been with witch hazel trees who helped me re -story an old tale about my mother and witches. I continue to peer at Hazel’s astonishing shapes, touch tangled branches, identify seed capsules, next year’s buds, celebrate a magical tree that only blooms in late autumn. Such a perfect tree to honor in October when Hecate’s White Pearl rises over the horizon bringing in the first frost of year.

In pre – christian/ Indigenous traditions Hecate’s moon is a dark one because She ushers in the darkest months of the year sometime each October. Hecate stands at the crossroads. What is she asking of us? To turn inward? To reflect? The choices are always ours to make. Hecate is a force of nature turning the wheel of the seasons. No magic, no ‘witchery’ just learning to be accountable for the promises we make/made in the dark.

  Hecate’s moon is the thirteenth moon of the year.

All Hallows, the Feast of the Dead is close marking the end of the Celtic/Indigenous year, celebrated in this country as a time to ‘trick or treat’. Tricks abound. The fires of chaos blow fierce and hot; yet while feeling the chill of first frost I also find myself leaning into the dying leaves, the bare bones of November, stones and trees. And yes for a few moments I am gifted by a strange sense of peace.

 Yesterday, I spent a work-day with a ‘son’ who is not related to me by blood whose love is a great underground river that heals, one who digs in bulbs, plants the bright yellow chrysanthemums he gave me for my birthday (he loves yellow best of all) helps me repot starving passionflowers. He excavates four holes before he can put up the snow-plow barrier. All this with a bad back. He does all these tedious chores with an open heaped up heart – willingness, grace and love. Offering deep friendship, comfort and joy. Mother and Father Son all rolled into one. Beloved. I have never felt love like this, except once, a long time ago with a brother I lost. He loved me too.

I didn’t realize until after he was gone, leaving a poignant glow and the usual sense of loss of presence that once again we had been together on a special day, one that marks the last moon of the year. Hecate’s Rising.

 Like the tree I associate her with, this moon is often perceived as a powerful witch moon by feminists linking them unwittingly/unconsciously to our dominating fear driven patriarchal culture, one that is trying to destroy them. This nation borders on chaos and disintegration because of its refusal to reflect upon its own Shadow. Ironically, this is also the society whose colonists also created the word ‘witch’ just a few centuries ago to denounce all who refused to follow their rules.

How curious that during our morning conversation today as Hecate’s moon power was peaking, we spontaneously spent time creating space for those who harmed us, reflecting, refusing to give in to either or. Choosing both roads at once.

 I think this is the hidden gift that Hecate brings to those of us who acknowledge her nature power without needing to turn her into a witch.