I celebrated Thanksgiving in Boston with my dad and my brother’s family, and the first thing I did after settling in was present them with copies of Virgo Witch. I wasn’t sure how my dad might react to the book, but he surprised me by losing his mind over it — not because a Son of His was a practicing witch, but because a Son of His was a published author.
For the rest of my visit, he asked everyone we ran into when they were born, and if they said September, he’d bellow, “HAVE I GOT THE BOOK FOR YOU.”
Once again, my dad has proven himself to be better at marketing than I ever will be.
The second thing I did was beg for a trip to the Edward Gorey House, on account of I’ve been obsessed with Gorey’s art since 1992, so a museum based out of his home is basically my Mecca. (Click here for a slideshow of the Gashlycrumb Tinies Scavenger Hunt that turned my nephew and me into hellbent, jubilant bloodhounds.) Once I returned to Houston and confirmed that all pressing bills were covered, I ordered a resin plate from the Gorey Store as both a memento and an early holiday gift to self. And also to tip my hat in Hecate’s direction.
It’s probably worth noting that I’ve never really had a working relationship with Hecate the way a lot of witches do. Like, Davo is a hardcore devotee and provides her with daily offerings, but other than just acknowledging her in my own evening prayers, I haven’t put much effort into getting to know her. I did take Jason Miller’s Sorcery of Hekate course a few years back, but the whole New Warriors Training Weekend thing went down right in the middle of it, which, I am only mildly ashamed to confess, derailed my focus.
La Déesse Éclectique reminded me of Roman depictions of Hecate, which in turn made me realize that I didn’t own any images of her. Even Anteros and Laverna have representations in my home (although I’m legally prohibited from divulging how the Laverna statuette was obtained), so I figured the plate would fill a niche. Once it arrived, I installed it in a place of honor on top of my curio cabinet.
Within 24 hours, there was a shift in energy around the apartment. It wasn’t dramatic or disturbing — chairs weren’t levitating or anything — but the space felt more… reverent, maybe? Sacrosanct? I initially just chalked it up to having rearranged some stuff and moved a few items from public view to the Ex-Boyfriend Drawer in the back of the bedroom, but then Davo noticed it, and, more telling, he noticed that I’d noticed.
“It’s Hecate,” he said. “She’s got multiple idols here now.”
I must have looked confused, because he extrapolated.
“She’s very efficient. If you call to her, she shows up. And now we’re both calling to her.”
I couldn’t fault his logic, even if I hadn’t intentionally meant to invoke her. It brought to mind something I used to hear in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings: “If you take a step towards God, God will come running at you.” Which always struck me as unnecessarily aggressive but also explained why my apartment was suddenly giving off the vibes of a cluttered yet cozy Temple to the Old Ones.
Speaking of clutter, Chester is still attempting to rid himself of it, so I went over to his place to offer moral support and give him my best Marie Kondo impersonation. His main organizational strategy is to foist things off on me, which I then try to deflect. And for the most part, I’ve been able to maintain my boundaries, although I found myself at a crossroads (so to speak) when he fished a hematite choker with a crescent moon pendant out of a box and was like, “Huh. I don’t remember why I bought this. Why don’t you take it.”
Hematite is a weird stone. Astrological sources sometimes lump it together with bloodstone, which is ruled by Saturn and Mars. But hematite is also connected to Mercury, since it can be magically employed as an alternative to the poisonous element of the same name. And because of its shadowy, gunmetal color, it’s become known as a stone of (you guessed it) Hecate.
I went ahead and tried the choker on, just to see how it fit. And maybe it’s because I sell BDSM accoutrements for a living, but it seemed to give off a possessory sensation, like someone more dominant than I was claiming a level of ownership through a collar.
But I also couldn’t deny that it suited me.
And now Hecate and I are kind of staring at each other like, “Okay, now what?” Votive Attachment to the Goddess of Witchcraft was not on my 2023 bingo card, and while I’m not opposed to the rapport, there will have to be some restructuring to respectfully accommodate it.
Plus I’m furiously scrambling to wrap up my obligations to Eris before the end of the year, so throwing Hecate venerations into the mix while I’m wrestling against a deadline is going to result in the kind of juggling act that causes audiences to worry about the well-being of the performer.
But, y’know, hey. I’m a clown witch. Juggling is in my bones.
Hold my club soda and hand me some plates.
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