Crossroads.

I signed up for 30 Days Of Hecate with Joanna Powell Colbert. It was only $20 and I thought...why not? I really could stand to save the money, but heck, this is for ME, and it's a thoughtful way of connecting to the season.

Today's journal prompt, Day 1:
At what crossroads do you stand? How might you call on Hecate to be your guide?

I think...I had to think about this. I stand at several crossroads. I view crossroads as decision-making (Do I do this or that? What's next?) and every decision, every path has a parallel universe. A What-If path.

I have many (crossroads, decisions, pathways to choose from) at any given time, but right now I am thinking I am at a crossroads of my life. I am between Mother and Crone. On Saturday (Samhain/Halloween), if I don't spot, which I haven't yet, I am officially through menopause. Which, physically, means I'm Croned. Yet because I started so late with pregnancy (41yo), I am still very much in Mothering mode. Somehow, though, I am identifying more and more with Crone goddesses...Hecate. Baba Yaga. 

I am not afraid of death. I am not at all afraid of getting older. I look at my body with wonder and awe and abject fascination. It's wrinkly. The skin is thinner, and it hangs. I see a very different visage when I look in the mirror than when I am photographed. I'm appalled because I feel the same as my 40 year old self, yet I look (in my eyes) much, much older. My gray is starting to come in more. I have downy fuzz on my face. I have a mole that now grows four hairs out of it. It used to grow one, then two, now four. My Witch-mole. I'm getting older. It's so weird.

This is not a choice between this road or that. I can, however, choose my attitude with which to take the path. I choose acceptance, not resistance. I choose fascination. I hopefully choose wisdom. I can't wait for each day. It's an exciting journey!

I wanted to post a new picture, but I can't figure out how. Yet. I haven't changed all that much, being's I'm nearly 56 and when people are adults, I don't think they change all that much, generally. Unless they lose or gain a ton of weight (which I have-- I should figure out how to load up my fat picture) or when they grow, like....thirty years older than the last pic.
I digress. I look nearly the same. I think I'm more wrinkly, in photos, but perhaps I'm being picky about myself. As humans are wont to do.


So...Friday, two days ago, they cut down a tree across the way from me. And gave another one a massive haircut. I was very nearly sick to my stomach for the whole day. I had to shut the curtains in broad daylight so I couldn't see. I could still hear the chain saws, though. Now I have this ugly stump out there to look at-- the gaping wound of the corpse of my beautiful oakey friend. It's horrible, and devastating, and I can hardly talk about it or think about it, so mostly I don't, but I had to mention it because it just blows my mind how people-- most people-- think of trees as "just trees". Or animals, too, "It's just a dog", or "It's only a cat" or whatever.
To me, everything matters.
Trees matter.
Trees matter in a HUGE way. We breathe in, they breathe out. They breathe in, we breathe out. That is often a meditation of mine: We breathe in, they breathe out. They breathe in, we breathe out.


More later.