That's how long it's been since I bled. My last period began on my fifth wedding anniversary; the one before that on the summer solstice. I knew I was supposed to pay attention to that one: it coincided with the conception of my granddaughter who was born on my birthday.
I never lack for signs, but I haven't always paid attention as closely as I should. I want to change that. This blog is part of that intention.
Today is the feast of Hecate, goddess of the crossroads, gateways and trash. In the trinity of Goddesses I honor, she is the Crone, the one who stands beside the final gate. As I peer through this one, I can see that last one faintly outlined, taking shape. It doesn't exactly please me, but it doesn't exactly terrify me either. I'm more afraid of what the manner of my death might be, than actually dying.
So here I stand, perched on the final physical passage of my body before its last. And what I see is a land littered by terrified women clinging to their youth on one hand and a lot of very graceful, beautiful women living rich and vibrant lives on the other. I'm sure you know on which side of the divide I intend to fall.
Today I dedicate myself to the journey. Blessed be.