Intuition, Synchronicity, and the Path of the Dark Goddess

I didn’t go looking for Hekate. She found me.
And like most meaningful connections in life, it started quietly, through little signs, strange coincidences, dreams, and encounters with her followers. At first, I didn’t know who or what was reaching out. But over time, the message got clearer, and the feeling more familiar. That’s how my relationship with Hekate began—through intuition, through synchronicity, through a deep sense of knowing her, recognising her energy and wisdom that’s hard to explain but impossible to ignore.

There was something about her that felt close. Not just spiritually powerful, but culturally close—like she’d always been sitting just beyond the edge of my memory. Maybe that’s because I come from a Mediterranean background, and her energy speaks to something deeply woven into that land and history. Olive groves, wild herbs, dark earth, strong women. She was talking about a feeling that was familiar, recognisable.

I’ve always been drawn to the dark goddesses—those fierce, wild, unapologetic figures who don’t shy away from death, grief, or transformation. Kali, Bhairavi, Chamunda—they’ve held a sacred place in my heart for years. My connection to them is deeply devotional, rooted in awe and reverence. They feel enormous, cosmic, radiant in their destruction and creation. Powerful and somehow motherly in their mysteries and connection to their devotees. And somehow that is how I felt from the first moment that I heard about Hekate, an archetype that felt like family in context and culture.

Hekate feels earthy. She’s the herb-gathering witch grandmother, the protector of the weird and the wise. She walks at the crossroads, lights the way through dark places, and doesn’t flinch when things get messy. She understands the in-between spaces—the transitions, the griefs, the not-quite-sures- the liminal!.  And maybe that’s why I’ve come to love her so much. Because life is often lived in those liminal places, and she meets me there without judgment.

One of my favourite ways to honour her is during the dark moon, with something called Hekate’s Supper. It’s simple, really. I prepare a little offering—some honey, eggs and flowers—and leave it outside, often at a crossroads or just near my door. It’s a small ritual, but it holds so much meaning. Those nights are quiet, reflective. It’s not about drama or spectacle—it’s about presence. About saying: I see you, I honour you, thank you for walking with me.

And the thing is… she always shows up to the call. Not in a dramatic way but in subtle ways—like clarity in a dream, a sudden moment of peace, a solution I hadn’t seen before. She’s not loud, but she’s powerful. She reminds me to trust the path, even when I can’t see what’s next.

I’ve also been exploring her presence in old magical texts—like the Greek Magical Papyri, these ancient writings full of invocations and spells. She appears often, always strong, sometimes even a little terrifying, but always deeply respected. It’s wild to think that people thousands of years ago were calling on her too, asking for guidance, protection, justice. There’s something comforting in that lineage. A reminder of my origins and potential connection with past lives.

Reflecting about this connection, it is as if she reminds me that magic doesn’t have to be grand—it can be found in the everyday, in our grief, our healing, our quiet power.

So, I keep showing up. Every dark moon, I lay out her supper. I whisper my prayers. I light a candle and give thanks. She’s become a constant in my life—a steady flame in the dark, a protector of what I can’t always name, but know I need.

And if there’s one thing she’s taught me, it’s this:
Don’t fear the dark. Walk through it. Own it. There’s magic there.
And you’re never walking alone.

IO HEKA, IO HO.