I have a pendant that my brother gave me fifteen years ago, during his fundamentalist Christian phase. That’s significant because it’s a triskel, which was the symbol I used to for Hekate before I could find a strophalos, the wheel symbol associated with her in the Chaldean Oracles. (Now I have that tattoo’d over my xyphoid process.) But then, I had never even seen it, just read references, and certainly couldn’t find a piece of jewelry with it. It’s still pretty hard. So I used a triskel, a three-armed spiral.
And my bother, knowing I used it religiously, as a symbol of my goddess, nonetheless got me a sterling silver pendant with it on. It meant a lot.
It’s domed, and the concave reverse makes a wonder worrystone, perfect for rubbing a thumb over to soothe yourself. It’s also, when it’s polished, a mirror, parabolic, focusing. A tiny mirror I’m wearing, hanging from my neck, alongside my cloissonne black dog under the moon and my mano in fica amulet. A mirror hiding behind a three-way crossroads, each road spiraling out and passing the others. I look into it and see my face, tiny and upside down and distorted.
August, the month I give to Hekate, is a time of inward-gazing for me, a time of exploration and examination of self. This tiny, curved mirror is a reminder of that, a way to look at myself from a new perspective.