Lighting her flame, opening her door

It has been almost sixteen years since I first dedicated myself to Hekate, and over fifteen since Andrea Angelos placed in my hands an altar dedicated to her name. That altar became the heart of a temple in the centre of the Iberian Peninsula for four years, and a few years later, it evolved into the altar of the Amaimaketon Basilian CoH Sanctuary.

Our first altar of Hekate @ Andrea Salgado's ceremony in Madrid 2010

After so many years devoted to the goddess, I’ve inevitably had to ask myself what it means, nowadays, to have a place dedicated to her and open to others.

What does it mean to have a Sanctuary? What is its purpose?

We all know what these sacred centres were for in ancient times, but in a paradigm like ours—where boundaries are constantly being broken—what is the point of opening a Sanctuary in the year 2025?

When Andrea entrusted me with the altar, she gave me a few simple guidelines—how to make its existence meaningful and how to honour the goddess through it. I suppose they were the basics, so that once the earth was ploughed, the goddess could plant whatever seeds She wished.

So, soon enough, Galena and I began holding weekly gatherings at home to learn from Hekate. It seemed the natural thing to do.

Back then, neither my wife nor I were part of the Covenant of Hekate, nor did we have a community to lean on for guidance…

But what did I have to teach about Hekate when I had only just begun?

While I waited patiently for the path to reveal the answer, I simply followed the instructions Andrea had given me, all the while scouring classical sources like a proper library mouse, seeking to understand what role I had stepped into.

Every day, after feeding my baby son breakfast, I’d wash, light the candles, recite the Orphic hymn (in a clumsy attempt at Greek), and then a hymn I had composed after my first journey to Hellas. I would sit and meditate for about 20 minutes—to listen, to feel.

And then… people started to arrive.

Some came looking for magic, others for companionship, some without knowing what they were seeking. Some came through friendship, others out of pure curiosity.

Little by little, Hekate wove the thread that would make it all work.

Within just a few weeks, we were a group—diverse in qualities and character—meeting weekly for different purposes, but always with hearts full of Hekate and hands ready to work.

One time, Galena was standing at the door talking to a persistent Jehovah’s Witness. I remember thinking, "Why doesn’t she just close the door?"—and getting up to help. Just then, the lift opened. Out came my neighbour (the one who thought we were Satanists) and a mum from my son’s nursery.

She said something that still gives me goosebumps:

"I needed help. I took the lift, and your neighbour said he was going to the tenth floor, so I decided to ask around there, just knock on a door. And now… here you are, at the door. It feels like destiny."

She was dressed in red and black, wearing a small key pendant. She came with pain, confusion, and fear—but also hope.

She returned many times. Not only that, but she dared to connect with Hekate, to open an oracle, to recognise her gifts as a medium.

Finding a place to land changed everything for her.

There were more stories: an Italian pilgrim, a Greek girl named Iphigenia who dreamed of Hekate, strangers sent by chance—or by fate—through that ever-open door.

One summer morning, after Galena had already left for work, a friend called. He had met a lovely Italian man through a dating app the night before. That man had come to Athens with one goal: to find a sacred space dedicated to Hekate to offer something in gratitude. My friend, startled, called me:

— Palladia, are you home? — Yes, why? — I’ve met someone from Italy who came to Greece looking for a sacred space of Hekate. — Tell him to come, of course. — We’ll be there in a couple of hours.

When they arrived, the Italian entered the room dedicated to the goddess. The lights were dimmed, sacred water had been sprinkled, incense was burning, and the goddess had been invoked… the door was open. The door is always open.

He left his offerings, meditated in her presence, and continued on his path.

Another day I met Iphigenia, a Greek woman who had been dreaming of Hekate for years, though she was raised Christian. She needed clarity and found me in the street, saying: "I feel like you have access to something special." At that moment, a large black dog sat between us. I immediately knew this was a matter of the goddess. I invited her to the next ritual. Though she never came, she later sent a note thanking me for making her feel understood. That, in itself, was enough.

Offerings to honour our Goddess in Athens by our Sanctuary before they closed

But while the door must always remain open, so must our awareness of ourselves.

We are human. We must honour our limits, our rhythms, and our unique personal circumstances. Holding space for others also means holding space for ourselves—so we can continue serving from a place of balance and harmony, not exhaustion. And this was something I had to learn after many years of sacred work.

Having a Sanctuary for Hekate, carrying her torch, walking the world in her name, is not something one does only in their spare time. Even in my darkest moments—when depression bit hard—I couldn’t lay down that responsibility.

We are called to listen. To serve. Even in our mundane lives.

Our temples live in our homes. Our altars are carved into spaces we protect, nourish and bless. We live with them, not around them.

To be a point where the world meets the goddess. To offer refuge, comfort, and sacred space. To be the threshold where two worlds meet.

And above all, to hold her Flame. Because in this chaotic world we live in, Hekate’s fire is more necessary than ever—a light in the darkness, a guide through confusion, a sacred truth that helps us find our way back to ourselves.

That is -at list, in my opinion — our sacred duty:

To be the light or the hand in the mist.

The gateways on the path.

The safe access to her essence.

Children of the Earth and the Heaven. Torchbearers of Her Flame.

Our statue in a public ceremony in Athens (Greece).