Most iconic of all images of elder women is the Crone.
She is not withdrawn. She is alarmingly present.
Like a tuning fork, her truth shatters hypocrisy.
Others in her presence are released into what is true in themselves.
Or they flee.
She was recently in Ireland and bought my books. She emailed to ask if I was in Ireland and available to give her a bit of a tour of sacred sites. I’m not. So arrangements were made with Colleen, our amazing residential cottage caretaker. I understand they had a wonderful time. She emailed me from the Dublin airport on her way home. And today we are meeting for lunch. Lovely. Jack mentioned she’s a wonderful woman and we might become friends.
Perhaps. But as I navigate these thresholds of Elder and Crone, I find I am not looking for friends. I am looking for sisters, and brothers, who want to step into what is true in themselves. I am looking for sisters, and brothers, who are willing to shatter hypocrisy and be alarmingly present in the world.
So a new friend? Perhaps. A new Crone sister? I hope so.
Judith – email@example.com
So now my dear fellow traveler, women of wisdom, my peer, I am in your back yard in the great pacific north west. Wanting to connect and find my place with fellow travelers and women of wisdom. What this means I do not know. My heart would like to come together with women, the keepers of mysteries and share my story, and hear the stories of other women my peers and listen in, and take the stories to my heart and hopefully learn and understand more fully how to walk on the stones that are before me now. Right now in my life I like to feel kindness, and gentleness. I do not want to slip or fall off any of these stones or break any bones at this point of time in my life. So what ever is next I pray for gentleness. Thank you for the story, it makes me feel excepted, appreciated, and that you are not running away! Sincerely, Julie
Hey Julie. Thanks much for this response. Lovely to meet you yesterday….and I’m not going anywhere.
I want to share this because Mary Oliver has been a mentor to me in my life, she has walked with me, It is called—Life Story by Mary Oliver
When I lived under the black oaks
I felt I was made of leaves.
When I lived by little sister pond,
I dreamed I was the feather of the blue heron, left on the shore.
I was the pond lily, my root delicate as an artery, my face like a star,
my happiness brimming.
Later I was the footsteps that follow the sea.
I new the tides, I knew the ingredients of the wrack.
I knew the eider, the red throated loon with his up lifted beak and his smart eye.
I felt I was the tip of the wave,
the pearl of the water on the eiders glossy back.
No, there’s no escaping, nor would I want to escape
this outgo, this foot-loosening, this solution to gravity and a single shape.
Now I am here, Later I will be there.
I will be that small cloud staring down at water,
the one that stalls, that lifts its white legs, that looks like a lamb.
This is stunning. Thank you so much for sharing it. Mary Oliver. She will be so missed. What a light in the world. We are blessed to still have her writings.