28 June 22
In a life I lived, long in the past in another land, I remember being a little girl in a small tribe. No longer a crawling baby, I played with the walking-children. My skin shone copper-brown. I ran swift on straight, sturdy legs and bare feet, my straight-cut black hair flew wild.
A few years later, I was the oldest of the walking-children. Not yet a woman, with breasts budding, my manner and form had begun to soften and curve. My oldest sister, and sometimes my mother, lovingly braided and sculpted my mane of hair, now grown long and thick.
Upon arrival of my menses, I joined the women. With prayers and a rite of passage, they opened their ranks to me, their youngest initiate. I learned the secrets of women, passed down through the ages, hand to hand, mother to daughter, heart to loving heart.
In the full bloom of maidenhood, in a tribe governed and guided by women, my husband and I chose each other. Amidst much merriment and celebration, we were married with full consent of all. I was the most recent village bride.
In due time, my belly swelled and I became a mother. My sweet chubby golden baby, in his turn, became the youngest cherished member of the tribe.
My children were good, handsome and fair, healthy and beautiful. All were welcomed in turn by my people. Each child in his or her own time, moved through the ranks: youngest to oldest, then youngest again, to oldest.
As my babies arrived, grew and the years passed, so did my tribal stature grow and flourish while I attended to what healing, mentoring, and advising were within my ken.
When my first grandchild was brought forth, I became the most junior amongst the grandmothers. My standing within the tribe matured and elevated as grandchild followed grandchild and I attended to those matters I could heal or help.
In the course of time, my menses ceased, my child-bearing years had ended. My muscles weakened and sagged; strands of silver flecked my still thick mane of black hair. My mental energies turned inward to a world sensed but largely unseen.
It was thus I became crone. In this venerated group, there were always others more advanced in wisdom and age, who trod the cronage path ahead of me. As I listened and learned from these elderly women, my wisdom and insight deepened. I spoke to the spirits of man, beast and leafy bower, feeling into the energies that form the seen and unseen worlds around us.
The turning of years rolled one into the next. All crones before me in their time, faded and then departed, crossing into the next realm. The years continued to pass.
I am ancient now but still straight of body and lucid of mind. My hair, untied and untamed, swirls in a halo of silver filaments, framing a face of deeply wrinkled copper skin. Though my eyes are filmed and failing, in my mind’s eye, I see into the ghostly realms that continually shift about me, my peoples and Nature. Because I see clearly into The All That Is, tribesmen and women come to me for advice, for healing and comfort, for my intuition and blessings.
As the eldest crone or “crowned one”, I have lived longer than anyone in the memory of my people. I continue to serve all, transmuting etheric energy from other realms to shine on and soften the harsh solidity of our world.
Still rejoicing in life, I pass on to the younger crones, the inherited ancient wisdom of women, opening to them a wellspring of knowledge contained in the energies of love, light and sound.
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*Crone….a woman who is venerated for experience, judgment, and wisdom. Crone, hag, and witch once were positive words for old women. Crone comes from crown, indicating wisdom emanating from the head; hag comes from hagio meaning holy; and witch comes from wit meaning wise. Crones, hags, and witches frequently were leaders, midwives and healers in their communities. The Ancient Crone | Crones Counsel
The Crone's* Tale
Love it Linda! I didn't know the meaning of those words. Beautiful!