The Crone

When I think of the crone I am immediately taken to two separate images. The first image comes from my simple ability to retain odd information. I know that a crone in modern English is an old lady who is cross and bitter, thin and ugly; much like the old cards I used to play Old Maid. If I were to venture into ancient Celtic or Norse culture the crone would be collaborated with Maiden and Mother as the final descent before going into the astral realm of rebirth.  

Unfortunately crone has personified into a different meaning altogether as of late. It is no secret that I have struggled in the ways of love and in trials I would not wish upon any living breathing creature. I once decided that being with a companion would be the only way to survive emotionally and financially. I moved from one broken soul to another which was not a good thing for them either since I had a big backyard of my own to clean-up.

I remember with every failed attempt I would say “this is it” or “I will never do this again” and worse yet “maybe I should end it all.” My life became intertwined with negativity, dark sources of comfort and poetry that would make any emo kid run to their mama for comfort. I finally had my moment of awakening when another power higher than me decided I may not live. As I lay on a cold hospital operating table waiting my re-awakening and a few body parts less I remember weeping not knowing my own fate. I think in that moment of deep sleep I reached a new revelation about my own life. As I awoke not knowing if the vicious cancer ravaging my body was all gone or not I realized life was indeed a gift. I approached everything in a new way. Certainly I had moments of pity, as I felt like the old crone no longer able to produce life, and no longer able to cleanse my own body. I vowed I would never seek the companionship of another thereafter. What a complicated mess love can become. I swear at one point I considered changing my own ceremonial vows to “Do thou promise to love and destroy one another slowly into the abyss of hell” anytime I performed a ceremony. Thankfully I had some more moments of clarity before I sent a bride or groom running for the hills.

I now have the pleasure of sharing words, thoughts, and feelings with a few select people that have changed my outlook once again. There are still good people out there, one just has to be willing to take the risk at seeking them out. I know that in some manners I am the crone, and maybe I will be alone, but thankfully I have found a source of comfort in the words of my savior that I know will stay with me and never forsake my love or lack of abilities.

"The Crone, the Reaper ... she is the Dark Moon, what you don't see coming at you, what you don't get away with, the wind that whips the spark across the fire line. Chance, you could say, or, what's scarier still: the intersection of chance with choices and actions made before. The brush that is tinder dry from decades of drought, the warming of the earth's climate that sends the storms away north, the hole in the ozone layer. Not punishment, not even justice, but consequence. " 
— Starhawk (The Fifth Sacred Thing)