scla.eps

nine

The Crone

Dissolving the Forms

What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.

–Crowfoot, April 1890, on his deathbed

Imagine you are sitting quietly, connected in to the energy of the earth. Its living wisdom pulses through you. You sit with the knowing that as all things are born, all things die; nothing stays the same. Yet your heart is open and full of love, your body imbued with power and your being with wisdom. As you sit in quiet contemplation, visualize an old woman coming toward you. She is the Crone. She emanates the most powerful, yet loving force you have ever felt. She is the earth herself and the keeper of all the stories that have ever been told. She holds a gift for you in her hand. You bow to her in greeting and open your hands to receive her gift. Notice what this gift is and remember, because this will help you as you work through the many changes that life inevitably brings. This is the wisdom of death and endings.

The final stage of our journey brings us full circle to the ancient, elder Crone. Here the wisdom of the sacred feminine lies in the process of releasing and letting go, in the form of endings, darkness, deep rest. The Crone is the archetype of decay, destruction, and death. She resides in the darkest hours of the night, in the hollows of trees, in the depths of the deepest oceans, in the ground as decaying, rotting flesh. The word Crone is similar to the Greek word chronos, the awareness of time. The Crone holds the relentless reminder that all creatures and living things on this earth are time-bound, that we each reside in a form that is decaying and dying. According to Barbara Walker, “The ‘Crone’ may have descended from Rhea Kronia as Mother of Time, though the title has been linked with Coronis, the carrion crow, since crows and other black creatures were sacred to the Death goddess.”30 There is an incredible freedom in this reality, and with her dark rattles and crackling bones, the Crone smiles gleefully, sparking our hearts to not take anything too seriously. All things that rise must also fall away.

The Crone is our guide during the aging process, the physical wrinkling of our skin and the graying of our hair. At the time of menopause, the time of crossing over into the elder years, we are first visited by the Crone. As Demetra George remarks, this is the stage “when a woman begins to reap the harvest of wisdom that arises from all her varied life experiences.”31 This may also occur in younger women during times of illness, spiritual or personal crises, depression, death of a family member, divorce, or change in career. I felt the Crone powerfully in my life when I had cancer at nineteen. Losing all my hair and going through chemotherapy was a kind of death process and resulted in a rebirth, transitioning from young adult to a woman who had faced her own mortality. Similarly, when my newborn daughter died, the mantra that “death is the matrix for rebirth” resounded in my mind and kept me afloat during those very dark days.

The Crone is the one who sits with us each time we bleed, as this is a small death. She guides us when we cross over into menopause, and she is there when we leave this body and earth. The sacred feminine is found within these powerful transitions and holds the knowledge of death as well as the power of rebirth. She is the compost for fertile ground, the destructive fires that burn away to allow for new growth, the ashes from which the beginnings of life will stir once again. The Crone brings us full circle, uniting with the Fire Bearer to revisit the void, the place of darkness, the earth that lays fallow, ready for new seeds and embers. We find the Crone in the form of Grandmother Corn in the Cherokee myth below. She embodies the death process and is reborn as corn, the food that will continue to nourish her people.

The Dying Process

The Crone is distinctly connected with the dying as well as the dead. When we find ourselves in times of despair, illness, sorrow, and loss, it is the Crone who reminds us of the power and wisdom found within these intense moments. She gives us the opportunity to practice our compassion with those who are leaving this form and moving into another. Death is similar to birth in that it is a transition time. Honoring this time is crucial and should be deeply respected and treasured, just as birth should be, although this is often not the case. The Crone is our reminder that diamond-brilliant insight and crystalline vision of clarity can emerge when we are around those who are dying. If we can approach this process with love and acceptance, rather than worry and anxiety, we may be able to tap into the real message that is borne by the Crone, the message that all things change form.

In our culture, we have an abnormally strong fear of dying. We spend billions of dollars to maintain a young-looking face and body and to wear youthful fashions. We do not deal well with people who are sick, terminally ill, dying, or dead. In stark contrast, in places such as India the ill and the dying live with the family, and everyone is both a witness and a participant in the very real process of decay and death. When the person dies, as our neighbor did while we lived in South India, the response is astonishing. Our neighbor, an elderly man who had a heart attack in the night, was someone we interacted with most days. His grandchildren played with our child, their chickens wandered into our garden occasionally, we helped them rent rooms during high tourist season, and so on.

We awoke one morning to hear women wailing and crying. This carried on for hours, and we were told that he had passed away. Much of the work ceased in the village as people began to come and pay respects: the milkman stopped selling milk for a while, laborers stopped working, women ceased washing. Streams of people began to flow down our small lane to their house, along with an amazing amount of food that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Songs were sung, food shared, and oil lamps burned continuously over the course of three days. When the son had arrived and the ceremonies had been performed, they built a giant fire right in their front yard and put the deceased grandfather/father/husband there and watched him burn. The smoke swirled up into the air as everyone participated in the transformation of body to ash. Hindus believe strongly in reincarnation, and some of their prayers were for this soul to find a good rebirth—prayers for the return of positive karmic influences so that he would be born more aware, more conscious, and perhaps a bit closer to true enlightenment.

In Kerala (South India), when a body has turned completely to ash, some of the ashes are buried right there, on the property, and the rest is kept aside to be put into the ocean on the appropriate day. We lived at the beach where, each year, Keralites brought the ashes of dead ancestors and floated them into the waves. This is a joyous occasion filled with much celebration, dance, music, and festivity that continues on late into the night for an entire week. After our neighbor’s ashes were buried in the yard, his family marked the spot and planted a new coconut tree on top. Kerala lawns and gardens are dotted with the white stones and palms marking the burial spots of their beloved relatives. This process inspires us to reconnect with our own ancestors and recognize the reality that our bodies are intimately connected to the earth.

Kinds of Death

There are many kinds of death. It is so important, so inherently crucial, to understand that all things that are born will die; that is the very nature of the universe, our world, our mind. When we begin to really glimpse this and see through it, we come to a kind of clarity, even a feeling of relief. We suddenly don’t have to take everything so seriously; the house does not have to be perfect, the outfit amazing, the work impeccable. All things rise and fall away, and perhaps the less we plan or try to make things a certain way, the more naturally they will come together and then dissolve. Our culture has burgeoned into a mass of consumer culture, a corporate governance in which the end profit is the only goal. When we consume on this level, and create without the proper balance of death and decay, our overuse turns toxic, just as our world is now teeming with toxicity, extinctions, polluted air and water. When we live from a place of wisdom and fearlessness, we recognize death as an advisor and can live a more balanced life.

Finding and honoring our quiet side, our deeper, darker side, the part of us that lays fallow brings us closer to wholeness. If we can connect with death before it is imposed by external failures, we will be better able to deal with things as they are. We will not feel traumatized by the incessant changes that life brings and the cycles of waxing and waning that our bodies, souls, and minds naturally go through. We face many types of deaths: every day the sun sets and the day dies; the morning brings the death of night; the cup of tea is emptied; species become extinct. At my Zen center, we would sit and contemplate how each inhalation actually kills thousands of microorganisms, acknowledging that indeed we are death bringers. We do not have to be afraid of death. The contemplation of death and impermanence is one of the most powerful teachings of the Crone. She is the part of the sacred feminine that not only represents death, but illuminates the wisdom of endings, giving birth to new beginnings.

Exercise 9.1

Envisioning Your Death

The reality of death is a potent opportunity for contemplation, to simply sit and be with the realization that not only will we die, but all of those around us will die. The rocks and stones and trees will go on for much longer than us; even our houses and cars will probably outlive our temporal existence. This exercise helps you connect to the beautiful realization that you are a part of the infinite universe. You can use this exercise several times a year, at your menstruation times, or when you cross over into menopause.

Sit in a meditative position and imagine that you have died and left the earth. Imagine your funeral and who will visit you, who will weep over your loss. Then imagine life continuing on without you. Imagine your immediate family dealing with the loss and then beginning to move on, into new phases and ways of being without your presence. Visualize your job without you being there, the company carrying on. Visualize the circle of women who grieve over you but also celebrate your return to spirit. See the world and its continuation without you in this present form. Imagine parties or gatherings that you would usually attend going on without you; classes held with new teachers and students; connections being reformed and people growing in new and different ways. Notice how this makes you feel. Do you feel lighter, less important? It may feel good to realize that you don’t have to take yourself so seriously, that in your death life will continue on without you. It always has and always will! How light and effortless you can be in your life, knowing that perhaps there is not so much difference whether you are here or there, in this world or the next.

The following story captures the beauty of the Crone in her journey from elder and a place of wisdom to the power of rebirth. Numerous stories around the world tell the story of a god or goddess turning into a sacred tree or plant. This story comes from the Native American Cherokee tribe and tells the story of how corn was given to the people. It illustrates the qualities of rebirth, one of the central aspects of the Crone. Through the death of the grandmother, corn and the ability to feed the people are born.

The Coming of Corn32

Long ago, when the world was very new, an old woman lived with her grandson. They lived a quiet and happy life until the boy was seven years old. Then his grandmother gave him his first bow and arrow. Excited, he went out to hunt for game and brought back a small bird.

The grandmother was delighted and remarked, “Ah, you will be a great hunter one day. Let us celebrate this moment with a feast.” She disappeared behind the cabin and went into a small storehouse. She came back out with her basket full of dried corn and made a delicious soup from the bird and the corn.

From then on, the boy hunted every day. He brought back something each day, and the grandmother went into the storehouse, brought out corn and made soup. One day, when the grandmother wasn’t looking, the boy peered curiously into the storehouse. To his surprise, the storehouse was empty! Yet that evening, when he brought back his game for her to cook, she again returned to the storehouse and came out with her basket full of dry corn.

“How strange,” the boy said to himself. “I will find out what is happening.”

The next day, he brought back a bird and waited for his grandmother to go out to the storehouse. This time he followed her into the storehouse and peered between the logs. There he saw a very peculiar thing happen. The storehouse was completely empty, yet his grandmother leaned over the basket and began to rub her body. As she smoothed her hands down the sides of her body, corn sprouted from her flesh, appearing through her clothes like magic. The dry corn fell into the basket and filled it up. The boy grew afraid. What if she was a witch? He silently stole back to the house to wait. The grandmother returned and saw the look on her grandson’s face.

“Grandson,” she said, “you followed me to the storehouse and saw what I did there.”

“Yes, grandmother,” said the boy.

The old woman shook her head in sorrow. “Dear grandson, then I must leave you now,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Now that you know my secret, I can no longer live as I did before. Tomorrow, before the sun rises, I shall be dead. Now, you must do as I tell you and then you will feed the people once I am gone.”

The old woman looked very weary. The boy moved to sit closer to her, but she waved him away. “You cannot help me now, grandson. Just do as I tell you. Once I have died, clear away a patch of ground on the south side of our lodge. This is the place where the sun is the strongest and the brightest. Make sure the earth is completely bare. Once you have done that, drag my body over the ground seven times and then bury me deep in that bright earth. Then you must keep the ground clear. If you do as I say, I promise you that you will see me again and you will also be able to feed the people.” Then the old woman grew very quiet. Silence hung in the air as she closed her eyes one last time. Before morning came, she died.

Her grandson followed her words exactly. He cleared away the sunniest spot on the south side of their lodge. It took a long time, for there were many trees, tangled vines, and deeply rooted plants. Finally the earth was completely cleared and bare, ready for his grandmother. He carefully dragged her body across the earth. Wherever a drop of her blood fell onto the barren earth, a small plant sprouted. After he dragged it seven times across, many plants had poked through the surface of the cleared land. Then he buried her deeply, laying her body to rest one final time. As time passed, the grandson diligently kept the ground clear around the small plants. As they grew taller, he heard the whispering of his grandmother’s voice through the leaves. The days grew longer and brighter, and the plants grew taller and stronger. When the plants were as tall as a person, they grew long tassels at the top of their stalks. The long, fine strands reminded the boy of his grandmother’s hair. Finally, ears of corn formed on each plant and, just as his grandmother promised, the boy was able to take the corn and feed the people. Although the grandmother was gone from the earth as she had once been, she was now with the people forever as corn.

Keys to the Tale

This is a simple story with only two characters; it is the story of a grandmother passing her legacy, her art, and her power to the later generation, to her grandson. Grandmothers have very special relationships with their grandchildren. Often the connection that grandparents and grandchildren have bypasses the karma that is so strong between parents and children, and there is a bridge that connects them across the generations. Grandparents hold gifts and precious stories to be passed down to their grandchildren. In our society, we have very little respect for those who are old. We need to be reminded of the inherent wisdom that grows alongside a person’s earth path. Try to remember some of the gifts and wisdom that have been shared by your own grandmothers and grandfathers.

The grandmother represents our inner wisdom and sacred feminine connection to the earth. Our bodies bleed each month, give birth, and die, which links us directly with the cycles of time and life, death and rebirth. The grandmother is also a symbol of a cycle that is dying out, while the boy represents new growth, a new project, a new cycle of life, a birth.

The young boy spies on his grandmother and witnesses her secret magic. To his surprise, he finds that his grandmother is not collecting corn from a storage place, but is actually able to create dried corn from her body. This is a powerful gift of the sacred feminine, the ability to create nourishment from our own bodies. The grandmother is a Crone, an elder, and her magic comes in the form of creating food. This is found in many myths: the creation of certain plants, trees, and sacred medicine from the goddess’s body parts. In Hawai’ian mythology, Hina, the multidimensional goddess of the moon, corals, and winds, leaves behind a piece of herself when she tires of her husband and her dirty children. She escapes to the moon, but as she flies up, her husband grabs her leg; it breaks off and turns into a sweet potato. To this day, the hau-lani sweet potato is named for the fleeing Hina. Our own bodies will die and return to the earth, able to create new life in other forms. The grandmother represents not only wisdom, but specifically earth wisdom, creative wisdom, and a kind of spiritual nourishment.

Once the grandson has witnessed his grandmother’s power, then her role shifts entirely. This reveals another potent quality of the Crone: the keeper of magic and medicine. In order to hold a teaching deeply, one must sit with this teaching, this profundity, for many years and have the ability to not share it until it is ready. One of the most powerful teachings of Tibetan Buddhism is Chöd, a practice that was given to Machig Lapdrön, a woman of eleventh century Tibet. This practice is considered to be the most shamanic of the Tibetan practices because it involves the Crone-like wisdom of visualizing our bodies as offerings to our demons. Just as the grandmother in the story offers her body so that she may nourish the people, Chöd practitioners envision offering their body, cutting away limbs, head, brains, and organs in order to become full of compassionate wisdom. Giving the gift of her own body to nourish future generations is the most selfless practice the grandmother can do, and by witnessing her power, the grandson is able to help her bear fruit for his people. The Crone is the reminder that we too can become selfless and cultivate our own power and magic as a gift for future generations.

When the grandson has discovered his grandmother’s secret, she begins to weep. She is sorrowful in her realization that she will now die, leaving this form to transition into another. Yet she knows there is nothing to be done and tells the boy that there is nothing he can do, that she will leave her body by the morning light. This is one of the most potent and clear wisdoms of the Crone: knowing when it is time to let go. If we can call that wisdom into our daily life, we have learned something that is crucial to the acceptance of real life. The sacred feminine works in cycles and circles, not in lines and squares. The Crone bears the message that all things come to an end, that death is the matrix for rebirth, that decay and compost are crucial for our soul’s growth. The grandmother of the story knows this inherently and embraces the coming night as her time to let go and die.

The grandson becomes the one who carries out the message that she holds; he becomes the keeper of his grandmother’s magic. In order to do this, he must complete a special task. As we have found so often in myth and stories, the completion of a task is crucial to the development of aspects of our psyche. This is the importance of dissolving the small self into the larger self—doing something that is bigger and greater than us, something that requires special attention and will help many people. Like the boy in this story, we may be given a certain talent or message that can be passed on to others.

Here the grandson symbolizes the holder of old knowledge as well as seeds for the gifts for his people. He represents the deepest, wisest part of us that knows the ancient magic of our ancestors and the way in which to share this magic. As we have progressed along the path of the sacred feminine, we have touched the rich power, love, and wisdom of our being and are now encouraged to share what we have learned.

The grandson does his task well, carefully clearing the patch of earth and dragging his grandmother’s body across the earth seven times. This is a disturbing image in the story, the image of a young boy dragging his grandmother back and forth across a plot of freshly turned earth. It almost seems irreverent, yet shows how the body is certainly going to decay; what the boy needs now is not to look at her dead body but to use it. He needs the blood that was her life force to feed the soil, from which sprouts of corn will appear. Here, the wisdom of the Crone is again apparent, the crystal-clear reminder that we are short-lived in a temporal body, one that could be easily dragged to and fro, a body that does not go with us at death. We might ask ourselves, then: Have we lived, truly lived, a life that feels full upon death? How much time have we spent worrying, obsessing, pondering over things that are attached to this body? If we were to ask the Crone for her guiding wisdom, what might she say?

As the blood drops land on the earth, the new sprouts of corn pop up. This is the message of immanence, a message of the goddess, and is very much one of the crucial missing keys from our progress-oriented society. It cannot be emphasized enough how important it is to deeply contemplate the process of death and its transitioning into rebirth. Of course, it happens all around us, every single day, but we have become very clever at avoiding this reality until it smacks us in the face in the form of miscarriage, illness, a breakup, a death … or any kind of ending. Simply being with the process and allowing it to unfold is crucial to the next stage, the brilliant, creative stage of rebirth. The more we suppress and fight the decaying and death process, the harder it is to reach a place of new growth. It is simply a cycle of life, yet fighting that and trying to remain linear, against the natural ebb and flow of the universe, is like trying to stand up to the ocean or an earthquake! When we have a better grasp on accepting endings, we can carry out our task more clearly and use the death or ending to fertilize our new ground.

Finally, the corn grows up from the sprouts, and the boy witnesses his grandmother’s voice, her hair, and her ears though the growing corn. As he tends his new plants, he is growing food that will nourish not only himself and his people, but the coming generations. He is nourished not only by the essence of his grandmother, but by the food that has grown up out of her body. We might ask ourselves what we have to give—not only to those around us, but what we might leave behind for future generations. The Crone, in her ancient wisdom of seeing the ages over a vast period of time, is deeply connected to the earth and knows how to leave something to help the people of earth. Few could say the same today in our culture. Thinking more deeply on the “long now,” the vast expanse of time, we can connect with the past and future generations, our multidimensional selves, and the part of us that is much greater than this one small, temporal body.

Exercise 9.2

Sitting with Death

This exercise is a practice of sitting with loved ones at death or during the dying process. It is a very simple exercise that calls for using mindfulness and being fully present in the moment. Simply sit with the person and hold their hand. Visualize your heart center meeting their heart center. Rest in the pace of their breathing, trying your best to allow it to be, without fear. If they are struggling for breath, be with that; if their breath is slow and shallow, experience that through them for several minutes.

If the person is cognizant, you may want to ask them if there is anything they want to say or express. Allow time for them to say it. This moment is an opportunity to deeply allow them to say what needs to be said without judgment or fear. They may choose to reminisce, tell stories of a deep past, or recall memories of long ago. Often the mind is struggling at this time, struggling to simply give up and let go. During this process, you will want to tend to their needs and help them feel as comfortable as possible. Sometimes people will recount things they have seen and heard during the night or during sleep, things that may not be there. Try not to dismiss the person’s experiences; often when people are drifting into another world they experience aspects of the other realms. This is akin to experiences during dream time and astral travel.

This is also the time to let closure happen, in its own way, naturally. Perhaps the dying person has certain requests or may feel a measure of regret about certain things that happened in their life. Try to honor these requests or simply hold space for the mental and emotional processes that are happening. More importantly, try not to pressure the dying person into admitting something or create any kind of unnecessary stress during this sensitive time. When my grandfather was dying, I gave him Reiki several times and he often drifted into memories of the past and felt compelled to tell me things that had happened to him when he was young, things he loved about his life as well as events that he felt some regret about. I simply let him express these stories as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

When the moment of death comes, it may take some time for the breath to leave the body. Along with the breath, the spirit will drift out and onward into the next realm. As with birth, it is often better if the lights are low and there is little to no stress around the person at death. According to Tibetans, this process is subject to karmic winds and external forces that can affect our ability to navigate toward light and rebirth effectively. The more clear and lucid we are around the person at the time of death, the more easily the spirit will move into a place of calm, healing, and brilliance.

When the spirit leaves, many traditional cultures continue sitting with the body for some time. We do not usually have this option in the West. Yet, we can at the very least intend calm, beauty, and quietness as this process shifts into the practicalities of dealing with the body. Finally, when the body is cremated or buried, we can perform a ceremony to honor the spirit that was briefly in form in this lifetime on earth, intending it to find peace and harmony beyond.

Ceremony to Honor Menopause

This is a ceremony to support the passing over into the Crone years, the elder years, the time when blood is carried within. This is not the old, haggard Crone of the patriarch’s demonizing, but a very vital, wisdom-bearing, and alive Crone. In fact, this word “haggard,” which is often associated with Crone, originally applied to hawks and meant “untamed.”33 The Crone has died to a new way of being, allowing her energy to be transformed from a woman who has the ability to carry a new human life to a time when she carries other kinds of life in the form of projects, support for family and friends, and spiritual growth and development. The Native American tradition honored this transition as the time of “wise blood.” Instead of pouring out each month, the blood is held within and the woman has now reached her wisdom years. This is the time when a woman has often fulfilled her worldly duties of caring for family and can now focus on her community as an elder as well as on her spiritual path.

This ceremony can be performed with a group of women: girls who have yet to experience menses, women who are currently having menses, and women who have undergone and passed through menopause. Including women at all stages of their life gives the younger women a chance to honor and respect the elders as they embrace their cronehood and wisdom years.

Gather together the following items:

Before the ceremony, the younger women should create the space for the elder women. The girls who have not yet crossed over into menses can prepare the flower petals, filling up baskets with many flowers, and prepare the gateway, decorating it lovingly with ribbons, fabric, silks, and flowers. This will be the gateway or arch that symbolizes women who have passed into menopause, into the cronehood years.

The women who are still menstruating should prepare the five main altars. The altar creation can be an event in itself and should be infused with great joy and preparation to honor the elder women of the community. Mothers may be present, telling their daughters about the importance of honoring the grandmothers. Stories of their own grandmothers may be told as the preparation continues, to help the young women understand where they have come from and what paths have opened up because of the power, strength, courage, and wisdom of the elder women.

The five altars are:

A time is specified when the space will be ready for the crone women to arrive. They enter the space and are anointed with oil by the younger, non-menstruating girls. The girls wash the elders’ feet, which is an ancient, time-honored tradition of respect. Once that has been done, and everyone is gathered together, one woman acting as priestess (an elder, a woman who has already passed into cronehood) calls the seven directions as well as specifically invoking the goddess as crone and dark mother and asking for her guidance and blessings. Then each crone circuits the room and visits the altars at each direction while the women and girls sing.

As each woman visits the elemental altars, she might reflect on the gifts she has received in her life thus far from air (mind and breath), fire (spirit and transformation), water (emotions and cleansing), and earth (body and groundedness). Perhaps she gives an offering, such as a candle or some incense. Finally she joins the circle of singing women and adds her voice to the chant. When each woman has finished her circuitous visit to the altars, a space at the northern end of the circle is made for the women who now symbolically pass into their cronehood. Here the women sit, waiting to pass through the archway. The priestess calls for a time of silence and quiet, having the women contemplate the cycles of life and think of a time when something came to an end.

The priestess gives a large offering of copal to the cauldron, as a message to the spirits that the women are now to pass through the arch into cronehood. She begins singing a song, which can be joined in by the other women.

One by one, each crone is then taken by one of the women through the gateway at the center of the circle as a symbolic passing into her cronehood. There she is met by the priestess and gives an offering to the altar of the Crone. This offering should be very specific, something that symbolizes what she is leaving behind as she enters cronehood. This is essential to the power of the ritual: to honor, let go, and release her time as mother/life-bearer (whether she had children or not). This can be a picture of her time as a mother, a symbol of the career she worked hard at, an image of a child, anything that represents the powerful creative times of her younger years when she bled with the rhythm of the moons. It may be something more symbolic as well, such as a representation of the full moon, a red cloth, or simply a beautiful flower.

After the crone gives the offering, the priestess then touches a dagger to her shoulders and head, symbolizing the power of cronehood, embraces her, and welcomes her to the wisdom years. The crone sits in the northern section of the circle and is given two shawls: one white and one black, symbols of the return to a time without bloods and a connection to the Crone.

Once all the crones have moved through the gateway into their cronehood, the song winds down into silence again. Then the girls who have not yet become women stand and pass before the crones, bowing their heads and leaving the circle. They are followed by the women who are still bleeding, leaving behind only the priestess and the crones, who now spread out and make their own small circle. The talking stick is passed around and each woman takes a turn expressing herself as a newly blessed crone, as an elder. She may want to state an intention for this new phase of her life or release a fear that she is holding on to. She may want to express her sorrow at the aging process or losing friends and family, as well as her excitement about retirement and pursuing new projects and ideas.

When this process is over, the crones then stand together and hold hands, powerfully calling in the intention to connect these women to this moment, that this is a seed of power and strength for later times when things become more difficult in the next phase of life. This should be led by the priestess, who burns a special kind of offering such as sweet grass or cedar to bless this intention. The priestess thanks and releases the directions, mother earth, father sky, and center, finally closing the circle. The women are bonded in sacred ribbons of light with each other, energetically as well as physically. They have symbolically entered into cronehood time together.

[contents]

30. Barbara Walker, The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets, from the entry “Crone,” p. 187.

31. Demetra George, Mysteries of the Dark Moon, p. 221.

32. This story by Joseph Bruchac is reprinted here with his permission from the following source: Michael J. Caduto and Joseph Bruchac, Keepers of the Earth: Native American Stories and Environmental Activities for Children. Golden, CO: Fulcrum, 1989.

33. Mary Daly, Gyn/ecology, p. 15.