The time has come. I made the decision to do some sort of celebration to honor my entering the crone years and the day has arrived. This weekend and through Wednesday, I am going to go out into nature and spend time with myself, alone, crowning myself as crone. I am going to leave behind the images of myself as a young girl, woman, mother and move into my old age.
Writing those words is a bit scary. Old age. Old age conjures up images of a useless person. A person who is faceless, nameless, invisible. Certainly someone who is not attractive to look at, at least that is how I feel and I hope to be past tense soon. I found this article on How Old is Old Age where there is a poll stating people who are 60, 70 etc feel young and that old age is much farther away then where they are at. I’m saying here that old age can mean I lived, I loved, I survived, I’m still here, there is much to learn from my life and still more life ahead yet, I am old and getting older, there is nothing wrong with that. Of course, this is the place I want to come to.
I remember when I was young, when my skin was smooth and unlined. I was fresh. Lets say I am the ripe old age of 23. I think I am mature. I think I am an adult. I am insulted when others consider me young. After all, I am mother to three small children. I have responsibilities. I have been out of high school for five years. Almost an eternity. I look at 18 and 19 year olds as children. But what I know of life, living, maturity you could write on the head of a pin.
From this point in my life, I would come in contact with someone older, a woman in her crone years perhaps. She could be standing right next to me in a line, sitting next to me on a bus, yet, I don’t see her. When I look in her direction, I look right through her. It’s as if she is non-life, definitely inconsequential. I don’t see a crone, a woman of wisdom, a woman with a vibrant core bursting forth with strength and courage. A woman who has survived. This view from my tender age of 23 of an older woman, of old age, is something I don’t even think worthy of my consideration. After all, it is light years away from my sweet young self. No wonder finding myself at this stage is terrifying me. I don’t want to be where I put older women in my youth. I would like to send an apology out to older woman in the past for my arrogant, dismissive hubris. I wish I could have sought and benefited from your wisdom. I sure could have used it. Instead I looked the other way.
So, anyway, In my second post of this blog, I mentioned Susun S. Weed and her book New Menopausal Years and that I was going to mark my transition with a ritual or ceremony. I will spend time alone in nature for three days. The day for my ceremony is to be Monday night, September 12 on the full moon. I am utilizing two books for this affair. Quest by Denise Linn and Weed’s book. I will fast on only water and some fruit. I will create a sacred circle of stones. Inside this circle, I will make an altar of sorts to woman as mother. I will stay up all night in this circle on the twelfth and call on the energies of the Mothers as I give death to myself as mother and claim my power as crone. (I gleaned all this cool stuff from Weed’s book.) I will connect with my spirit. I will drum a bit. I will pray. I will feel gratitude for my life. I will honor my life, the love of those I love and all of life on this planet. Whew.
Anyway, I don’t know how I will feel afterward. I don’t know what I will learn about myself and being older. What I hope is that I will find my inner crone and bring her forth into my life. From this time forth, I hope to be more comfortable in my body, life and skin as an elder woman of power and wisdom. When I come back, I will write about my experiences. See you then.