(Disclaimer: to the men who occasionally read my blogs - um, ya might want to skip this one. Or if you choose to proceed, consider yourself warned. This one is about women's bodies, women's spirits. It's not that you of the XY chromosome crew are unwelcome, it's just that most guys I know tend to squirm when the talk turns to moon seasons and blood.)
Tonight I was at a social gathering where I spent some time visiting with an 82 yr old woman talking about perceptions of age. I asked her "when you close your eyes and think of yourself, what age do you see yourself as?" She smiled coyly and admitted that her self image was considerably younger than the face that looks back at her each day in the mirror.
As I watched the various women in the group interact with one another it dawned on me that I was the youngest in the room, probably by at least a dozen years. I marvelled at the collected life experiences they all had. As I watched their various examples of different stages of living, I couldn't help but wonder what sort of "old lady" I would become.
Many years ago I was invited to attend a "croning ceremony". The dictionary may identify a "crone" as an ugly, withered old woman, a hag. But the group who offered up this rite of passage ritual deliberately turned the term "Crone" inside out and upside down, naming it instead as a season of life honoring wisdom, a time deserving of respect. The ceremony was carried out to honor a woman who had just turned 60 yrs old. Her friends marked the occasion with a drumming circle, smudging her with the smoke of burning sage, offering up specially designed chants & dance. It was an opportunity for each one in the group to tell this woman what gifts they recognized in her and to express how she had blessed their lives. It was powerful stuff.
There's a pretty good description of that sort of crone consciousness HERE.
As I approach the Crone season of my own life I think of various women I have known over the years. I ponder which roles I might emulate and which I will eschew.
Tonight I was at a social gathering where I spent some time visiting with an 82 yr old woman talking about perceptions of age. I asked her "when you close your eyes and think of yourself, what age do you see yourself as?" She smiled coyly and admitted that her self image was considerably younger than the face that looks back at her each day in the mirror.
As I watched the various women in the group interact with one another it dawned on me that I was the youngest in the room, probably by at least a dozen years. I marvelled at the collected life experiences they all had. As I watched their various examples of different stages of living, I couldn't help but wonder what sort of "old lady" I would become.
Many years ago I was invited to attend a "croning ceremony". The dictionary may identify a "crone" as an ugly, withered old woman, a hag. But the group who offered up this rite of passage ritual deliberately turned the term "Crone" inside out and upside down, naming it instead as a season of life honoring wisdom, a time deserving of respect. The ceremony was carried out to honor a woman who had just turned 60 yrs old. Her friends marked the occasion with a drumming circle, smudging her with the smoke of burning sage, offering up specially designed chants & dance. It was an opportunity for each one in the group to tell this woman what gifts they recognized in her and to express how she had blessed their lives. It was powerful stuff.
There's a pretty good description of that sort of crone consciousness HERE.
As I approach the Crone season of my own life I think of various women I have known over the years. I ponder which roles I might emulate and which I will eschew.
.
I am reminded of my days as a girl when, at age twelve, about half my friends had begun the mystery of menses and half, like me, had not. Those of us who were uninitiated in the ways of the moon season whispered together and speculated what it might be like. We were nervous, curious, unsettled by the thought of the changes that would soon beset our bodies. Some girls spoke disparagingly about starting their periods, calling it "the curse". There were tales of horrible cramps, savage mood swings, and zits from hell. But I was one of the lucky ones. I never suffered with my cycles. My body marched through its changes with little discomfort. I was so regular you could just about set your watch on my body's timekeeping. (very convenient for planning camping trips or any long journey.) Rather than be disgusted by the inconvenience and the mess, somehow I learned to honor my body's sacred ability to create life within it, even though I opted out of fertility early with tubal ligation at a young age. I still appreciated the mark of womanhood that menses gave me.
Now as I prepare for the inevitable letting go of that season that is bound to come soon, I am curious about how I will define myself in my senior years. I again find myself at a crossroads, wondering what it will be like. Some of the women I know speak of menopause in distraught tones over hot flashes, coarser hair, drying, wrinkled skin, drooping bodies with bones newly brittle. Others celebrate their season of liberation from monthly time of blood. Menopause is just one slice of what it means to be growing older for women. But, like adolescence, it is a significant piece, I think.
My mother died young - at 53. But my grandmother lived into her eighties and her mother before her lived to be 103. I knew my great-grandmother fairly well. Since I was a grandmother before I hit 40, chances are likely I will know my great-grandchildren, and possibly even great-great grandchildren as well. How will they view the old woman with the mischievous smile they know as their gran?
To me, growing old means letting go of a lot. It also means embracing life in some new ways. Or at least it can, and should, to my way of thinking.
Although I've known heartache and loss, I hope I will never be a bitter or spiteful old woman.
Although I've had disappointments and setbacks plenty, I hope I never allow those shadow times to take precedence in my heart over the love and the laughter and the magic that have also woven their way through my life.
To me, becoming a Crone is about accepting the full balance that life brings, good and bad braided together, and celebrating the rich meat of life even if I occasionally bite into gristle.
It's about being there to help mentor and guide younger women, at least those who are willing to listen. It means accepting my weaknesses and failings with grace instead of the humiliation of my youth. It means counting my lucky stars for all of life's lesson, even the ones that came cloaked as sorrow, betrayal, and hardship. As I approach my Crone years, I want to be the kind of old lady whose eyes dance with humor, who laughs often and deep, and who loves with ferocity. I want to work as long as I am able. But I also want to carve out time for rest. No more frantic rushing to prove myself...no more caring so much about acquiring or achieving. I want to finally GET IT that like is more about being than doing. I do have a few grand ambitions of things I might yet pursue...but if none of them come to pass I think I can be satisfied so long as I can dance some and walk on beaches and chase polliwogs in a pond.
That pretty much sums up my image of what I hope for my next chapter of living. Now, what reality will actually bring may be another story. It remains to be seen what changes may come to my mind or to my body. I have no doubt that over the next 20 years (if I get that many) I will know plenty of pain and loss. How I rise to each challenge only time will tell.
But it's nice to have the picture of what I hope for set out before me. So as I continue to spend time in the company of fine women, these Crones that I am privileged to know, it feels good to have some grand examples of what might be possible for me, if I have the courage to take it on.
Now as I prepare for the inevitable letting go of that season that is bound to come soon, I am curious about how I will define myself in my senior years. I again find myself at a crossroads, wondering what it will be like. Some of the women I know speak of menopause in distraught tones over hot flashes, coarser hair, drying, wrinkled skin, drooping bodies with bones newly brittle. Others celebrate their season of liberation from monthly time of blood. Menopause is just one slice of what it means to be growing older for women. But, like adolescence, it is a significant piece, I think.
My mother died young - at 53. But my grandmother lived into her eighties and her mother before her lived to be 103. I knew my great-grandmother fairly well. Since I was a grandmother before I hit 40, chances are likely I will know my great-grandchildren, and possibly even great-great grandchildren as well. How will they view the old woman with the mischievous smile they know as their gran?
To me, growing old means letting go of a lot. It also means embracing life in some new ways. Or at least it can, and should, to my way of thinking.
Although I've known heartache and loss, I hope I will never be a bitter or spiteful old woman.
Although I've had disappointments and setbacks plenty, I hope I never allow those shadow times to take precedence in my heart over the love and the laughter and the magic that have also woven their way through my life.
To me, becoming a Crone is about accepting the full balance that life brings, good and bad braided together, and celebrating the rich meat of life even if I occasionally bite into gristle.
It's about being there to help mentor and guide younger women, at least those who are willing to listen. It means accepting my weaknesses and failings with grace instead of the humiliation of my youth. It means counting my lucky stars for all of life's lesson, even the ones that came cloaked as sorrow, betrayal, and hardship. As I approach my Crone years, I want to be the kind of old lady whose eyes dance with humor, who laughs often and deep, and who loves with ferocity. I want to work as long as I am able. But I also want to carve out time for rest. No more frantic rushing to prove myself...no more caring so much about acquiring or achieving. I want to finally GET IT that like is more about being than doing. I do have a few grand ambitions of things I might yet pursue...but if none of them come to pass I think I can be satisfied so long as I can dance some and walk on beaches and chase polliwogs in a pond.
That pretty much sums up my image of what I hope for my next chapter of living. Now, what reality will actually bring may be another story. It remains to be seen what changes may come to my mind or to my body. I have no doubt that over the next 20 years (if I get that many) I will know plenty of pain and loss. How I rise to each challenge only time will tell.
But it's nice to have the picture of what I hope for set out before me. So as I continue to spend time in the company of fine women, these Crones that I am privileged to know, it feels good to have some grand examples of what might be possible for me, if I have the courage to take it on.
1 comments:
I was talking with my mother recently about the crone archetype and how culturally we have tried to redefine it as something bad to be a woman and aging, where it used to be an honor and a source of wisdom. She had been watching an Oprah episode about menopause and how menopause is considered so negative, and we sortof branched out into these kinds of ideas. Very interesting stuff.
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