Let the old dust rise like a storm and the worthy fall in worship to your feet.
You are in the midnight threshold of hidden to Divine.
You are fierce in your gentleness. You are eternal in your mortality.
Your bones. Shake them.
Your belly. Listen to it.
Your womb. Awaken it.
Your power. BE it.
The Crone is a woman who no longer menstruates physically, she is now a fully embodied wise woman. With many moons behind her and the experience she has acquired, she can now turn her attention to being a guide for the young. Being free in her body - no longer worried about pregnancy, pretense or deep fluctuations in hormones, she has come to a serene place of acceptance.. an embodied dance with the rhythm of life.
I have been guided by grandmothers with silver hair as magnificent as the moonlight for a very long time in my dreams, it has helped me develop a keen appreciation for the Crone, it has allowed me to see aging as an exquisite and delicate gift. It has helped me make healthy choices in the now and embrace with subtle anticipation the day when I too will be a grandmother to the children of our world.
In ancient times and cultures, the Crone was revered. The Crone was consulted for matters of importance and well being of tribes. Children and grown alike would come for advice and storytelling to the skirts of the Crone. The gray hair was looked at as stripes of honor and the wrinkles as badges of courage and experience. When a woman’s blood flow would stop coming it was said she no longer needed it, as she had accumulated the wisdom of the seasons and cycles enough to embody it and inhabit it. These wise women understood the importance of death and renewal at such a cellular level they no longer needed to be reminded every month.
In todays culture, the Crone is in great danger of being crushed. In a society where faster, better, younger is the theme and tattooed into our consciousness every day… The elders are very often overlooked and seen as nuisance, annoying, slow, their beauty is smudged over and often shoved into care homes or a bedroom in the house, Google has now usurped the throne of the wise one. We see Maiden archetype everywhere- the endless pursuit of youth.. From a multibillion dollar market of beauty products to the movie screens.. Everyone wants to be young, plump and fresh. We see the Mother archetype- the caring loving mother and as Lara Owen mentions in her book, although limited- it is even revered in religion. But the Crone.. where is she?
She is a hidden, she is stashed away… all that power hidden in her belly and nowhere to go. She has been pushed to abhor her post menopausal state, as though it is a condemnation rather than a blessing, as if not being able to birth children is now a curse that spills inward into a barren womb.. All that wisdom rejected, unacknowledged, dishonored in exchange for the pursuit of staying young and ‘fertile’ only to be ridiculed and mocked by a society that in a paradoxical cruel joke repudiates the Crone that clings to this 'youth' as well.
No, the Crone cannot expect to be accepted without first accepting herself, knowing that her bones are indeed each day becoming more and more one with the earth... The Crone cannot demand a place in a society that she has helped exile this archetype. This is why we need to speak of Her, the Crone- the holy guide that lives and will one day emerge from within your bones and when she does… you will have a choice: will you let her in and feast on the banquet of your holy life experience or will you shut the door in her face and leave her out to starve in hopes that the maiden and mother, whom have taken a backseat, will someday come back.
Many times I have wanted to write about the Crone even create for it but I am held back by the misleading belief that I have to be one to speak of it. 'No more...' my sleeping crone has whispered, ‘you must begin to pave the way for my visit.. planting seeds along the path that may bloom for my homecoming.’
Resting and gestating in me, she is harnessing strength to come and live fully, to guide, to teach, to dance, to remind, to slow me down, to make me softer, to be reflected on my skin and in my gaze when the time comes.
So in the meantime, I will speak of the Crone to our children and to anyone that will hear - I will honor the magnificently wise women I am surrounded by, sisters hiding their lines and beauty behind veils. I will remind them, I will whisper, I will nudge, I will declare…. Take off your veil! You are holy sacred wise woman, you are here, you have a message… now is your time to speak.
- Anabel Vizcarra
The warrior that is needed now is the one with the open and surrendered heart, the one willing to travel inward and meet the dragons that have gained strength in the dark and lurk in the shadows.
This awakened warrior makes the time to know his shadows and is only seduced by Truth. Humbled by his wounds, he learns to listen to them, to allow them to soften him, to love them fiercely into surrender. Until the resistance, the painful fragments and abandoned places that were inherited and inflicted are recollected and bathed into the innocence of his heart.
Lay down your armor and soften your masculine edges, melt into yourSelf. No false strength needed here, no jagged edges, no delusions of power or control. No more contracting guidelines that keep us separate in the house of expectation.
Your greatest weapon is not the one of intellect nor steel but the purity of your courageous heart. The tender heart that cradles your divine intuition and that knows that resolve, truth and resolution are the traits of Kings.
Too many before you have withered in doubt, waiting, fighting, grasping, longing, seeking to touch and be kissed by that place inside them that knows them by no name or status only as humanly divine. Their tired and exhausted bones finally met in refuge by the arms of Death and dissolving into Her skirts.
Their memory is still there, embedded in the blood galloping through your body, guiding your every step…
Feel their strength and hear their guiding whispers in the deafening silence beckoning you into love, patience, compassion for all those times you have tried so hard.
Feel their agony as you awaken and let that feed your true desire for power, your true strength and yearning for a new way of BEing, a devoted life…
Feel the fury that is rising with the possibilities of finally honoring your holy and masculine heart and finally restoring its birthright into the family of things.
I hold you, I see you, I love you. Stop holding up the walls for others and being a witness to your life, let the rhythm move your body and join me on this dance into the Great Labor of Love.
- Anabel Vizcarra
Be fierce in the beholding of the jewel that you are...
So many honorable names dwell within the chalice of your inherited wealth.
You are a Queendom.
A holy temple for the called-upon devoted,
not a visitors center for the lost or curious.
Woman, you bleed gold.
And this precious, red, liquid gold is meant only for the mouth of the noble King that has reached the understanding, that his power lies in the living of this koan.