It’s here, the final phase of our “changes” series: The Wise Woman…The Elder…The Crone!
Our meeting on Saturday was a rich and very sweet conversation about how we see aging as women in the world today. There is no getting around it, we are aging into the final phase of living as a woman.
Aging is a tough subject. That said, most of us shared how liberated, free and excited we are actually experiencing aging. Beyond the annoying sagging and achy bits, there is a freedom to be and to contribute that comes with aging into our “elder” years.
We invite you to engage in this delicious and powerful inquiry for yourself. Use the inquiry questions below to start your journey. Listen to the recordings to get the benefit of the insightful and moving work Lettecia and Ellen created for us in the monthly members meeting.
This week's Goddess Practice
We invite you to join us in reclaiming the word Crone from the ugly, mean, haggled vision of aging women. Crone can be a distinction of the elder wise woman! Begin by looking for yourself at the future of aging you are living into..
- How does the process of aging into the elder years exist for you? What is the default image of an elder you are aging into?
- What do you see in society about aging women? What is the future that is most prevalent in the discourse of aging.
- What was the vision of aging women your grandmothers and mother had available to them?
- What is the vision of aging you are creating for yourself?
Bonus
Goddess Guide Ellen Snortland shared this wonderful poem with us.
To Be of Use
By Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
Source: Circles on the Water: Selected Poems of Marge Piercy (Alfred A. Knopf, 1982)
