All futures are tinted by the way in which you choose to view them.
~ Cat Hellisen, ‘Mother, Crone, Maiden’
What image pops into your head when you hear the word ‘crone’? What characteristics do you associate with this female archetype? Does she remind you of the 3 witches in Macbeth, ‘fire burn and cauldron bubble’? Is she repugnant to you?
I first encountered the Crone in Women who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. This book is a study of the instinctual nature of women – a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing – and tells the story of 3 archetypes representing the stages of life – the Maiden, the Matron and the Crone. Of these archetypes, the Crone jumped out at me, calling me like a kindred spirit.
I was 22.
Yes, I have been gently teased, occasionally unkindly mocked. Comments like “you are born 40 after all”, “you are an old soul”, “you are all too serious”, “be careful you may become boring” all too common from my teen years and beyond. Well, perhaps I am one, some or all of these; honestly, so what? And it is not surprising that the Crone resonates with me.
Having grown up in a conservative society and acutely aware of the value of beauty norms to a woman’s perceived worth, an image not reliant on the traditional sense of beauty was appealing. I longed for the freedom of non-conformity; the Crone has illuminated many moments of my becoming.
The Crone is present in the myths of different cultures such as Baba Yaga in Slavic, Annis in Celtic, Elli in Nordic, and Kali Ma in Indian mythologies. For me, the Crone has never been the ugly old witch, in modern-day parlance. Neither is she beauty, especially ‘beauty’ as espoused in contemporary society.
The Crone represents a woman of wisdom, the old and wise one; she is an ageless Wisdom Goddess.
Through the years, I have learnt the Crone is light-hearted but never flippant, she is gentle not weak, she is healing not malevolence, she is ageless not old, she is wise not (necessarily) intellectual – what an inspiration! And the journey so far has been a blast!
Always becoming, I have come to understand the Crone as being wholly self-assured of her place, or her magic, of her power. Whether cauldron or throne, she is ready.
To quote Jean-Paul Sartre,
“[w]e only become what we are by the radical and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.”
Perhaps that is what I have come to love most about growing older: not the promise of arriving somewhere polished and complete, but becoming increasingly at home with the mess, beauty and imperfection of being alive.
Like the Pilgrim in Annie Dillard’s novel Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,
“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them…”
I have come to stand in my world, in awe of its beauty and aware of its fragility, at peace with its messiness and consoled by my responsibility.
Perhaps it is no coincidence, then, that in Scottish-Gaelic tradition, the Owl is often associated with the Crone aspect of the Goddess. I have long had a certain affinity with the Owl.
Its querying penetrative gaze draws the curious me into its mystery. Mythological symbolism pointing to its ability to uncover hidden truths and look into the human psyche. This solitary nocturnal bird of prey, gracefully unyielding, also in Greek mythology, symbolizes learning, intellect and sharp insight - not dissimilar to the Crone.
I had wished to connect to the Owl’s symbol of wisdom - in my youth, mistaking wisdom for cleverness or intelligence. This intelligence was nevertheless a lifeline to this “frayed and nibbled survivor”. I now know they are vastly different.
Yet an affinity born of mistaken belief continues to hold a special place, for it has come to mean much more: the wisdom of my becoming. And here the Crone is ever present.
A woman’s life, like the moon, waxes and wanes. Let us embrace, revere and honour her – the Crone in our lives – for she must come to pass.
In the messiness, we keep becoming.