The Crone is commonly conceived of as an elderly Grandmother, and represents the last stage of life when the body is at it’s weakest, but psychic and magical power are at their strongest. The Crone represents the height of Feminine power, and the wisdom and experience which comes with age. The Crone is the Goddess of wisdom, magic, and spirituality, and is traditionally thought of as the Patron of Witches and Witchcraft.
The Four Stages of a Woman’s Life Delia Quigley
April 28, 2010
Traditionally we have been taught to see the progression of a woman’s life as beginning with the young girl, the archetypal Virgin, who moves into maturity as the Mother and at the end of her child bearing years, closing in on 50, she enters the time of the Crone…….
……..She wonders if it is to late, to difficult, to useless to dream of changing her health and re-sculpting her body. Then one day she meets a 55 year old woman who looks, walks and radiates like someone 15 years younger, an ageless warrior, and she is amazed to see what is possible. There are women and men who have defied the call to grow old. They have good health, peace of mind and the understanding of how to give back to the world the knowledge and wisdom they have struggled to attain. They have asked themselves a few essential questions and then set about finding the answers……..
The Ancient Croneby Anya Silverman
The Crone began re-emerging into our consciousness in the early 1980s, and today many older women are embracing this connection. We are tapping into the ancient crone’s attributes of wisdom, compassion, transformation, healing laughter, and bawdiness. The ancient crone archetype strengthens our belief and confidence in age-accumulated knowledge, insights and intuitions enabling women to stand up for their rights.
We will not be invisible, ignored, or treated unfairly. We are coming together in circles and gatherings to support each other as we proudly proclaim:
We Are Crones!
Year of the Crone by Jennifer R. Miller
The neighbor’s bamboo wind chimes
clink together in the afternoon breeze,
gliding in so warm and sultry from the west.
But all I hear are the rattling bones…
all I have known this year is the Crone.
She has spread her cloak wide
like a Valkyrie soaring above the battlefield,
like a vulture swooping in for the feast —
her claws sinking deeply into sorrow and regret,
her raspy throat swallowing down aborted dreams.
She has come for the ones who bore us,
the women who pushed us down into the dark tunnel
to emerge screaming and grasping for the light.
Now they, too, must face the velvety blackness.
Now they, too, must reach for illumination.
“We must be born to die,
and we must die to be born,”
the Old One whispers to me softly,
while the marsh grasses sway like a serpent
and her long, white hair whips about her wizened face.
I want to curl up in her arms
and dry my tears with her ragged sleeve,
but I know this is not the comfort she gives.
Hers is the emptiness of the prairie,
the vastness of the desert, the freedom beyond grief.
Her words fill up the space inside of me,
swirling and churning around my heart,
until I can see the endless cycle through her ancient eyes.
Creation and destruction, birth and death —
the head and the tail are one and the same.
New Moon, Solstice & the Crone Posted on December 21, 2014
Yesterday’s Hippies and Flower-children are today’s Crones who are poised to bring to fullness and finish the work they began decades ago. Their sheer number, earnings potential, and feminine wisdom is a movement waiting to happen