Child of the Goddess!
It has taken 1/3 of my life, and ½ of my adult life, to accept the beliefs that make up my pagan path. Now, here I am, already a crone, who does not have a lifetime of certified experience and training, nor know hundreds of people in the pagan world. To the rest of the world, I am merely a woman of golden years, and therefore, perhaps invisible at times to those who are younger. In the mundane sense, I am of little consequence.
In the world of my mind, I am a force learning to be reckoned with. I am a source of energy, sometimes twirling softly, sometimes swirling with tornado force, reaching out into the universe, sparks and beams traveling into the spaces that exist between the spaces, effecting change and working my will. I am a child of the goddess, and so, am anything but negligible.
And yet, as Crone is a role model, I am also one who has somewhat reluctantly taken up the cloak of the village wise woman, someone with widely varied experiences and knowledge, educated at university and in the barrio, and being educated in the many paths and facets of magick. I now spend many evenings with my incredible teacher, bent over a cauldron to scry the fire, taking part in dialogue or group discussions about the considerations and responsibilities that accompany the use of power, learning to expand my ability, seeing the otherworldly beauty of a full moon during ritual at the beach. For the first time in my life, I have time to do this.
Being a crone, I am one who has time, finally, to read, write, think, meditate, consider energy and the best uses I can make of it. I have time to listen to the goddess. I have time to water my herbs and speak with them, to visit the trees in my yard and chat, to pour out milk and honey for the brownies who so delight in hiding my car keys. I have time to listen to younger friends whose lives are full of mundane necessities and problems, to offer insight, suggestions, and comfort, as well as tequila and chips if they are of legal age. Or herbal tea and cookies if they are younger than that.
When I walk into the room I reserve for magick, I am surrounded by dozens and dozens of books, some read, some browsed, some waiting for me to take them up and absorb the experiences and thoughts of their gifted authors. Wooden chests of various sizes hold bundles of incense, gemstones and crystals, flagons of oils and holy water, multitudes of candles in various colors and shapes, ritual jewelry, and tarot cards. A CD player and music I find particularly meditative are housed in this room, and I share the room only with the goddess, an orange diva feline and the spirits that pass through.
These tools, tokens and physical ways of embodying and transforming my intentions and spells are now part of my world, part of my daily life, part of the energy that hums through the house and my family. Using them strengthens and enhances every meditation, every prayer, every working that I attempt. I am presently awaiting delivery of dowsing rods, as one of the circle to which I belong brought some to a class recently, and I was bewitched and entranced by their energy dance. I canʼt wait to see how they will dance within this space I inhabit, and I canʼt wait to hear the message they may bring.
With perhaps two decades left, I find my mind awhirl with the things I want to study and learn: more about healing, reiki, crystals, much more about tarot, more about psychic development, and the relationship between energy and auras. There are hundreds of workshops to attend, spells to try and herbs to dry. There are dozens and dozens of pagans who could spark my mind, offer me insights, and provide food for thought as well as delightful and magickal company.
There is so much, so very much still to learn. I look forward with almost breathless anticipation to whatever piquant surprise the universe will hold out to me next.
