Being a Crone Isn’t a Career Choice
I never thought I would want to grow up to be a crone, but then I realized it isn’t a career choice. Much like the body I live in. I didn’t choose that either.
I inherited my short stature from my mother and my strawberry blonde hair from my father…except that all the ‘strawberries’ have been harvested and my hair looks more like the remnants of a hay field after harvesting.
Thin and straggly stalks giving evidence of a once lush field of promise.
The only understanding I had of a crone came from childhood fairytales and consisted of images of an old woman with a long hook nose, many wrinkles and a reputation for boiling little children in a huge iron cauldron. (At least I think I remember this story!)
Why would I want that!
No, my aspirations were greater than to be an old hag with sinister intentions. Plus, I knew I had many years before I needed to consider that possibility.
In the meantime, I focused on getting an education to sharpen my mind, someone to love, and nearby goals like building a home, raising sons and staying out of debt.
But I confess, I kept an eye on the mirror to make sure my nose wasn’t longer or that I wasn’t getting a warty growth at its base.
I am here to report that, at least as of this morning, there are no significant changes to my nose, but almost every other stereotypical sign of old age has found some place to take up residence in my body.
Like I said…I didn’t get choose my body—only how I treat it.
Aging Brings Changes
Somewhere along this journey from those years of playing basketball, riding a bike and mountain climbing I shifted to playing cribbage, riding a 3-wheel recumbent bike short distances, and photographing mountain vistas from afar.
I have celebrated many of the signs of “growing up”—graduation(s), marriage(s), parenthood, home ownership, paying taxes, and retirement.
I have put on weight, taken off weight and put it back on again. I have loved, lost and loved again. But there has been a deeper change than all these external shifts of a typical lifetime. That change has taken place in my heart.
Changes in beliefs
I no longer know everything I knew when I was 21. I was certain I lived in the best nation in the world, I absolutely knew right from wrong and I never doubted the existence of God.
In fact I later found myself standing in a pulpit expounding on these certainties.
Today I am certain of nothing. That’s why you will hear me speak of “Mystery” of faith.
I recognize the privilege of living in a democracy, but I observe its frailties.
Right and wrong are relative to context. If someone steals food to feed their starving children I do not put them in the same category as someone who steals expensive jewelry for themselves.
I eschew cutting down trees, but there is a difference between cutting them down to build a much needed hospital and clearing land to build a luxury resort.
Given a choice I would choose a democracy over a dictatorship, yet because any political system is carried out by human beings, there will always be abuses.
Does God Exist?
And God?
God no longer exists in my life as a judgmental being who metes out rewards and punishments like a strict yet loving parent.
In an effort to understand the divine, human beings have projected human traits on something that is truly ineffable.
Our language falls short of ways to describe the indescribable.
In the course of spiritual development we have to begin somewhere, and so for Christians we begin in a stable. Other traditions have their origin stories also.
When given the opportunity to grow spiritually we can release the stories that have had their purpose to teach and guide us— and embrace Love with a capital L. A Love that is beyond understanding and not constrained by doctrines and laws.
Because there is no way to adequately describe this Love, I choose to substitute the word Mystery when I hear the word God. There are traditions that do not speak or write any ‘name’ for the divine.
Like I stated earlier, what is right and what is wrong will always be related to context. If I am talking to children I will share bible stories about Jesus and tell them God loves them. If I am with a hospice patient I will say little and instead “be” the love they need.
Becoming a Crone
What I understand, therefore about becoming a crone is that I have surrendered everything I ever knew and believed, not because these ideas are wrong, but because they are not big enough.
I am not sure about anything and have discovered that the fullness of living is learning to “live the questions” as Rilke wrote in a letter to a young poet.
In my youth it was important to have all the answers. And to have them ‘right’. Grade point averages and career opportunities depended on these.
Today I find it important to have a heart open to possibilities that I can’t imagine with my limited brain.
I want to grow in wisdom that depends on not having all the answers.
I am certain that to be a full fledged crone is to be misunderstood, which may be why images of long noses with warts disguise a crone’s heart of Love (with a capital L). Otherwise they might quickly be taken advantage of for perceived profit and gain.
Yes, when I grow up I do want to be a crone. Wrinkled with wisdom, gnarled with Love, and with all the blemishes that come from a lifetime of failures, losses and unanswered questions.
No wonder crones look like hags!
Join a Happy Group of Sunday Morning Readers of
The Reflective Pen Here…
