The Stages of Cronedom

We're starting to plan this year's Day of the Dead ritual, and boy, does it seem like the community needs it this year!  Between the fires, the drought, climate change, the crazy state of the world (and this presidential election insanity) and the endless stream of school shootings, not to mention personal  losses and griefs, reasons for needing a grief ritual abound.  So, consider coming if laying down some of the heaviness and burden of grief you're carrying would be of benefit to you.

The season's inward focus and the rapid approach of the year's end brought a poem this morning.  Oh,  I just can't seem to help but be immersed in mortality issues these days.  In my morning pages, I wound up musing about our elder years.  It's becoming clear to me that "old age" isn't just one concise period toward the end of life.  There are stages that I, at least, am moving through.  So, here it is... as usual, a little raw and most likely in need of revision (that's what I love about blogging - you get to experiment without feeling as though it has to be perfect).

First, you are a novice elder.

Monthly bleeding finally ends,

bringing both relief

and sadness.

If you are lucky,

you receive a crone initiation

and a welcoming.

You begin to look at older friends

in a new way.

You study how they move,

how they rest,

how they persist in their arts.

Then, you move into

early cronehood.

You stop coloring your hair.

You grandparent.

If you are lucky,

you retire from your day job.

Because you live within youth culture,

you become invisible to many.

You wince at your image in the mirror,

hating the new lines etched

into your face and your sagging skin.

Then, you exhale deeply

and promise yourself to

accept it all.

Next, you surprise yourself

by finding that there is a

middle-elder phase.

You begin to identify yourself

as old.  Sometimes.

Inherent weaknesses in the body

begin to clarify themselves

into symptoms.

It is easy to get lost 

and discouraged now.

You realize that you will never

go backpacking again.

You visit your acupuncturist and

chiropractor.  Often.

If you are even a little wise,

you turn inward and to

whatever gods or spirits

call you.

You allow your gifts

to flow unobstructed.

You care less and less

what people think of you.

You begin to lose 

(or lose more) people.

You understand how much grief

there will be from now on.

You wonder how you can

bless and serve the young.

Later, you move into

true old age.

Not having arrived there yet,

I cannot speak of it

with any authority.

I suspect that the work 

will be to learn more

about  acceptance and

about staying open-hearted,

should I reach this  stage.

That opening to the life-force

and also the death-force

will be what is required.

I hope that I live long enough

to hold all things –

to love my beloveds -

to bless the youngers –

and to meld into the earth.