In modern paganism, the Crone is often portrayed as a wise, wrinkled, shrunken Woman, while the Maiden is a teen, and the Mother is in Her 20s and perpetually pregnant, yet sexy, yet ready to fight to protect Her young.
This is all bullshit.
In the time of our ancestors, most Women didn’t live to become the Wise Woman in the corner beside the hearth. If the Maiden didn’t die in childbirth, She was a Crone by the time She was 35. All young Women had to defend their children and homes when their men were away.
But we have the legends of the Crone who was learned in magic, like Hecate, or full-on batshit out for blood, like The Morrigan. The Morrigan calls me, calls me. I hear the crows in the distance every day. The Morrigan is definitely a sexual Woman, and a trickster like the crow, and She had children–but I believe that She was always a Crone. Always a Wise Woman who knew the ways of magic and battle. Her Maidenhood is unknown; perhaps because She never had one. Perhaps She was born for battle.
The Morrigan is a sovereignty Goddess, meaning that a man who would be king had to have sex with Her because to Her people, She was the very land.
She still is, and She flies in Her crow or raven form, and She nests in the trees that belong to Nemetona, the British Goddess of sacred space.
It is time for Women to look to the trees, to listen to the wind, to hear the call of the crow, to go out into the sacred groves and listen. Just listen. Do you hear the crow? Every evening, about an hour before sunset, go out away from the trees and scatter a handful of dried corn. The crows will come to expect you. If you’re lucky, you’ll see them, or ravens, and they are easily confused.
If you hear the call of the crow, you are hearing the call of The Morrigan. She speaks to all Women, but you may feel Her call especially deeply and inescapably if you are a Crone. A Crone is a Woman past childbearing years. You can be a young Crone if your health. sexuality, or your own decisions make you “child-free.” You have passed from Maiden to Crone for a reason. In these times, that reason is probably battle.
Men call for our deaths if we have abortions. Men, so smug, warn us to ready our coat hangers because they believe they can take away our sovereign rights as Women.
They can’t do it. They are full of bluster. You, Woman, you go to the trees and the sky and the harvested field. Do you hear those harsh voices? Nothing pretty there, only warning and death . . . and protection. This time is the Battle Crone’s time. You are the one who will fight for the little Girl who doesn’t yet know what sex is. You are the Wise Woman who will protect all the Girls and children and young Women from predatory men. Men have made it clear: they will have us and our young. The Battle Crone screams louder and fights with more energy. She must. Very few men are our allies. Every action we take in life, from caring for family to work to voting is the action of the Battle Crone.
Listen for the crow and the raven, learn the difference between the two, honor them with food, keep their feathers if you are privileged to find them. When fools of men try to decide your fate, remember who you are. Remember the screams and prepare for the fight.