Crone Calling

by Theresa Babylon

I hear an ancient wisdom winding and whispering through the trees like sweet incense

Like a crooked finger and a knowing wink, She calls

Don't you want to know who you really are? She tempts

Don't you want to throw off that “Should” cloak?

Don't you want to feel honesty in your bones?

Slowly, I step towards Her, my feet landing on comforting green moss, or jagged stone and mud, or nothing, falling in the void, again and again

Other voices call out to me, momentarily distracting me from the pull of Her. 

        But what about your weight, your hair, your face, your finances, your mistakes?
        Fix yourself, buy this, stop this, look at this, be other, be quiet, be small, do more,
        do better, try harder…fucking smile

The cool wind blows hard on my face, through my wild wild hair, howling

I smell woodsmoke, I feel rhythm drumming a path, I hear rich deep laughter and the tinkling of bells, and I turn back to Her

“I'm coming,” I say. “I'll find you!”

“Dear One,” she replies tenderly, “You are me. Come on home now.”

Thanks for reading Crone Calling! This post is public, so feel free to share it.