Crone at the Crossroads

They sat in a half circle. They sat at her feet. When it was their turn, they stood and told their stories. They were stories of change. They were stories of disasters. They were stories of plagues. They were stories of death and they were stories of sadness.

There were also stories of pockets of light--of safety and of love and of hope. But all the stories of the Great Change were stories of hardship and fear before transcendence and continuation. Many lives were lost, few continued. The few created the New.

And she sat amongst her people, the Wise Woman. And she listened to each of the many stories. She breathed the stories into herself. She digested each word, each nuance. And then she sat in stillness.

Her stillness flowed out from her and flowed into her people. When all was still and all was quiet, she opened her eyes into the vastness of the stillness.

Her eyes were the green of new spring grass, the green of growth, the green of abundance, the green of fertility. She looked upon her people and they felt her power and they felt the Mother behind her gaze.

And when she spoke to them, it was with her voice, but it was with the power of the Mother.

“Why all these stories of disaster-in-change?” she asked.

“It was foretold,” they replied.

“And who foretold these stories of disaster-in-change.” she asked.

“Our forefathers and wise-ones” they replied.

“And what makes them true?” she asked.

“Because our forefathers and wise-ones have never been wrong.” they replied.

“I see.” she said.

They sat in the stillness. The stillness felt good to them. It felt like peace. They relaxed and bathed in the peace-filled stillness. They did not wait for her to speak. They knew she would when it was time. Instead, they sat and they filled themselves with the peace that was offered out of the stillness.

“Fore-give them,” she said.

They were confused.

“Fore-give them.,” she repeated. “Give back the foretellings to your forefathers. Those stories belong to them. They are not your stories to tell.”

“But what do we do? How do we prepare for the New?” they asked.

“Begin to tell your own stories.” she replied. “”And, by what you tell will lead you to become the Change-into-New.“

But,” she cautioned, “Tell what feels good to you. Do not tell any story that does not feel good.”

She looked again at each of their faces with eyes that spoke of bounty and promise. Kind eyes. She looked deep into their hearts and read what was there and sighed. “There are some of you who like disaster-in-change, and I see that those of you will live the stories of disaster-in-change.”

She looked again at each of their faces with eyes that spoke of ease and grace. Knowing eyes. She looked deep into their hearts and read what was there and smiled. “And there are some of you who love the beauty of change and the grace of change. There is no need for disaster-in-change. There is only need to tell and then to follow what feels good to you. That is how you move into the New. That is all. That is enough.”

And her words carried in the wind and they pulled into themselves the truth of the words and they sat in their silence and in the stories that they began to tell for them selves.

That is all.

That is enough.

HERSTORIES, cosmology with a twist THE ONE TREE

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