The Crone

The Crone came and visited me last night in my dreams. She lived in a cave. In the center of this cave she kept a campfire going where a large cauldron sat on top of it. There were four of us women learning the craft from her and her ancient wisdom. We spent much time with her apprenticing about herbs, walking through the fields and keeping the cauldron alive. We wore simple cotton dresses with a coarser cotton tunic robe. The robe was more of a protection against the elements than some symbol of status.

The crone was hunched over which made her look shorter, although I suspected when she stood to her full height she would have been as tall as the rest of us. Her robes seem to fold around her arms and the floor like a loose skin that never shrank with her age. She always walked with a staff. She used this stick not only as an aid to get up and around, but was also handy for stirring her concoctions. The crone had a kindly disposition and looked as you might expect. She had a face of wrinkles cradled by her long, thin silver hair. All of us ladies had long hair.

One night after dusk and dinner the crone sent the other ladies out for a few herbs for our next recipe lesson. The full moon was entering its cycle, and as we learned gathering herbs around the full moon held more potency. She directed one woman over to a group of trees over to the left of the field. The other two were told to follow the edge of the stream on the right edge of the field. The crone asked me to stay behind. I thought presumably to stoke the fire and prepare any other ingredients at hand.

When the other women were well on their way hunting, the crone asked me to step further inside the cave, away from the entrance. I stood behind her left shoulder as we walked back toward the fire. I reached out a hand to help her along the uneven path, and when I looked at her face a great bright light grew.

The crone turned toward me. The golden white light was so intense that the features of her face disappeared. I could only barely make out her eyes and they were only a small dilation of her pupils.

I held my breath for a moment trying to adjust my sight and register what I was seeing. The light reached beyond her hood penetrating the fabric as if it was air.

“But why are you only showing me this?” I questioned the crone.

“Because not everyone is ready to see the pure light that emanates from us.” She replied beaming at me. “Some are content with gathering herbs and creating recipes and learning the craft. This is exactly where they should continue until they yearn for more. You, my dear, seek something else. You seek the Light and the purity of all things living.”

I just kept my gaze on her, listening intently to her words while searching for any discernible features. The light seemed to pulse. Sometimes I couldn’t even see her eyes.

The crone continued, “You too will be able to do this, though it is not like a recipe of steps.”

Somehow I understood her and she knew I did. The light that emanates from us is not something we accomplish and develop through things we do; it is something we are. It is a natural reaction to embracing our Being.

I didn’t ask my teacher any more questions. I just smiled and wondered at it all. I knew there was much I wish to meditate later on after we all went to bed. The crone let me soak in her visage a little longer, then I watched the light recede and begin to fade away. It was as if the light absorbed into her skin until the only light remaining was the flickering of the orange fire under the cauldron glowing behind me. It was then that I heard the voices of some of the women returning from their hunt; they were chatting about their experience.

The crone turned from me toward the cave to rummage for something and I turned to stir the cauldron, asking my friends about their adventure. And so the dream ends.