"Mugwort's renown among common folk as a powerful systemic healer reaching into the reproductive, digestive, urinary and digestive tracts has earned this artemisia the nickname cronewort. Like the old woman who has passed through many moons, harvesting wisdom into the folds of her wide skirt, this common weed, denounced and torn up recklessly by the ignorant, truley walks and lives amongst the people."
Our local Artemisia or 'Cronewort' is flowering and ready for tincturing for winter use....
"Intractable and sturdy as a hag, cronewort stretches its roots amid those urban places humans tend to scurry rather than wander in, their hurried pace forgetful of the very existance of the natural world. Affectionately known in Russian as zabytko, which means forgetful, croneworts strong camphorlike oils, when inhaled, open up ancient chambers in the brain, bringing to life ones dream life stirring visions of past and future that overflow with magical imagery. The symbols which dance through our cronewort-touched dreams pull out the cob-webs of our forgetfulness and assist us in remembering old, unwritten ways of healing and living that attend to the needs of spirit and soul."
Our Elder's have born fruit for the first time! Although not enough to make wine with or tincture, I am gratefully tasting good medicine straight from her branchs as I thankfully pour a little of my apple cider onto her roots in offering. Both these plants have associations with elder women, as does the season we are moving towards, as Judith Berger evokes....
"In Denmark, it was said that a dryad called Hylde-Moer, the elder tree mother, dwelled in the branches of the tree and watched over it. If any part of the tree was cut without first beseeching the elder-mother, it was believed that she would haunt the family of those who had bypassed her consent
until what was taken was returned."
"Elder is considered the tree of transformation, guardian of the thirteenth month of the Celtic tree calendar. This month, which is three days long, contains both the end of the year, Samhain (Halloween) and the beginning of the New Year (All Soul's Day). The elder tree is home to the crone who carries many names besides Hylde-Moer: Cailleich, Hel, Queen of the Underworld, and Freya, Norse keeper of the fire. This ancient goddess of many names who resides within the elder guards the doorway between the living and spirit realm of the ancestors."
In Gaelic folklore there is the Cailleach, a creatrix of lonesome and somewhat frightening proportions associated with the coming of winter, spirit thereof. Her face said to be blue, woad like mayhaps, and of a single eye, oft a sign of vision into the otherworlds (my interpretations).
There is no 'epic' for the Cailleach, although a poem or two is thought to be of her, like one from the 9th century "The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare'. She is referred to under various related names, Cailleach Beare, Cailleach Bheur, Gentle Annie, when it comes to rocky landscape, isolated locales and in reference to harsh weather conditions. Late coming winter storms, unnavigatable whirlpools and hard frosted ground are her terrain. Inferred reflections of her barren or otherwise hostile inner world, which I find rather interesting, as an aging woman.
Not in a distant oh how intellectually fascinating kind of way, but more of a growing down, sagging indeed, is real, and with the gaining of wisdoms that time passing brings, comes feelings that ain't always pretty. I have recently been rather shocked at having several respected elder women get cantankerous with me, and its made me pull up and have a bit of a think. Now they probably are not aware of this effect, working conciously as community nurturers, which indeed they are. Protectors of the ways. The plant Nettle comes to mind. I'm not saying this means their behaviour didn't hurt.
What I am saying, and pondering, is that perhaps I have romanticised the Crone as an archetype, into particular forms, and in doing this, not allowed my friends their vulnerabilities as real folks. What is folk lore, after all, but tales of people? Is the wise woman not allowed difficult or intense emotion (at any age)? Challenges she may respond to in ways we find confronting and suitably unbecoming? Am I not, looking the Cailleach in the eye in some ways? Another translation of her name is 'veiled one', holder of mysteries and what lies beyond.
In Ireland, Wales and parts of Scotland I've read of traditions around the last sheaf of wheat being referred to as the Granny, or even Cailleac. There are connotations that the last farmer to pull in his harvest will be left with the old hag, as a sign of his procrastination, laziness even. It's an honor to be avoided. However, also, there exist traditions where a part of this sheaf is fed to the horses who plough the first field of the next season. That therein, is contained the seeds that survive the winter and feed the spring sowing. Interesting. Not in a kind of abstract that's a quaint old folk tradition type way, but the reality that older women hold seeds.
" A modern version of the Stenia ( or Bitching Festival) is when we get together and discuss our negative emotions. We pay a lot of money for these moments in therapy groups. Somehow, negative emotions are not acceptable, and we pretend we don't have them. If we are lucky and have a best friend, we can always vent these negative feelings to them. But what a joy if we could safely (my emphasis) tell off face-to-face those people we are angry with!"
Z Budapest
Now I'm going to digress into some of my own shamanic journey work with Cailleach, it's not from a book, a blog or resources, other than my own personal ones engaging with spirit.
I had been guided to visit her several times in the cottage where she lived, on the edges of village and forest. As I turned to her, before being seated, on one visit, she suddenly turned into the most frightening spectre, and loomed above me intimidatingly. I felt completely unsafe, I was terrified! However, I stood my ground, how, I am unsure. Somehow saying, 'I know you', recalling earlier, friendlier, incarnations. She shrank back down to familiarity, 'Goooood!' she said, laughing uproariously and slapping her knee.
I hope I can conjure up this same steadfastness with the Elder women in my life who have shown me a taste of the shadow realms, and that there may be healing beyond. My beloved Grandmother Alice, told me to f*** off once. So I listened, respected her wishes, and bloody did. On my return, carrying a softer memory of her, she offered me seeds I continue to carry.
References and Resources:
'Funk and Wagnalls Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend'. Harper and Row. 1970.
'Grandmother Time: A Women's Book of Celebrations, Spells, and Sacred Objects for Every Month of the Year' by Zsuzsanna Budapest. Harper Collins, New York. 1989.
'Herbal Rituals' by Judith Berger. St Martins Press, New York.1998.
'Kindling the Celtic Spirit: Ancient Traditions to Illumine your Life Throughout the Seasons' by Mara Freeman. Harper Collins, New York. 2000. see 'Meditation: The Hag's Chair' p222.
'Tairis' blog: An article on Brigid and the Cailleach
http://www.tairis.co.uk/an-tri-naomh/bride-and-the-cailleach/
'Two Old Women: An Alaskan Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival' by Velma Wallis. Harper Collins. 1993. Great read for any woman feeling cast out.
