#crone

[zmiyinaart]

The Grandmother

In pagan Slavic cultures, cremation was common; through that, fire was seen not only as a source of life, but also as an in-dwelling of the ancestors. It was also thought that their spirits can visit us in the form of birds.

[erainbowd]

One month ago to the day, I wrote this in the airport as I waited to board a plane to Los Angeles.

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[luminousinsect]

One Leg One Eye - CRONE (AD93, 2026)

Mastered by Lasse Marhaug.

Ian Lynch (of Dublin folk group Lankum) and George Brennan collaborate with Irish actress Olwen Fouéré to unleash an unfathomable current of primordial acoustic doom.

Themed on the crone-augur Cailleach of the Ulster Cycle sequence Togail Bruidne Dá Derga, wherein she prophecies the final doom of high king Conaire Mór as he is drawn unwillingly to his hostel to break his final geasa (taboo/curse).

Sonically this is primordial music of the highest caliber, far better than I ever expected, drawing in field recordings, hurdy-gurdy, shruti box or harmonium, strange blackened breathing & bellows, produced with powerful dynamic range and composed with a distilled sense of impending dread. The entire work is rapture from start to finish, from Fouéré listing the many names of the Cailleach at the open to the final fulfillment of prophecy ("I see crimson, I see red!") over positively keening Atlantic strings. Discogs

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

art by Elena Ray

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All pretense is stripped away in the Old Crone years - she has seen too much, done too much, and has already known the intimate agony of ongoing chronic pains - joints and bones and faculties fading, and the loss of strength. What has she got to lose? By sheer will alone she rises from her slumber and slowly enters the forest, the abandoned field, the jumbled hedgerow, and finds the strength to uncover the earth-encrusted apple branches carelessly buried under the farmer's plow, to free the hidden buds struggling for life, caked dirt under her taloned nails, blood oozing in small scrapes from the dried branches and hawthorn spikes. She doesn’t care, as she smooths and untangles, soothes and whispers, sings and encourages, apologizes and supports - the tiny buds appear, take breath and hold the light - and she makes amends for everyday ecocide. Her healing gestures find the green fuse under the tangle. Pushing herself beyond the limits of her physicality, she lifts the heaviest branches, clears the matted grass, and moves the tumbled stones.

Stabbing headache, chapped lips, sore knees and hair full of catkins – the Old Crone is nothing like the sterilized archetypes. No, she is not the noble witch, measured and wise. She is something much more – dark, rank and feral - a rabid unkempt force who gives no fucks for the soft comforts of the self, but only for the restoration of the hedgerow and the health of the forest. What else matters to the Old Crone? Eyes fading but hands holding, her love enfolds the chain of life - the tiny buds, the creatures of the soil, the deer in the distance, and the birds keeping her company on the branch, singing their songs of surprise and approval. The Old Crone does the nurturing work of the Earth Mother – mother and daughter both, as they are one and the same. There is no other reason for being, except to remediate the damage caused by the death-dealing patriarchs, and to care for Earth Community.

Pegi Eyers, May 5, 2026

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"The Crone teaches us to let go of attachment to the physical and embrace the cycles of life and death. Death is coming for us all and if we found a way to become more comfortable with that, maybe we wouldn't banish the Crone to the shadows."

Patti Smith

[darkmoongwen]

I may be a total disaster, but at least I have whimsy

[downtothemarrow]

“The Crone has been missing from our culture for so long that many women, particularly young girls, know nothing of her tutelage. Young girls in our society are not initiated by older women into womanhood with its accompanying dignity and power. Instead, for their models, they look to fashion magazines, where they see the kinds of bodies and faces that they themselves can never have. Paradoxically, these are the ideals that are held up for them if they want to be successful, particularly with men. A recent national survey of teenage girls in North America showed that "while 13-year-old girls are nearly as confident as 13-year old boys, by age 16 the females' sense of self worth has plummeted."

With no inner Wisdom figure to guide them, and no outward model to help them set boundaries and be their own person, young women often fall victim to false and superficial ideals, such as pleasing others. Ironically, they achieve their greatest success at the cost of their own emerging sense of self.”

—Marion Woodman, Dancing in the Flames

[darkmoongwen]

6 months on E as of yesterday, the fae is going to be alright :)