Emptying into Aging

For the better part of the last 15 years, I have been engaged in some form of diligent spiritual study, practice, and work.

For a long time, my spiritual path was one of fervor and fierceness.

My 20s were a time of haste, electricity, and boldness.

Seeking, learning, gathering.

My dedication to healing was like fire.

My 30s have been a time of porousness, emptying, and humility.

Subtlety, softness, and radiance.

My devotion is becoming like water.

In my 20s, I began to see some of the fruits of the path. I felt special.

In my 30s, I see I am not special — only as special as you.

Which is ultimately more special than I felt before.

In my 20s, I felt like I knew a lot.

In my 30s, I feel like I know nothing.

My perspectives widen, deepen, and shatter at a nauseating rate. Yet, I can ground and create space for this complexity better than ever before. Embodying the mystery — an emanation that creates simplicity in its own funny way.

In my 20s, I was for me - my liberation - knowing that this was, in its own way, an offering to the collective liberation.

I blossomed.

In my 30s, I am spilling over for my ancestors, future children, and community.

I learned to take great care of myself to give of myself.

I am making fruit.

In my 20s, I blazed a trail.

In my 30s, I am doubling back and planting flowers, fruit trees, and medicinal herbs—making the pathway more beautiful, inviting, and nourishing—something you don't have to be a wild banshee to find.

In my 20s, I took things for granted.

In my 30s, I am reminded of the impermanence of all things.

Each gray hair, wrinkle, and hormonal shift is a ticking on Saturn's watch, toning the reminder that these are the days to remember. Stomp this season's grapes to make wine before it's released back into creation, and you miss it.

The anti-aging program is undoubtedly a psyop designed to burn the wisdom of the Mother and the Crone at the stake. The eternal maiden chases after a radiance that ironically only arises from meeting what is with sincerity and grace.

In my 20s, I was loud.

In my 30s, I am quiet.

Overlays of over-dramatizing, outlandish promises, and fantasy dissolve with maidenhood.

What's there to say when you aren't in the business of proving? Certainly much less.

My silence contains novels.

In my 20s, I was maiden.

In my 30s, I am mother.

Mother is creation embodied.

Life-Death-Life

Creation-Sustenance-Destruction

Inherently demands her natural space - with soft edges, like a peony.

A body designed to birth - that cackles in the face of contortion.

An inner compass, the small, still voice, blares like a siren. Outsourcing knowing dissolves.

Women, more than anyone, are taught to run from age.

Something wise and old inside me of cackles and shrieks RUN INTO IT.

Run into each decade until you find the altar of time, drop to your knees, and offer all of yourself – for aging is a privilege denied to many.

The wildness of the Maiden – a joy.

The Bridge of the Mother – an honor.

The wisdom of the Crone – a holy grail.