"The Mother, The Maiden, The Crone"

My tribute to the three phases of the Goddess.

 

 

“The Mother, The Maiden, The Crone”

 

                Once there was a beautiful, young Maiden. She was overflowing with energy, enthusiasm and innocence, as most young women, and everyone admired her youthful charm. She had the gift of transforming barren ground into bountiful splendor and every sprout and seedling flourished under her loving hands. So generous was she, for she was known to gather fresh and fragrant flowers to share with her neighbors. This pleased those who knew her and they looked forward to her visits. The lovely Maiden spent her days running through the corn fields and napping in the rolling meadows. But, eventually, as all children eventually do, the Maiden grew up. She was no longer content to spend her days napping and running. She became more concerned about her bounty and less concerned with playing and spent her time working the fields for many hours a day. Now mature, it was clear the Maiden was ready to accept her new role as Mother.

               

                The Mother is full of nurturing love and kindness. All that sit quietly and watch her wonders are thankful for her many bountiful gifts. The fields become ripe with the fruits of her labor and she regards these fruits as her growing children, encouraging them to thrive as any good mother should. So very wise is the Mother. Those who seek her guidance are never disappointed, for she accepts all with open and loving arms.  She lives to serve and provide for her beloved children and asks only respect and honor in return. The mother is proud of her maturing children and is satisfied her job was done well. As her precious gifts bloom and grow she takes time to rejoice in her delight. She has grown along with her offspring and her energy wanes. The mother has lived a long, full life and grows tired and weary. She prepares for her final resting phase. The once young and vibrant Mother becomes The Crone.

 

                The Crone is wise and all knowing. Those respectful of her wisdom seek her sage advice. Her voice echoes through every leaf on every willow tree. Her song is sung by every sparrow perched upon the oak tree branch. The Crone spends her days meandering along her harvested grounds, quietly admiring her job well done. She has grown tired and weary and accept that her days are now limited. But she is not sad and does not want her children to morn her, for she knows that just as the Moon waxes and wanes so shall the seasons of her life continue. She prepares for her final rest and lies down upon her barren field. Soon she is covered by a fresh blanket of snow while the full moon smiles down on her and all is quiet. Soon the snow melts and in the middle of the soil there is visible one tiny, green seedling. The Crone has sent her gift of life once more.  

Reviews

[Lena M. P.]

Mother Earth at her finest. I very much enjoyed reading this. Nice photo too.