Lilies and Roses In the House of The Dark Moon

I was in the garden, taking in its early August glory as I went about aimlessly pinching off the dead daylilies. Although I love all flowers, daylilies hold my heart. I have perhaps thirty different colors, sizes and shapes. I wait for their blooming each year and wander most mornings to see which beauty is offering herself to me this day. Sometimes I gasp in joy at the subtleness of colors as tender petals open and curl backwards, showing me their hearts. I talk to them. I admit I do.

“Oh, you are so beautiful,” I tell them. “And you and you! You are all amazingly gorgeous.” As I admire their profuse abandon, I try not to think that tomorrow morning each of today’s perfect flowers will have folded in on itself and begun to shrivel. Tomorrow I will be pinching off the very ones that bring me such joy today. I don’t, however, linger on the thought. The daylily has no patience for such morbidity. She blooms with all her heart, perfect for a day.

As I walk, the rosebushes suddenly claim my attention. They are blooming again and, as I near, I see that in between the shimmering red clusters are heretofore unnoticed brittle, brown dead flowers. How had I missed them?

With great determination, I reach for my clippers and, as I am about to cut off the first shriveled bunch, I stop, clippers in mid air. The thought strikes me that while I mourned the prospect of the daylily’s fate, I have no such feelings for these dead roses that mar the otherwise vibrant bush. I am eager to cut them off and dump them into the compost heap. What is the difference between the lily and the rose?

Then I realize there is no difference, except from my mind’s perspective. I saw the lily as life in all its beauty and fullness. I saw the rose as death in all its withered ugliness. But what truly amazes me is that as peaceful as the lily is in her beauty, the decaying roses are peaceful in their death. Such thoughts bring me deeply into my heart and, with love and awareness, I prune away the dead roses and gently lay them in the compost.

As we learn, with love and awareness, to appreciate our blooming, we learn to prune away with love and awareness those parts of self that no longer serve our being. The more we live in equanimity with the cycle of birth, bloom, withering and death, the more present we are; and the more we cherish the fullness of life in its moment to moment progression. Death, the pruner par excellence, becomes our master gardener. Death no longer looms as The End.

CRONE AS THE GUIDE TO EQUANIMITY

The House of the Dark Moon in this workshop refers to "dark of the moon," those three nights every month when the moon is hidden. Metaphorically, this is the time of Crone, whose province is the dark, the stillness, and letting go. To the ego, Crone and her dwelling is synonymous with death and charged with fear. To the heart, Crone’s dwelling is a place of letting go, a place that opens to rebirth, symbolized by the new moon and her rhythmic dance toward fullness.

This is a nine month TeleWorkshop Series from Emily Hanlon.

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On Creativity

Our creativity is most often used to birth our creations in the outer world, whether it be in the arts, the healing professions or any creative expression that is driven by our passion. Although these are powerful expressions, we are called to an even deeper level of creativity: the birth of true Self, She who was there before you came into life and will remain when the body dies. She is your center, your stillness; she is the mystery and she knows the immensity of who you are — an immensity beyond the mind's reckoning. She is waiting for you. She has always been waiting. Through her, you find your passion, your purpose and your freedom.

Creativity is the fire of the Seeker's path; it is the Spiritual Warrior's torch-giving light.

Calling Forth the Crone

This is an invocation for a teleWorkshop on the Crone that I recently gave. I asked Crone, she who is an archetype as well as active energy within our bodies and our psyches, to speak. Ths is what she said:

My lessons are two fold.

I come to teach about death and life, about letting go and opening up.
I come to teach patience and the knowing that letting go and moving on happen on their own time table.
I come to awaken the energy of Crone within you.
I come to give you yourself in me.

Never think that Crone self is passive or unreceptive. Rather I am a place of deep mystery, which is fertile beyond imaginings.

I am proactive by nature and not without judgment. But my judgment is righteous and built on my depth of experience, faith and compassion. I am a fierce fighter for life and beauty and love and I will not be denied. Denied I can create sickness, fear, rage and insanity. I destroy that which no longer serves and I do so swiftly and fearlessly. And although this may frighten you, know that my will is always driven by compassion.

To me death is not a punishment but a natural place on the endless cycle of life, death and rebirth. To honor Crone is to honor all aspects of life.

I am warrior. I am healer. I am mystic. I am death. I am Silence that is terrifying and soothing. I am rage that frees and rage that destroys. I am a force within all women. And it took thousands of years for the patriarchy to transform me and my sisters into the wretched hags and feared witches, stealers of newborns and the nightly ejaculations of men. But in my great mystery and indestructible mercy, I refused to leave your psyches. And I am returning.

Many are my Names: Hecate, Cerridwen, Morrigan, Kali, Spider Woman. I am Dark Demeter. I am the Unchanging Shape-Changer. Look now, look at me and see me all at once. I am Warrior, Siren, Midwife, Weaver, Dancer and Devourer.

I, your blood mother of death and rebirth, live within you. I was hounded, beaten, burned. I, who once tended to the dying with gentle caresses and soothing words, cannot be found in sterile hospitals where death is feared. Doctors would kill me, I who come with soft, open arms of welcome and lift out the pain, the anger, so it can be seen for what it is:
The balance-wheel for your vulnerable, aching love* that fears living even more than death.

Wounded, motherless children, you wander, not able to hear life’s song.

Now guide one another to empty your cups willingly, never fearing they will not be filled again.

They will be filled, they must, it is the law of love.

Day must follow night. Spring must follow Winter.

Maiden Mother Crone. The Dark of the Moon lures you to your deepest self, to your soul longings and brings you Home.

Like the seed in winter, trust in Spring.

Trust, on a daily basis, that your empty cups will fill and empty once more… and fill again.

And so it goes, not relentlessly, but in the sweet comfort of Crone, She who holds the Wisdom, the Blood, the Beauty and the Mystery of Life.

* The phrase vulnerable, aching love is taken from May Sarton's Poem, Invocation to Kali, which was used in the TeleWorkshop on Crone.