Sunday, January 4, 2009

Hag


I’ve been reading about Hecate lately, the goddess of the crossroads, she of the three faces. We love her as the maiden and the mother, fear her as the crone. But, the crone is the healer. The crone is the truth speaker. The crone is the willing sacrifice. When our time comes, she takes our pain away and lays us down to sleep. Why do we fear the old crone, the witch, the hag?

Etymologically, the word “hag” comes from the same root as “hedge.” In the middle ages, many single, self-sustaining women, often widows, were dispossessed by the forced enclosure of the commons. They had to leave the land they had lived on all their lives, the land that provided their sustenance, and move out beyond the hedges into the wild lands; thus “hags.” Only the smartest, wiliest, the most capable survived out there beyond the hedges. They were the ones who learned how to walk in two worlds, the visible, predictable, mutually accepted delusion known as human society and the mysterious, solitary paths beyond the bonds of community. They were the wise women, the powerful ones, and they transcended pity and fear. Who wouldn’t want to be one of them? Not surprisingly, the insecure, terrified male hierarchy brought down upon them a holocaust of burnings and hangings that wiped out untold generations.

It may seem odd to use this dark corner of a forum to mark a milestone; I did very little to acknowledge it in the “real” world, but here goes: I turned 50 today. That looks about as frightening in print as I thought it would. Really, I have never in my life been someone who had the slightest qualm about her age, but I guess I’ve never been 50 before, have I? And yes, it’s significant, it’s wonderful, I’m damn glad to have made it this far. If any birthday rates a celebration, this one does, but for many reasons I chose not to mark the day with a party. My birthday falls in an awkward spot on the calendar. Everybody, including me, has been partying for a month and nobody, including me, has the energy or inclination for one more. The days are short, the nights are dark, and energetically, it has always felt like a time better suited for contemplation than for celebration.

But, turning 50 is not something I want to deny or avoid. I’m no kid any more and never will be again. That’s OK; that’s better than OK, it’s fantastic. I’m officially an elder now, with all that entails, the good, the bad, the ugly.

To mark the passage, I took myself to Stewart Mineral Springs and did three rounds of mineral bath, followed by sauna, followed by a dunk in the creek. Three times I climbed down the stairs to the bankside, disrobed, clambered naked down the ice slick rocks to the dipping pool, pushed away the ice that crusted the surface and fully immersed myself in the freezing water. Once for the maiden, once for the mother, once for the crone.

Not bad for an old broad, wouldn’t you say?

No comments: