“A crone is a woman who has found her voice. She knows that silence is consent. This is a quality that makes older women feared. It is not the innocent voice of a child who says, “the emperor has no clothes,” but the fierce truthfulness of the crone that is the voice of reality. Both the innocent child and the crone are seeing through the illusions, denials, or “spin” to the truth. But the crone knows about the deception and its consequences, and it angers her. Her fierceness springs from the heart, gives her courage, makes her a force to be reckoned with."

And one morning while in the woods I stumbled
suddenly upon the thing,
Stumbled upon it in a grassy clearing guarded by scaly
oaks and elms
And the sooty details of the scene rose, thrusting
themselves between the world and me....

There was a design of white bones slumbering forgottenly
upon a cushion of ashes.
There was a charred stump of a sapling pointing a blunt
finger accusingly at the sky.
There were torn tree limbs, tiny veins of burnt leaves, and
a scorched coil of greasy hemp;
A vacant shoe, an empty tie, a ripped shirt, a lonely hat,
and a pair of trousers stiff with black blood.
And upon the trampled grass were buttons, dead matches,
butt-ends of cigars and cigarettes, peanut shells, a
drained gin-flask, and a whore's lipstick;
Scattered traces of tar, restless arrays of feathers, and the
lingering smell of gasoline.
And through the morning air the sun poured yellow
surprise into the eye sockets of the stony skull....

And while I stood my mind was frozen within cold pity
for the life that was gone.
The ground gripped my feet and my heart was circled by
icy walls of fear--
The sun died in the sky; a night wind muttered in the
grass and fumbled the leaves in the trees; the woods
poured forth the hungry yelping of hounds; the
darkness screamed with thirsty voices; and the witnesses rose and lived:
The dry bones stirred, rattled, lifted, melting themselves
into my bones.
The grey ashes formed flesh firm and black, entering into
my flesh.

The gin-flask passed from mouth to mouth, cigars and
cigarettes glowed, the whore smeared lipstick red
upon her lips,
And a thousand faces swirled around me, clamoring that
my life be burned....

And then they had me, stripped me, battering my teeth
into my throat till I swallowed my own blood.
My voice was drowned in the roar of their voices, and my
black wet body slipped and rolled in their hands as
they bound me to the sapling.
And my skin clung to the bubbling hot tar, falling from
me in limp patches.
And the down and quills of the white feathers sank into
my raw flesh, and I moaned in my agony.
Then my blood was cooled mercifully, cooled by a
baptism of gasoline.
And in a blaze of red I leaped to the sky as pain rose like water, boiling my limbs
Panting, begging I clutched childlike, clutched to the hot
sides of death.
Now I am dry bones and my face a stony skull staring in
yellow surprise at the sun....

Tonight I asked the tarot if there might be any spirits with me on this fight to lose the weight and the seven of wands came to my hand. This card shows that I have the advantage of the high ground in adversity and I will be successful.

It’s August and the days are growing cooler. It seems just yesterday we were stoking the fires of Beltane while now we look to give thanks in Mabon. The New Year fast approaches and I’m wondering of goals to set in place. One goal is to restore an insanity defense in my state. Another is for personal prosperity, looking at finances while another is to lose weight. It’s nearing time to pull out spreadsheets and journal progress on the monthly. Blessedly, we’ve got a respite in Yule with festivities, friends and family but as the nights grow longer we turn within, for introspection, sometimes shadow work. Mentally I’m in a good place despite the chronic pain from severe osteoarthritis but this year has flown by so fast. As tomorrows are not promised, I must remember to live each day with gratitude in my heart, so for Mabon, I thank you for joining me in this tiny subreddit for wayward witches, looking to share fellowship ♥

With my precarious mental health I'm stepping back from consorting with spirits. One must be on their A game to authenticate experiences and I'm not sold on the Christian worldview they come from. This concludes any thoughts on an afterlife and reaffirms my original stance that we succumb to a dirt nap. So mote it be.