If you want to be a bad ass sexually empowered woman, embrace your inner hag.
The crone. The ancient old woman. The witch. The hag.
The crone archetype is an aspect of the feminine not exactly associated with sexuality.
Women groom themselves to be girls. The younger the better.
Paint those lips red and blush those cheeks like you are wet and ripe for impregnation.
Make them believe you are in perpetual ovulation.
Make them hard. Make them desire you.
Get that face lift. Suck in that belly. Bat those lashes.
The crone doesn’t give a fuck.
And that is her power.
She embraces her spider lines and swinging, sagginesss.
After all, this is what life does to the body of a woman…eventually!
Does that make you uncomfortable? Would you rather not see?
Her secret threatens to corrupt you.
She can make you wild.
She can reveal to you your power.
Your volcanic senseless holy.
Once she opens her mouth, the jig is up.
They tell you she is crazy.
Dangerous because she has broken out of that jail cell you call restrictions.
How would you have sex if you didn’t give a fuck about how pretty you look?
Or how flat your stomach is?
The crone is not an object of desire.
She is free to claim her own desire.
In a world that praises women for being objects of desire.
Where the more lust you can seduce the more value you possess, the crone is laughing with that cackle that only women of power have.
She does not possess the enchanting beauty of the maiden or the fertile reproductive juices of the mother.
She no longer bleeds. She no longer bares children.
Her sex no longer waxes and wanes with the moon, gaining and draining energy with each passing tide.
She is full.
The portal to her blood has been sealed.
She is drinking in the nectar. She is bathing in its luminous darkness.
Her sex is a diamond pressed and polished by years of experience and wisdom.
She has passed through all the phases of initiation as a woman.
That heavy web of social conditions all feminine creatures are baptized into.
She is unraveling herself from these webs.
She has liberated her sex from all their stories.
She is making it to the other side.
Without the ability to be a mother or a sex object, what is left of a woman and her sex?
I’ll tell you what.
Pure power that doesn’t give a fuck.
Crazy wisdom that knows how to make love to the moment.
Sex that ripples through every authentic cell of your body.
Sex that pulses with every tiny whisper of life knowing life.
If you want to find the seat of your sexual power.
Your real deep sovereign sexual nature.
Find the crone that lives in you.
Wild. Ugly. Innocent. Real.
The real initiation begins here.
Author: Maya Luna
Photo Art: Sarah Peirse