A Sacred Threshold: Cronehood, Community, and the Village We All Deserve

This past weekend, I had the profound honor of gathering in a sacred forest and village with 287 women, including over 80 children under the age of 10. We came together in community, in ritual, in ceremony, and in rites of passage – a sacred weaving and witnessing of generations through story, song, healing, and deep remembrance.

I stood in circle with women I hadn’t seen in years which brought such joy to my heart. I met new sisters whose hearts now walk beside mine which filled by very BE-ing.  We shared nourishing food that fed not only our bodies but our spirits.And something rare and powerful happened.

For the first time in a quite a while, I felt ️SAFE️ in a community – a spiritual community – led by white women. That is NOT something I have experienced often various reasons, AND … that needs to be said aloud.

While I often feel deeply safe in the presence of the trees, the spirits of the water, the fire, and the land, I have NOT always felt safe in human spaces – especially white-bodied spiritual spaces. In my experience, these spaces have too often enabled, or KNOWINGLY ALLOWED, abusive, predatory or UNsafe folks to enter, often for money or egoic gains. Many preach diversity and inclusion without safety, or preach stewardship and alignment while operating from toxic capitalist patriarchal structures etc.

But this time?
This time, I felt SAFE.
I felt loved.
… AND LOVED LOVED LOVED all the diversity.

And that is no small thing.

I appreciated the clear guidelines around safety, microaggressions, conduct etc … I wish more spaces adopted these kinds of protocols. The way it was done here will also help me lead and facilitate better in my own offerings.

Singing into the Sacred

During the weekend, I was blessed and privileged to lead songs – impromptu- in ritual and ceremony, guiding our circle as we prepared for the Temazcal, the sacred sweat lodge led by an indigenous elder.  As we stood on the edge of this ancient threshold, I surprised myself by how well I sang in Gaelic – calling in the ancestors as we prepared to enter the womb of the Earth – a return, a release, a remembering.

Throughout the weekend, many women came up to me to share how deeply that moment moved them – how it opened something dormant within.  I was so nervous – my voice has felt unpredictable, and I have been working through vocal reclamation.

But their reflections, feedback, and their questions about the ceremonial song and my work in Ireland, affirmed something powerful:

That my work …  the deep, soul-rooted work I facilitate … matters. 

For some, it opened emotional and spiritual doorways, especially as they entered a traditional, Indigenous-led ceremony. To witness how one thread of ancestral voice could help unlock another’s voice was both humbling and holy.

Honoring the Crone

One of the most tender and transformative moments for me was being publicly honored in front of this sacred village – as a 54-year-old wise woman and grandmother, stepping fully into the rites of passage into cronehood.  It happened in front of a raging sacred fire, under a star-filled night sky, surrounded by 287 women and children.  I stood there tender, emotional, and numb as I witnessed my own journey and others through this portal and all that stirred in between. And yet I felt deeply held – with love, reverence, and ancestral knowing.

It was a threshold, a sacred becoming.

Earlier that day, I was invited into a matriarchal gathering and initiations. I had originally been observing, thinking, and questioning if I fit in because I am NOT “bleeding” anymore. Yet, I also had my motherhood, my ability to mother my children, and the maternal lineage stolen from me and my daughters by family court.  I am glad I got to experience such a blessing by a woman I have high respect for.

A moment that prepared me for what’s coming next:
The third and final phase of this year’s pilgrimage to Ireland closing out a six-month journey, with a powerful integration ceremony and intimate gathering this coming weekend. We will tend to all that has been reclaimed, remembered, and reborn. For each of us, that many look different, and I look forward to witnessing.

From the circles, rituals, temples, fire, land … everything was brought to the surface the duality this weekend

• the duality of belonging in spaces like this & NOT belonging
• sadness of being a late bloomer yet happy I’m here now
• blessed …

And Still… There Was Grief

Even in the depth of that beauty, even in the immense holding of this space – there was grief staring so intently in my face.

Grief that my younger self was NOT gifted such an experience as a Maiden nor a Mother, while ALSO feeling such immense joy for witnessing those who did experience such a gift this weekend. And seeing myself in the young maidens who became initiated.

Grief that my own three daughters were denied this kind of sacred village. Denied their own rites of passage held by the maternal lineage.  Denied the experience of being held by multiple generations of women, by ritual, by ceremony, by initiations.

Their birthright to be witnessed and honored in this way was stolen – by the very system that claims to protect them. Tra**icked to a documented abuser, with a court sanctioned erasure of the entire maternal side wiped out from their lives.

This truth sits heavy in my bones.  And yet, it fuels my fire even more:

• To keep doing this work.
• To keep walking this path.
• To keep reclaiming what was taken – for myself, for my daughters, and for the generations yet to come.

A Vision for the Future

Spaces like this:

where women are held,
where we feel safe,
where we remember who we are

It is spaces like this that will change the world. These spaces of remembering, of safety, or ritual – they are the medicine. They are the revolution.

May we keep building them.
May we protect them fiercely.

And may we always remember:

We are the village.
We are the fire.
We are the remembering.

I am grateful for the grandmothers, the wise ones – regardless of age – the ancestors, the stewards of this land (farm) who led the way … lit the path.

May we remember the ways of our healed whole grandmothers of blood and bone and may we honor their legacy by living by these wise ancient ways.

With love, gratitude and rising wisdom,