21/12/2025
I've always resonated with Crone energy and worked or was called by various Goddesses in their Crone aspects.
The Cailleach has been calling stronger every year since I've reach Cronedom (is that a word?)
As we honor our mothers before us this night, let's not pretend they were always soft and gentle. Let's remember their strength, wisdom, determination and the fact that life springs from our lineage of mothers. I'm proud to take my place with The Crones of yesterday.
Blessed Mother's Night!
Madame Molly
Gather close, beloved witches and students of the ancient ones...
The solstice is almost here
and I want to tell you about the Cailleach.
Say her name slowly: 𝗞𝗮𝗹-𝗲𝗲-𝗮𝗰𝗵.
Let it rattle in your teeth.
She is the Celtic winter hag,
blue-faced and white-haired,
staff in one gnarled hand,
hammer in the other.
When she strikes the ground with that hammer,
winter begins.
Frost spreads from where she walks.
Mountains rise where she rests her head.
And the truth is...
She is 𝗻𝗼𝘁 gentle.
She is 𝗻𝗼𝘁 sweet.
She is 𝗻𝗼𝘁 the soft, sugar-coated version
of the divine feminine
they try to sell you in pretty packages.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗲.
The Elder. The Ancient One.
The aspect of the goddess
that stops apologizing
and starts shaping the world.
She teaches us this:
there is power in being unf**kwithable.
Not cruel... alas, there's a difference...
But sovereign.
Unmovable.
Done explaining herself to those
who were never going to understand anyway.
The Cailleach has lived too long,
seen too much,
weathered too many winters
to care about being liked.
She cares about being true.
She cares about doing what must be done.
She cares about the ancient contract:
winter must come so spring can matter.
So here's what she asks of you this week, witch:
Where do you need to pick up your hammer?
Where do you need to stop being soft
and start being steel?
What boundary needs to be struck into the ground?
What truth needs to be spoken in your blue-faced voice?
What world needs to be shaped by your gnarled, powerful hands?
You don't have to be nice about it.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘀.
She just lifts her hammer,
strikes the earth,
and winter comes
because it's time.
So wield your power, beloved.
Be the crone.
Be ancient and immovable and true.
The Cailleach is watching,
and she approves.
❄️
With frost on my lips and a hammer in my hand,
Blessed day, witches.
~ Baba
