by Tatiara
It began with a simple conversation in a pagan Facebook group. Someone posed a question about what constitutes an “Elder”. As the responses came, I felt something within me stir. I kept returning to that post, rereading the comments. Some were funny, others profound. A few spoke of favorite stories, or teachers they’d once known. But beneath it all, I sensed a deeper longing: a yearning for true eldership. Not just knowledge, not just age—but wisdom. The kind that holds space without needing to explain. The kind that has walked through fire and come back holding sacred embers for others.
It made me think about the difference between being old and being wise.
Let’s be honest: the world is full of oldsters. People who’ve clocked the years but never truly changed. They grow harder instead of deeper. They cling to old wounds, old opinions, old certainties. They may wear the years, but not the wisdom. And yet… there are others. Fewer, but radiant. They’ve aged like river stones—smoothed, not sharpened. They listen more than they speak. When they do speak, something in you shifts. Not because they have the answers, but because they ask the right questions. They’ve stopped trying to prove anything. Their very presence is the teaching.
That, to me, is the Wise One.
It’s not just about a character in a story, it’s an energy. An archetype that lives in myth, yes—but also in the marrow of our bones, our own becoming. I see it in some of my elders, though fewer than I’d wish. I see it in quiet corners of community spaces, in those who stir the cauldron without demanding the spotlight. I occasionally even see it in myself, when I manage to let go of all I think I know and instead become willing to just…be.
The archetype of the Wise One isn’t just about giving advice. It’s about presence. About transmutation. About when one has had to go down into the dark, not because you want to, but because that’s where the soul ripens. And then returning—not the same, but more wholly yourself. There’s a kind of sacred authority in that. Not loud. Not demanding. But unmistakable.
I remember watching a beloved story unfold onscreen, where the wizard sacrifices himself so that the younger ones may continue the journey. I remember how he returns, not just reborn, but remade. What moved me wasn’t just the magic, but the metaphor. Death and return. Surrender and radiance. The grey becoming white. The ordinary becoming luminous. The Wise One doesn’t cling to what was. They release, they transform, they offer.
I believe that is one of the tasks of eldership.
To become a living threshold. To carry the memory of pain without bitterness. To offer guidance without attempting to control. To become a beacon, not yet another cage. To do that, we must be willing to die to what we once were, over and over. Ego attachments, aspects of our identity, comforts, illusions…much of it must be given up, turned over, made sacred through surrender.
I’m not there yet. Not fully. But I can feel the Wise One within me coming to the fore more often. Beyond opinions and insights, there’s a call to deepen in to essence. To embody. To show up not just with words, but with soul.
So I ask myself: Can I be more willing to be shaped in the fire like a sword? Am I really willing to let life teach me the long lessons? Am I willing to stop performing and start listening?
And I wonder… what would happen if more of us asked the same?
There’s a kind of magic, a gnosis, that only ripens with time. Not everyone reaches it. But those who do? They become the keepers of the sacred fire. The ones who tend the mysteries. The ones who remind the rest of us that wisdom isn’t a thing you get—it’s a thing you become.
And in our own quiet ways, we are all becoming.
When one is called to reflect on the archetype of the Wise One, a portal opens—not to the past, but to something older still: the memory of wisdom itself. It is not a memory stored in the mind, but in the bones and in the breath. In the silence between thoughts, in the places where stories and soul meet.
There is a tale that begins in the middle, as many true tales do. A humble one is chosen to carry something perilous. Companions gather. Each bring their special strength: the wayward heir, the loyal friend, the fierce guardian, the keen-eyed seer. Yet among them, there walks one whose light may not blaze, but still glows, like a quiet fire, steady and ancient. The Wise One.
At first glance, this figure may seem weathered and aged. But age is not the marker. Rather, it is the depth of their presence. The Wise One is not merely learned. They are always still open, knowing that the power is often in the questions, rather than answers. Elders know that true guidance does not always lead one forward on a linear, expected path, but sometimes has you step backward, or bids you stay still until the winds change.
Wisdom, then, is not a collection of mere facts or the weight of many years. It is the transformation of our experiences, even the harrowing ones, into grace. The Wise One does not resist the necessary descent into the sacred darkness—they enter it willingly, knowing that what dies in the depths is not the self, but the illusions that are ready to fall away. They emerge not diminished, but radiant. Not consumed, but consecrated.
There are moments in great myths where the guide vanishes, sacrificed to a greater mystery. And later, the guide returns—not the same, but transfigured. The color of their cloak has changed. Their voice carries both thunder and softness. They now speak less often, but more authentically.
True eldership is not based on nostalgia, or the “good old days”. It is not a throne to rest on, but a winding path. The oldster clings. The Elder releases. The oldster repeats. The Elder renews. The oldster says, “This is how we have always done things”. The Elder asks, “What do we really need right now?”
Walking this path shapes one, by sorrows, joys, and a fierce love. Bringing medicine to one’s gaze, magic to one’s silence. The voice of the Elder is not always the loudest in the room. Often, they are the one tending the fire, listening more than speaking, waiting for the right moment to speak the right truth gently—but unforgettably.
In a world ensconced in short attention spans, speed and novelty, the Wise One’s presence is a needed balm. Often reminding us that slowness is sacred. That listening is power. That there is a knowing deeper than intellect—a knowing that only comes from having loved and lost, fallen and risen, doubted and yet still returned to magic and wonder.
In quiet ways, that spirit lives in each and every one of us. We are all being honed and shaped, being prepared for our own return—not for glory, but to offer the special service our soul’s journey can provide. To offer light in the dark.
Somewhere inside us all, the cloak of the Wise One awaits. Not to be worn as a costume, but to emerge as our next new, authentically aligned skin. When that time comes, may we have the courage to wear it lightly, walk humbly, and carry our earned wisdom as a gift—not for ourselves, but for the road, and the generations, ahead.
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Nicki Ojeda (Tatiara) has been a tarot and past life reader for over 35 years. Nicki learned about tarot through her witchcraft and herbal studies as a youngster when she was gifted “The Herbal Tarot” from her mentor. It has been with her ever since. Past life memories and psychic abilities showed up early and claiming those abilities in the face of oppressive religious family doctrines has been a gift in disguise, informing her purpose to help others free themselves from outmoded conditioning, release trauma, and make space for soul truth and hidden gifts to shine forth. Embodying her spiritual path, owning the mystic within and living from that truth is her continuing challenge and mission.