This
artwork came from an art and storytelling influeneced workshop where a
version of the Russian tale of Vasalisa the brave and Baba Yaga, the
mortar and pestle flying in witchy poo, was told, with gusto and edge of
your seat skill. This image is, of course, rooted in my own
interpretations. Some say in stories, the characters are aspects of
self, the teller, or perhaps the listener, who's to say? Creativity is
simialr mayhaps whatever the form, this is my version...
Vasalisa
loses her mother, traditionally she dies, and weaves all her wisdom and
love into a Doll which she gifts Vasalisa from her deathbed, requesting
only that she feed her. A vessel or container of guidance from the
nurturing feminine, who loves us, and wants the best for us. Handy eh.
Couldnt we all do with some of that? Don't we all contain a little of
that if we can simply (yeah easy) conjure it into being. One could ask
what rituals or practices do this for self, or feed this...
Of
course on her mothers passing, Vasalisa's father remarries in poor
judgement, tis the way o things, resulting in a stepmother and sisters
who treat her like personal shit kicker to them. Do this, do that, clean
this, and she does so with pure heart (oh da polarities!). Meanwhile
gaining consolation from the realm of the Doll's magic imbued with the
energies of her maternal lineage. This eats at the (always) wicked step
women.
Now another version of the wicked woman is the
old witch, the Crone lets say. Traced from time immemorial the Wise
Womans become the scary one with the advent of botox, consumerism and a
few other faintly dogmatic belief systems used to justify mass murder.
So back to the Crone, who's now become the pop you in the oven n gobble
you up version of the woods dwelling solitudinal aka time for nature
listening healer. (I warned you this was my interpretation!) Goddamn she
should settle down and behave in a more respectable out of the way
manner. One that has less to do with her heart chakra and more to do
with bowing and scraping. Less eccentricity more conformity. That's not
to say, however, that some older women aint scarey, or tough as. I
caught the bus with two of them this morning.
So, one
set of wicked women hear that the other one, the Crone, is in town, or
clearing in the woods rather. That her chicken legged cottage, (eggs
being fertility symbols of birth and beginnings tabootsky), which can
move about has landed nigh. They decide a fab way to get rid of Vasalisa
goody two shoes boring shmoring exwife child is to put out all the
household fires and send her to Baba Yaga for replacements, sure she'll
never return. Hence thats exactly what they do....
BUT, and don't you love BUTS...
As
Vasalisa sets out scared out of her wits, in distress at entering said
dark scarey forest, where wolves dwell, trolls, ghosts, ghoulies etc ol
witchs, all those beings (slash aspects) that jump or creep up from
behind to knock us into places of no returning to sanity or safety ever
again. You know the places, we all have them, its just a matter of
degree. She is carrying her trusty Doll, come Guide, Ally, Mentor, Peer.
Therapist I hear you say, yes, possibly, although I hope your not
making any assumptions! Spirit Kin, Mates. The part of life that shes
nourished by paying attention to it, what else is feeding? Giving of
energy, sharing. It leads her straight to Baba Yaga's door, bugger that
Therapist, Practitioner, Friend, Trigger, Emotion, Lover, we say at this
point. Past the skeletal fence with eyes a glow and straight on into
the lair/ cosy home. Every half decent ol witch has an excellent lair /
cosy home, which maybe her sleeping bag, or blanket, under a bus shelter
and a pack of rollies. Just watch the pneumonia.
Im
taking a long time to tell this tale, but basically Baba Yaga sets a
series of imposssible and eeevvvil tasks like sorting wee Poppy seeds
from a massive pile of black soil, and the Doll (inner Shamanka) assists
her in doing the impossible. Having a life! Ooops, I mean, doing the
sortings, cleanings (more) and weavings of straw into gold and such.
Think I may have just blended another story in there somewhat. So in the
end Baba Yaga goes 'Oh alright girly I shan't eat you after all, bugger
it, Ill give you fire, so your peoples wont freeze to death or starve
(which they are currently doing cos' Russia and Siberia get pretty
chilly, something their wicked stepnesses didn't foresee in their
planning or lack thereof).
So preparing to thank this
frightening being, she stops as her Doll has jumped up and down in her
pocket, 'Just get outta here' says she. So Vasalisa the brave, fair or
wise, depending on which aspect the teller likes best, gets outta there
and returns to the uncosy home. Making her ways through the woods led
this time by the eerie lights of a skeletons head whos eyes are embers a
glowing. The stepnesses are pretty cold and hungry by now, and hence
pleased to see Vasalisa, who lights the fire and places the skull in the
corner of the room. From whence it watchs. Watchs, looking, looking, at
the usual dynamics.
What I enjoyed about the version
we were told is that there were multiple endings, only one of which saw
the stepnesses burnt to cinders by the skull. Theres enough of that goes
on in the world. The endings I liked is where the stepnesses behaviour
was changed by the process, or didnt but Vasalisa no longer cared. For
she has faced the Crone, dark forest, trolls, ghosts, suchness (within
and without) and lived.
I know this is a blog about
plants and pencils, but also it is about Recovery, as was the workshop I
attended. A word I will here spell with a capital R, because its
important.
The specific word used will probably change in coming
times (everything will), but the vibe is what counts. It counts because
it is a vibe that describes our way/s through. Gardener, warrior, chef,
artist, maker, healer, bush regenerator, taxi driver, crafter, cleaner,
dish washer, academic, psychologist, Crone heh heh, poet, storyteller,
social worker, peer support worker, apprentice, winemaker, farmer,
grower, student, teacher, actor, ecologist, walker, journalist,
meditator, shamanka, case manager, the possabilities are endless. Thats
the point....
Its just there's a few Baba Yaga's n forebidding forests we needs be learn to navigate through along the way.
BUT, and don't you just love BUTS
there's a Doll in our pockets, if we can remember to feed her....
with our ways through...
By the by, its not always shes and hers, for the brothers who also walk this path....
Thanks...
Linkages:
Jenny Cargill-Strong
http://www.storytree.com.au/
