Baba Yaga goes to the Moon

Baba Yaga does not just live deep in the heart of the forest. She may also be found on the face of the moon, if we have but eyes to see her. But we can only find what we are seeking at certain times, and unless we know when to look, we shall miss her brief sighting and the chance of learning from her long lived wisdom. To learn the most auspicious time to find her, we must first learn some moon lore.There are 3 principle phases in the monthly moon cycle — waxing moon, full moon, and waning moon. The cycle begins with creation, which corresponds to the new moon; continues with preservation, which corresponds to the full moon; and ends with death and destruction, which corresponds to the dark and waning moon. Because this is a cyclical process it very quickly becomes apparent that in order for birth and regeneration to occur, there must first be darkness, decay and death. And so the stage between the dark moon and the birth of the new moon is a time of transformation. The original Dark Moon Goddess was a renewer and regenerating matrix, but over the millenia her face was altered through the lense of patriarchy, and instead she became known and feared as the malevolent destroyer.

The Dark Goddess is known by many names including Kali, Hekate and Persephone, Lilith, the Fates, the Furies, Medusa, Medea, the Sirens, Mother Holle, the Bad Fairy, the Wicked Witch, and most interestingly for us — Baba Yaga.

Baba Yaga is a crone, a wise woman, a black goddess who emerges from the shadows during the last phase of the waning moon cycle, in the dark days. The Dark Goddess is wise, strong, compassionate and just. She is knowledgable about all that is hidden from daily view, she is party to the deepest, darkest secrets of the world, and she knows exactly the right time to call on oracles, magic spells and divination. ‘Her animal totems are those which live below the earth — snakes, serpents, dragons - and animals of the night — owls, ravens, crows, and white and black dogs and horses.’

The role of the Dark Goddess was to preside over the mysterious transformation from death to rebirth. All that is old, decaying and devitalized, she places in her magic cauldron and transforms it into new life. Baba Yaga is awaiting our arrival at the entrance to her temple, the dark womb, from whence we shall emerge reborn, renewed and revitalized. Baba Yaga is not to be feared. She will help us face our shadow selves, transforming our fears into an elixir from which we can sip our way into life anew. Let us go forth and meet this Wise Old One, this Crone, this Grandmother who will guide us to the Underworld and the realms of the spirit.

[adapted from Mysteries of the Dark Moon, by Demeter George]

DISCOVERING POETRY

1970. 3rd class, St. Pius X National School in a suburb on the outskirts of Dublin, capital city of Ireland. Approximately 40+ children sitting in rows facing the blackboard and the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. Windows on one side of the class, stretching from one end to the other. Late autumn, not that there was much evidence of seasonal change in this newly built modern educational establishment featuring concrete blocks and empty glass, the newsest application of archetectural design, apart from the dark cloud filled sky and that very particular slant of light, the one that harbours the shadows of fast approaching winter. The school heating system was up and running, with water clanking like bricks through the pipes. There were no thermostats in those days, at least not here in Ireland, and so very quickly the room grew overheated, stuffy and airless. As the day wore on, children and teacher alike grew tired and lifeless.
”Take out your religion books”, announced the teacher, her voice tone emulating perfectly the children’s response at the prospect of christian doctrine class. Still at least we could sleep with our eyes open through this period. No special demands were likely to be made on our mental capacities. And so, like everyone else, I listlessly pulled my textbook from my bag.
”Open page 39. Begin reading Sarah.”
Sarah read slowly and laboriously, and quickly growing bored at following her pace, I read on instead.
”In the beginning was the Word,
And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Feeling as if I had just been hit by a bolt from the sky, I sat up, holding myself rigid, heart racing and breath coming in short and quick gasps.
(H)e was in the beginning with God.”
I had no idea what these words signified or meant, yet something stirred within, jolting my soul awake to realms hitherto never even dreamt of. A few mere words had pulled back a veil and in doing so spread before my 9 year old mind the promise of possibilities and riches that far exceeded any that had previously entered the narrow confines of my world.
Reading the Prologue repeatedly, the words seemed to trip over each other, rolling and frolicking along. At first I had to devour it silently, but with hungry eyes, terrified that I might miss a piece and lose it just as I had found it, quickly and suddenly. Later that evening, alone at last in my room, I could utter the words aloud, over and over again, savouring each one, experiencing the secret, inner delight of newly discovered, previously hidden knowledge. In the space of a few moments my whole world, my entire universe, had shattered wide, wide open, and seemed to glitter with infinite shards of possibilities and promises.
On this day surely I was born again. On this day I found poetry.

Planting Dream Seeds

It was the night of the New Moon when I took the packet of Dream Seeds from the pouch gifted to me by L’Enchanteur. The time to plant these magical entities had come. The New Moon is the most propitious time in the lunar cycle to plant ones dreams. Before stepping out into the clear, cold night I took out my moon journal and wrote down all I have ever hoped to be, do and become. The list was not long once I realised that everything I had ever wanted was simply to grow into that which each of us are born to be…a true reflection of the face of the Divine. Sitting down in front of my altar for a while I closed my eyes and visualized what such a being would look like. A vision of a light-filled being emerged. Later I planted the seeds in a specially prepared section of my tiny garden.The New Moon passed, changing into first the Crescent Moon, with its emphasis on fertility, growth and committment. Each night I sat awhile re-affirming my committment to inner growth and deep soul work, to that vision of the spark of divinity that lies deep within. How to nurture this dream? Water the seeds regularly with silence, meditation and prayer.The Crescent moon gave way to the First Quarter moon, followed by the Gibous moon — times of waiting and incubation. Daily I watched over these tiny seeds and rejoiced when the first shoots began to push through the dark, moist earth.Finally the night of the Full Moon arrived, eagerly anticipated, and with it came illumination and fulfillment, a blossoming of the flowers that had issued forth from the Dream Seeds. On that night I sat up in vigil drinking in the fullness of life that is bequethed to all who live and walk upon the face of the earth.

And yet this time too passes, and so it was that the Full moon gave way in time to the Last Quarter moon and the Balsamic moon, leaving behind decay and death. The flowers were gone. But even though birth is always and necessarily pursued by death, yet renewal is never far behind, and so it was that I searched through the dead petals and leaves and found some new seeds which I held tightly and gratefully, carrying them reverently to my altar where I sat awhile with them in the stillness, quietness and darkness of the long night, allowing the emptiness of that time to fill my soul and inner being, knowing that the more I could empty myself now, then the stronger would be the next cycle of seed planting and dream growing during the coming New Moon.

Life goes on. Dreams never die, they just go underground for a while.

A Bouquet of Flowers

A Bouquet of Flowers for Heather and Darryl

with love and blessings,

from Edith.

Musings

Well the orders are out, signed, sealed and delivered and it seems that l’Enchanteur has decreed that the time to mine is over for now and instead we must all head off travelling again. Unfortunately I got so busy with other ‘stuff’ that I never did find the time to mine deeply enough. Perhaps She Who Must be Obeyed might indulge me later on and allow me to be transported back to dig and delve deeply into the bowels of the earth. But for now I must be content to don my cloak and walking boots, and even more importantly that bag that L’Enchanteur gave to each of us at the outset of this journey just before we were pushed across the dividing line that separates the dimensions. What have I learnt so far? Well the greatest lesson has been that there are more than 3 dimensions to the world we inhabit. The universe is filled to overflowing with an abundance of gifts if we can only learn to look and see, and yes, believe. And what is belief? That is a difficult one to answer especially since what we normally consider to be a belief is usually a somewhat limiting line of distinction between what Is and what we want it to be, thus rendering ‘belief’ as a mere manifestation of our own inner desires and wants and needs, and consequently bearing no relation to the Truth whatsoever.Well then perhaps this next stage of our journey will help to open my eyes to that which I can sense increasingly strongly now each day and which I Know resides all around. That which Is, is here, there and everywhere, even while it is nowhere in particular. Yet even though it resonates with something deep within, yet still I cannot find it alone. I need a Guide, someone to direct me, another who has been there before, someone who has traversed through all the domains, someone who is ready and willing to help guide another.

And so who is this that stands before me now? From whence did you come? Did I call aloud? How is it that you came as soon as you were needed? Did you know even before I did myself? Many is the time when I wonder musingly on the extent to which we humans really know ourselves at all. Not only is there much that we miss on a daily basis of the beauty and majesty of the world we live in, yet perhaps even more so we miss the grandeur of our own humanity which is both flesh and divine. Will you, my newfound Guide, lead me to my inherent divinity and help to merge both universes together into a seamless whole?

What is that you say? That we must sit here beneath this old oak tree and hold hands, bowing our heads to the One Source which resides in every tiny part of the universe? You ask me can I hear the vibrations of Love quietly beating as the heartbeat of the world? I shall sit here and empty my heart and mind of all thoughts, ideas, dreams, wishes, desires, and open the portal to my spirit and soul and let the wind of the One Source of All flow through me.

‘’Come wild wind of the Holy One and blow through the emptiness that is my deepest and truest Self. Purge me of my false selves and transform me through the alchemy of your ways into a spark of who You Are. Wild wind of the Holy One, come.”

Rebirth as a Star Child

 

A vision unfolded before my inner eye as I sat in deep meditation– an image of who I really am underneath the layers of false identities. And then the vision grew and expanded until it included all who walk upon the face of the earth.

The Lake as Mirror

The Lake as Mirror

At the top of the mountain where the Temple People live and love, there lies a lake of such depth and stillness that it is said if you peer into its surface it will reflect back onto you that which you need to learn and acknowledge is a part of who you are, or perhaps might even become. Curiosity always played a big part in my life, to date at least, even though there have been many times when it would have been better if such leanings could have been overcome. Still on this day, in this season of summer, and here on this magical island where anything could, and usually does, happen, I chose to climb the mountain until at last the Lake lay not far off in front of me. The nearer I got to the sacred waters the slower my approach became. It was as if I was being pulled in two directions, the one diametrically opposite to the other. Musing on such a discrepancy and wondering about my unusual hesitancy, I believed that the fear, for such it could only be, was due to the intuitive knowledge which communicated to me that here and now indeed a new vista, a vision, was about to be unveiled, and yet too there was that part of me which balked and resisted, wanting only to maintain the status quo. Well that is not the way of those who choose to follow the path of the Goddess, who dream of becoming priestesses of the Divine Realm even while still walking in this world. Oh the yearning to learn to live both here and not here, this indeed was the driving force and pull of my life, both then, and yet even now. And so this same deep inner force called me towards the edge of the Lake and even a part way into the healing waters. And so it was that as I stood knee deep in strangely warm water, all of a sudden the calm surface began to ruffle and then broil and swirl, until I believed that the current would grab and drag me down to its depths, where I should be drowned and lost forever. Ah the taste of fear is such a one that it never really leaves your tongue, so that the memory takes on a life of its own and manages to infiltrate and crawl through every little chink in your life. Perhaps it is because once you face your possible death, nothing ever really seems the same again. Ever. But then I didn’t die that day, at least not in the usual way that we understand death. But indeed I did die, in a manner more horrific and horrendous that any I could ever have imagined. This is what happened, and what the mirror which was the Lake, revealed.

After a time which seemed to last forever and yet which only lasted perhaps as long as it takes to tell the tale, the Lake grew calm again. Peering into it and seeing my own reflection, a voice began to speak, in strange tones, the only characteristic that was discernable being that it was the voice of a female, but most certainly not any such that one might meet walking through the dusty roads and streets where humans reside. Perhaps this might be a voice one might encounter in a dream, or if one is far enough risen in the realms of the Priestess, in a sacred grove. But today this voice spoke to me from the depths of a lake, which oughtn’t to have surprised me given that I hail from the magical isles of Ireland, a land which places great store by the sacred waters in the wells which spring up all over the countryside to offer the healing gifts of the Great Mother. But I digress; let me continue my tale. The Voice spoke the following words, words which will linger long in my memory, yes even mine which many say was lost on this adventure undertook with L’Enchanteur across many lands and wondrous vistas.

‘’My name is Love and you have come here to learn the ways of the Divine Feminine, without which you may never become all that you were born and destined to be. Listen to my voice. I shall be your Guide, even when you no longer hear me speak in your language, still you will feel me resonate in the deepest recesses of your soul. Whenever you hear the inner stirrings of your heart, when you listen with your inner ear, it is I who you will hear. Follow where I lead. Sometimes the path will be gentle and to your liking, quiet and filled with light and a sense of well being. But there will also be times of darkness when all the shadows of your soul will seem to be reaching out, attempting to trip you up and hold you down caged in a dimly lit hall of what has oft before been called ‘purgatory’.

‘’But you must needs be brave and find your courage and keep going. On these days it will be enough just to rise up and keep going, looking neither left nor right, but hanging on to hope, a hope that sometimes will be justified, and at other times, not. And in those dark days when you feel alone, bereft and lost, then and only then will you be made ready to follow in my steps. Until you die first to all you are, you cannot discover the truth of who you will become. You are not who you think you are.’’

The image faded, disappearing as gradually as it had materialized. Now there was no image in the mirror at all, no reflection, no, not even my own image. I had come face to face with the beginnings of the truth from which I had spent a lifetime running away from. I was, am nothing. Falling to the floor, I wept.

The Cailleach Bheurr

Long, long ago, there lived an old woman known to all living near her and even far beyond her ken, as Cailleach Bheurr. She did not belong to this world, having oft been heard to tell any who dared to ask her, ‘’When the ocean was a forest with its firewood, I was then a young lass.’’ Well be that as it may, and sure there is none of us who have need of doubting what she said, the Cailleach Beurr somehow managed to escape the clutches of death in a way that no one else ever could.Well then, on the western side of the island where she lived in her cottage alone with just herself and her animals with whom she was often heard to converse for long periods of time, and who, or so it seemed to any who happened to be passing by, that they answered her in their own language, a language that she appeared to understand. Not far from her home there was a beautiful lake with crystal clear blue water that reflected the glory and majesty of the luminous sky that always seemed to spread itself out above it, and this lake, it is said, never was ruffled by any a nere wind or breeze passing by, so that the surface of the lake shone and glimmered like a glittering mirror that seemed always to show the face of eternity in its depths. But it is also told how every one hundred years a strange thing used to happen in these whereabouts., and the strange thing was this, that about 2 years before another century ended or began, depending on how you saw it, or perhaps better said depending on your age at the turning, the appearance of the cailleach would alter beyond recognition, so that she would grow old and grey , haggard and stooped. But while at these times she may have looked just like any other old person, yet she was different from all others, as unlike them, she had the ability to change her appearance, and turn herself back into a young girl. She did this very easily by rising early just before sunrise and before any other living creature, human or animal, had risen to greet the day, and then she walked far out into the lake of Loch Bá. And so it was that in this way she became young again, constantly renewing herself and her life every hundred years.But on one fateful morning, around the time of the changing of the centuries, the cailleach was walking down to the shore of the lake just as the golden rays of the sun were beginning to shimmer in the east when what did she hear but the barking of a dog from far off in the distance. It was then that the cailleach knew that she was doomed, and as she felt the life force drain from her body, she called out in a loud voice

‘’It’s early the dog spoke, in advance of me,

The dog, in advance of me; the dog in advance of me.

It’s early the dog spoke, in advance of me,

In the quiet of the morning, across Loch Bá.’’

Commentary on this folk tale: 

[from The Book of the Cailleach: Stories of the Wise-Woman Healer, by Gearoid O Crualaoich]

‘’Evidence of the identification of the cailleach of this story with the archaic female sovereignty personification of landscape in the Celtic, and possible pre-Celtic, ancestral, cosmological tradition can be glimpsed in the assertion…that she was alive in a predeluvian era ‘when the ocean was a forest with its firewood’. The concept of the ancestral otherworld, the sacred, cosmological domain that surrounds and underlies human experience of physical reality, as a domain located beneath water, constitutes a recurrent theme in the allusion to the otherworld at the learned and literary level of early Irish tradtion.’’

Note also that the cailleach is a hag-goddess, usually translated in contemporary times as a witch, who found cyclical renewal in sacred waters. But note also how the hag-goddess was overwhelmed by the loud noise of a barking dog, a herdsman’s dog, who barked before she could reach the life-renewing sacred waters of the lake. ‘’The landscape is now speaking with the voice of human society, and the goddesses reign which marked the pre-human and natural world, has come to an end. A momentous cosmological shift has occurred.’’

Thoughts from the Cosmic Egg

It’s so warm and peaceful in here. My belly button is attached to the Goddess of Creativity, and through this umbilical cord she feeds me with images, concepts and ideas, creating highways and byways through my brain so that the time comes when my fingers begin to twitch and feel the need to hold something…a pen, a pencil, a needle and thread…it doesn’t really matter what it is, just so long as it is a conduit for the babies this baby must birth. The nest my egg is submerged within contains more eggs than mine. The Goddess has created many soul sisters and also a brother through whom she feeds all with her rich juices of fecundity and fertility. We are both separate and one, each displaying our own individual manifestations of the Divine Feminine, while also emerging from the one womb, the matrix of creative life. We are creative beings, the daughters and son of the One Who Is, who gifts each of us with a vision and a dream of what might be, and perhaps of what might already be if we could only learn to see it as it is. But to do this we must each discover our own way of sloughing the scales from our eyes. For some of us we do this by meditation, for others by prayer, and for others through a myriad of creative and loving acts. It doesn’t really matter how we do what we do, nor even that we do what we do; all that matters is why we do it. I hope that I burst out through the boundaries of this egg shell to a world where I can add to the force field of love which is the beating heart that lies hidden in the belly of the Goddess.

‘Come oh Goddess of Love and Creation and midwife me from this cocoon of heavenly bliss. Send me forth into the world with eyes and hands wide open. Teach me how to see as if for the first time, and through seeing perfectly to loving compassionately, and from thence to creating, with heart and soul, works of dreams and visions.’

Sloughing

SLOUGHING

Casting off false selves

Firm holds on reality–

What is this? An idea,

a concept another articulated many moons ago,

or maybe yesterday,

I do not have to choose to buy it.

Of that I am sure and of no more than this,

that there is an inner light

shimmering within,

which calls to me

through my yearnings and in my dreams,

and asks that I take a cloth and rub the mirror clean,

for then I shall see into a glass

but darkly.

No questions,

no answers,

only presence