Sami storehouse, Stockholm, which bears an uncanny resemblance to the chicken-footed hut of the Baba Yaga.
I'm totally headed for the hut again. This time I'm working to expand my toolbelt. I'm currently facing a challenge of rather large proportion that I feel extremely ill-equipped to handle alone-which is the only way I can do it.
I am in the process of creating a list of trials to complete during 2011, which I hope will help me to gain the skills and ego-strength needed to overcome my fierce adversaries. I don't think I'm ready to appear swordless in front of the two-headed dragon, which is how big my fear of this feels at times.
There are many, "I can'ts", "I don't know where to begins" and "Why didn't I get a degree in blahblahblahs", as well as scores more obstacles on the road ahead that I'm already hearing about in a series of strange cartoonish inner voices.
I'll be seperating a ton of black grains from a ton of peas, spinning flax into gold, questing for fire, and collecting the golden fleece. Attempting the impossible-doing the things I never thought I could do. The scary Baba Yaga, flying through the air in her mortar, paddling the air with her pestle, while threatening to eat me alive will no doubt test my courage and trigger my deepest fears.
As the solstice approaches, I'm growing my list of everything to be released. I'll be attending my first sweat in years, since I began having babies and nursing them through, which seems to be another aspect of this transition I've been experiencing between one who has babies and one who is finished having babies. At the top of my list to release at the lodge is that grief. I cry each time (like right now) I acknowledge that I am moving beyond that sacred place. I didn't see it coming when I was in the earlier stages of my mama bliss. It really hit me when I was weaning Ivy back in the summertime.
The body holds on to so much, doesn't it? And the mind spins a story that works to hold on, too. Unravelling those tales to find the meaning underneath is not easy. I'm asking for courage and endurance. I'm asking to stay open and vulnerable.
And so the Winter Solstice preparations begin as the light readies to return to the earth. Change flickers in the lantern, which I carry with me down the wooded road toward Her.