Baba Yaga, folkloric witch of Eastern European tales, has long captured my imagination ever since Clarissa Pinkola Estes detailed her and the story of Vasalisa. A cannabilist and fearsome witch who lives in the forest in a ramshackle hut built on chicken legs, she represents female wisdom and power often misunderstood. Her iron teeth show she can nourish or destroy. Her chicken-legged hut - mobility and oddity. She stirs creation and death in her mortar and pestle.
Then I came across the wonderful book, “Ask Baba Yaga” as channeled by Taisia Kitaiskaia, and immediately knew I had to create her (and if you don’t have this book - you need it. Just trust me).
Like most of the fearsome witches of dark mythos, Baba Yaga is at the surface a cautionary tale, and presents as a hideous crone that lives deep in the forest. Vasalisa is the alternate half of Estes’ tale, and is sent into the forest by her cruel stepmother to visit her. Baba Yaga does not tolerate fools and gives Vasalisa several impossible tasks, but Vasalisa is somehow able to accomplish every one. At the end Baba judges her to be pure of heart and gives Vasalisa a skull lantern to find her way home again. Baba Yaga teaches us to embrace intuitive knowledge and natural cycles shunned by society. She tests us in our deepest fears but guides worthy seekers who brave the dark woods. As Estés wrote, Baba Yaga "adjudicates our failures of introspection." She forces self-reflection to spur growth.
In this portrait, Baba is hard to look at - she represents the mirrored aspect of us as we age. Will we gaze fiercely or turn away fearfully? She stands amid a sulfuric haze representing the veil of her power, in front of her famously strange house, gazing intently at the viewer. She sees through facades into our shadow, but knows too our resilience. Having Baba on my altar reminds me in my aging body to be fully authentic - celebrate my quirks, trust my instincts, never fear deviation from the norm. ANd teaches me a thing or two about coming into my own power as a crone.
While the world labels powerful women like Baba Yaga as "witches," she represents our ability to direct our lives and determine our own fates. When I channel her unapologetic authority, I feel emboldened in my spiritual feminist practice. Darkness and light, Baba Yaga teaches me to embrace all within.
“Baba Yaga” Mixed Media
Dolly Parton says she doesn’t regret turning down Elvis Presley, who wanted to cover her ballad “I Will Always Love You” in the 1970s.
“Elvis loved “I Will Always Love You,” and he wanted to record it,” said Parton in a 2006 CMT interview. “I got the word that he was going to record it, and I was so excited. I told everybody I knew.
The cover was too good to be true after Parton was approached by Presley’s manager, Colonel Tom Parker, who demanded that Elvis receive a hefty portion of the publishing rights to the song.
“Now, you know we have a rule that Elvis don’t record anything that we don’t take half the publishing,” said Parker, according to Parton
“And I was really quiet,” said Parton.
“I said, ‘Well, now it’s already been a hit. I wrote it and I’ve already published it, and this is the stuff I’m leaving for my family when I’m dead and gone. That money goes in for stuff for my brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, so I can’t give up half the publishing,’ and he said ‘Well then, we can’t record it.'”
Parton added, “I guess they thought since they already had it prepared and already had it ready, that I would do it. .. Something in my heart [said] ‘Don’t do that,’ and I just didn’t do it, and they just didn’t do it.”
Turning down Presley, said Parton, broke her heart because she truly wanted to hear him sing her song. “I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t give you the publishing,” said Parton. “I wanted to hear Elvis sing it, and it broke my heart I cried all night. But I had to keep that copyright in my pocket. You have to take care of your business.
Everybody’s going to use you if they can. These are my songs. They’re like my children. And I expect them to support me when I’m old.”
Though Presley never recorded the song, it still held a special place in his heart. Parton previously shared that his ex-wife Priscilla told her that he sang the song to her when they divorced. “Priscilla told me that when she and Elvis divorced, Elvis sang my song to her,” shared Parton. “That touched me so deeply.”
Dolly Parton stands as a testament to the strength and resilience of a woman whose unwavering spirit has conquered both the music industry and the hearts of millions. 💙
The human soul doesn’t want to be advised or fixed or saved. It simply wants to be witnessed — to be seen, heard and companioned exactly as it is. When we make that kind of deep bow to the soul of a suffering person, our respect reinforces the soul’s healing resources, the only resources that can help the sufferer make it through ..
~ Parker J Palmer ~
Artist Credit : Katarina Vavrova
My Wife's Lovers, 1891 This is a canvas painting by Austrian artist Carl Kahler (1856–1906) depicting forty-two of American millionaire Kate Birdsall Johnson'scats. Most of the cats are Turkish Angora and Persian. The title of the painting was potentially conceived by her husband, who may have referred to the cats with the phrase. Measuring 1.8 m × 2.6 m (6 ft × 8.5 ft), the canvas weighs 103 kg (227 lb). Having never painted a cat before, Kahler spent three years studying cats' poses and learning their habits.
He reportedly received around US $5,000 for the painting (equivalent to US $160,000 in 2022).
My Wife's Lovers subsequently hung in Frank C. Havens' Piedmont Art Gallery in Piedmont, California, and was later purchased by a couple from Chicago. In November 2015, the painting was sold at Sotheby's to a private California buyer for US $826,000.
Grace O'Malley was born in Co. Mayo in 1530 and would come to be strongly linked with Connemara, as well as neighbouring Co. Mayo, due to her many bold and brave deeds.
Grace was said to have been given the nickname Gráinne Mhaol or Granuaile (Bald Grace) as a child after she cut her own hair short so as to resemble a boy and join her father’s seafaring expeditions which did not allow girls.
Her ploy was successful and she proved herself an adept sailor who travelled all over Europe.
Aged just 16, she married Donal of the O’Flaherty tribe of Connemara which had previously been sworn enemies of the O’Malleys.
She moved to her husband’s home at Bunowen Castle, near Ballyconneely in Co. Galway and lived there with Donal. The pair’s eventually had three children.
The marriage eased tensions between the two clans and added to Grace's wealth and status.
When her father died, she assumed control of his whole fleet which was able to control much of Ireland’s west coast.
She continued to sail to many countries, trading all sorts of goods. Many of the tactics used to gain control of the sea were not strictly legal and Grace soon earned another nickname: the Pirate Queen.
Donal O'Flaherty was killed in battle in 1565 and after this, Grace married another powerful chieftain, Richard Bourke.
She continued to prosper, dividing her time between the sea and her several castles, including at Bunowen and Renvyle in Connemara.
She fought many battles against neighbouring tribes, especially the Joyces, and proved a fierce opponent.
The west of Ireland had always proven difficult to control from an English perspective, largely due to the O’Malleys, and presidents of the provinces were appointed from 1569 onwards in an attempt to make maintaining control easier.
Richard Bingham was appointed president in 1584 and was nicknamed ‘The Flail of Connacht,’ due to his violent methods of controlling the region. At one session in Galway in 1586, he put seventy people to death. He was also a sworn enemy of Gráinne Mhaol.
She requested and was granted a meeting with Queen Elizabeth I to complain about his arrest of her family members.
It is said that Granuaile refused to bow to Elizabeth as she was herself a Queen and thus an equal. The pair communicated in Latin as Grace spoke no English and Elizabeth no Irish.
Queen Elizabeth must have been impressed by her visitor as she agreed to return many of Grace’s titles and some of her land.
Grace continued her life at sea until an old age, before she died in 1603.
To this day, she is remembered fondly all along the western seaboard as having stood firm against British attempts to control the seas around Counties Mayo and Galway.
The capacity to be alone is the capacity to love. It may look paradoxical to you, but it is not. It is an existential truth: only those people who are capable of being alone are capable of love, of sharing, of going into the deepest core of the other person—without possessing the other, without becoming dependent on the other, without reducing the other to a thing, and without becoming addicted to the other.
They allow the other absolute freedom, because they know that if the other leaves, they will be as happy as they are now. Their happiness cannot be taken by the other, because it is not given by the other. ~Osho
(Art: Painting by Tim Eitel)
“I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy.” Neil Gaiman - The Ocean at the End of the Lane, 2013.
Oskar Jarén - Little girl and three owls, 1925.
Thank-you for doing something for nature!
"The winter solstice time is no longer celebrated as it once was, with the understanding that this is a period of descent and rest, of going within our homes, within ourselves, and taking in all that we have been through, all that has passed in this full year which is coming to a close... like nature and the animal kingdom around us, this time of hibernation is so necessary for our tired limbs, our burdened minds.
...the natural tug to go inwards as nearly all creatures are doing is strong and the weather so bitter that people are left feeling that winter is hard because, for those of us without burning fires and big festive families, it can be lonely and isolating. Whereas winter is kind, it points us in its quiet, soft way towards our inner self, this annual time of peace and reflection, embracing the darkness and forgiving, accepting, and loving embracing goodbye the past year.
Winter takes away the distractions, the buzz, and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb-like love, bringing fire & light to our hearth.
.. and then, just around the corner the new year will begin again, and like a seed planted deep in the earth, we will all rise with renewed energy once again to dance in the sunlight.
Life is a gift💗"
Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen. A mantle of snow shone brightly that night As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight. The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees, Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze. The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows, Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows. When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake, Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break. The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet Then raced to the river where they usually meet. "What happened?" they wondered, they questioned, they probed, As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed. "What caused the earth's shudder? What caused her to shiver?" They all spoke at once as they stood by the river. Then what to their wondering eyes should appear But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere. It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye, Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky. Before they could murmur, before they could bustle, There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle, A stately old crone with her hand on a cane, Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane. As she passed by them the old crone's perfume, Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom, Made each of the fey folk think of the spring When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing. "My name is Gaia," the old crone proclaimed in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed, "I've come to remind you, for you seem to forget, that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…" "I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells, The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews, Of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews." "There aren’t any children at play in the snow, Or houses lit up by candles'glow. Have you forgotten, my children, the fun Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?" She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round, As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground. Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day, "Come, my children,"she said, "Let’s play." They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly, Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly. They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang. They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang. They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry, In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry. They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats, Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats. Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest, Before they went homeward to seek out their rest, The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree's finery. They were just reaching home when it suddenly came, The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame. It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar The golden-like sphere turned into a star. The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight, "Happy Yuletide, my children," she whispered. "Good night."
𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 C.C. Williford Source: https://pettywitter.blogspot.com/2016/12/yuletide-blessings.html