The Red Shoes

What a terribly truthful and wonderfully insightful story. So much symbolism. There are 2 pairs of Red shoes and they represent 2 very different psychological aspects of human nature... The first pair of shoes represents the girl's creativity and ingenuity. She has made them from scraps and wears them with joy and pride. Her creation lifts her spirit and she is full of a sense of who she is and happy in her own skin. She is poor but happy in her life ... she is strong in her own creative energy. Although she is an orphan and she is penniless, she has found the key to her happiness within her self...which is her creativity...and she has manifested the shoes. They, literally and figuratively, keep her gounded in herself and upon the earth. They are her core and they take her from place to place in the world with the knowledge that she is whole within herself. Her wild and authentic nature is intact, despite her outter worldly conditions. After she is taken in by the wealthy old woman, and provided materialistic comforts...she becomes trapped. Her shoes are looked down upon by the old woman, and eventually by the community that she is now living in. Steadfast, she continues to wear them, even though her benefactor insists that she not wear them anymore. She is unconcerned by the reactions of those around her. The old woamn and the community become increasingly outraged by her non-conformism and, eventually, the old woman takes the shoes away from her and burns them. The Girl becomes depressed. She sadly goes through her days and nights missing a piece of herself. Her creative core has been burned away by the old woman's (and the community's) insistance on her conforming to their ideas of "normalcy". Her true nature has been burned in the fire along with the shoes. Her soul is no longer alive...and she has a deep seated hole in herself that she cannot seem to escape. Over time the hole becomes larger and larger until she is starved for the missing piece. The second pair. As the girl wanders through the vendor carts of the village she seeks for something to replace what she has lost. And then she sees them...a shiny and perfect pair of red shoes. They are not of her own creation, but they are so much prettier than the ones she made. She tries them on and they fit perfectly. The vendor gives her the shoes as a present with a glint of sinister knowledge in his eyes. She skips down the road so happy in her new shoes. As she skips along she begins to dance. She dances all the way to her house and into the front door. She begins to tire now and sits to remove the shoes, yet her feet keep moving and dancing even while she sits...and the shoes won't come off of her feet. So she goes out into the night dancing away...at once thrilled and terrified. She dances throughout the night, unable to stop...out of control of herself...she stops eating and does nothing but dance, because she cannot stop. The shoes will not allow her to rest or to eat. They have taken over her life and they will kill her, in time. she knows she must remove the shoes and returns to the vendor who tells her they can never be removed. The terrible ending is that she has to have her feet cut off in order to be able to live. The second pair of red shoes represent the thing that we choose that is outside of ourselves to fill the void inside. Having lost her core creative nature...she seeks outside of herself, rather than returning to her core...and the thing outside cannot replace what was lost internally. The second pair traps her into madness which will kill her, in time. This story brings up many personal events and times when I have felt the creative core and then lost it and then turned to outside replacement only to find that the outside replacement is not only dissatisfying but also dangerous....more to come on this.

The Ugly Duckling's Mother

The story of The Ugly Duckling and the analysis of the internal and external mothers was very insightful. As I linger over thoughts of my own external Mother I am overcome with feelings of gratitude for her Love and acceptance of me. Going through the process of planning my daughter's wedding is showing me the depth of my Love for my daughter...and also the depth of the Love my mother carried in her heart for me during her lifetime. And even after her lifetime! During a psychic reading I had last year much came through from my Father about how much my Mother Loves me. I wasn't really understanding that at the time...but now...Now that I am going through this "empty nest" transition...I understand much more. A Mother's Love for her daughter, not always, but often and in my case...is eternal! In many ways it is the closest thing to God's love that we have in this realm of life. My mother loved me and continues to love me without condition...just as I love my daughter. Then there is the internal Mother. For some time this internal Mother was dampening of spirit and hampering of creativity. She always loved me and wanted me to be happy...but she wanted me to conform....she was afraid that my non-conformity would bring me sadness and pain. It was what she had to deal with in her life and she wanted to "protect" me from the pain of her own "wildish nature". The dampening, however, only served to create guilt...which was/is a trap that seeks to keep us from our true nature. I use the past tense in this because my internal mother has evolved to a place that is much more accepting and loving of non-conformity, now. She encourages me to seek out adventures in the world and encourages me to take risks of the heart...and she is always there to hold me when I fall down. This is the external mother I strive to be for my daughter....we cannot protect them from Life...for only in living Life out loud, will they learn the secrets of their own hearts. I love my Mother and my Daughter with every fiber of my being.... Namaste :)

Skeleton Woman

The images invoked in the story of Skeleton woman are almost amusing. I see this man rowing his boat as fast as he can in order to get away from her but because of the "bond" between them, the fishing line, she "runs" just as quickly after him...even standing up on top of the water. Then when he gets to shore and continues to run from her....still she is "bonded" and continues to chase after him. Finally when he gets home and feels safe he begins to see her in the softer light of the fire's glow and he likes her presence. Then she begins to drink from him...taking in his tears to quench her thirst. It was especially interesting to me when she took out his heart and held it in her hands feeling his heartbeat and pulse course through her...bringing her back to life. Until, finally she becomes fully fleshed and fully alive again...and she sneaks her body next to his, skin to skin, where they become one flesh...and, it seems, live happily ever after. I am conflicted with this story as it pertains to external elements. Being single and learning to embrace being a single woman, I tend to reject the image of a woman not being whole without the love and acceptance of a man. Yet, I sense truth in the story even in the external elements. It seems true that once a woman is "bonded" to a man she "runs" after him when he runs away...sensing his fear....and wanting to prove to him there is nothing to fear. However, when this story is applied to the internal elements of a woman, it has a much deeper meaning and, I believe, a more truthful message. The man embodies the Fear within us. The skeleton woman is, in essence, our true nature, yet to be embraced...but which cannot be embraced until the Fear is overcome. The skeleton woman, as an image of our true nature is not fully formed and lies at the bottom of the lake awaiting wholeness and transformation. When she is "caught" by the fishing net...a metaphor for being "caught" by a transformative, and fearful life event...she cannot escape the "chase". She is drawn, inescapably, towards the thing which will bring her Fear to the light. In the story the fear is, literally, brought to the light of the fire. In the light her fear, itself, begins to re-member her body and put the bones of her Self back together. She is remembering her true essence. The frame of her body is put back together in proper order by her fear. Eventually, her fear subsides and rests. This is when she begins to embrace it. She looks at it, it is quiet and sleeping, and she begins to drink in the feelings of sadness and life through the drinking of the tears. She drinks and drinks and begins to feel emotions, again. Love begins to replace fear. She holds the heart of fear in her hands and feels the warmth of its drumming. Although the story doesn't go this far, I would say that she spends a long time in each of the phases. I imagine her crying and feeling and understanding the depth of life and death and life, again, as she hold this heart so lovingly. In time her body becomes flesh again and her soul comes to life. She becomes the living, breathing, loving heart, mind, body and soul that she is and always has been. Then she fully embraces the fear...as it is no longer fear, but it has become her teacher and her lover...she becomes one with it...and as she merges with the thing that once despised her, (the thing she once despised in herself) she reaches full forgiveness and full wholeness. Very Beautiful! :)

RUN WOLF SISTER

I cried my last tear yesterday -- Mary, Mary!

Feeding Baba Yaga

I am still processing the image and energy of Baba Yaga. Still reading the analysis of Dr. Estes and feeling sort of powerful, lately. There is the sort of under-current within, like the underground river that is running freely and constantly within the soul...it is the divine nature, the pure intuition, the holy spirit, the wild woman..the name is irrelevant....What is relevant is the constant flow of truth...the enthusiastic energy field that lies just underneath the surface. This is what I have been tapping into lately. I liked reading about "feeding Baba Yaga". There is much truth in that. In order for our true nature and natural joy and exuberance to grow we must feed that energy with nourishment. How do we do that? More specifically how will you (or I) feed Baba Yaga, today? Vasalisa feeds her doll little pieces of bread as she walks through the forest. It occurs to me that this is feeding the natural intuition...which is also very necessary, but differs from feeding Baba Yaga...I suppose we must feed both. As I become more aware of the doll in my pocket, of my own inner knowing, I also become more aware of Baba Yaga's insatiable hunger. She is ravenous for Joy, for new ideas, adventure, creative outlets, altruistic pursuits...and she is entirely unafraid. It seems the more we allow our intution to prevail the closer we get to our true exuberance. Which is exactly like listening to the Holy Spirit who will guide us to the Truth of God. How very interesting and exciting this concept is! So, how will I feed Baba Yaga today? Well today I will go to the final Adult Literacy Training and feed her/my need for alturistic pursuits. Then I will come home and give myself a beauty night complete with a bubble bath, manicure and pedicure to feed her/my need for feeling beautiful (I realize the Baba Yaga in the story doesnt care about physical beauty, but my Baba Yaga still does!) I also plan to continue to knit the scarf I started feeding her/my need for creativity. I Would love to hear about your plans.

RENASCENCE by Edna St. Vincent Millay

ALL I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked the other way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I’d started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood. Over these things I could not see: These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand. And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I’ll lieAnd look my fill into the sky. And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And—sure enough!—I see the top! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I ’most could touch it with my hand! And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky. I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity Came down and settled over me; Forced back my scream into my chest, Bent back my arm upon my breast, And, pressing of the Undefined The definition on my mind, Held up before my eyes a glass Through which my shrinking sight did pass Until it seemed I must behold Immensity made manifold; Whispered to me a word whose sound Deafened the air for worlds around, And brought unmuffled to my ears The gossiping of friendly spheres, The creaking of the tented sky, The ticking of Eternity. I saw and heard and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, And present, and forevermore. The Universe, cleft to the core, Lay open to my probing sense That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence But could not,—nay! But needs must suck At the great wound, and could not pluck My lips away till I had drawn All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn! For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul. All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust. And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire,— Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each,—then mourned for all! A man was starving in Capri; He moved his eyes and looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own. I saw at sea a great fog bank Between two ships that struck and sank; A thousand screams the heavens smote; And every scream tore through my throat. No hurt I did not feel, no death That was not mine; mine each last breath That, crying, met an answering cry From the compassion that was I. All suffering mine, and mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity of God. Ah, awful weight! Infinity Pressed down upon the finite Me! My anguished spirit, like a bird, Beating against my lips I heard; Yet lay the weight so close about There was no room for it without. And so beneath the weight lay I And suffered death, but could not die. Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,—there is no weight Can follow here, however great. From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust. Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead. And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before. For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who’s six feet under ground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place. The rain, I said, is kind to come And speak to me in my new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees. For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top. How can I bear it; buried here, While overhead the sky grows clear And blue again after the storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never see Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more behold! Sleeping your myriad magics through, Close-sepulchred away from you! O God, I cried, give me new birth, And put me back upon the earth! Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd And let the heavy rain, down-poured In one big torrent, set me free, Washing my grave away from me! I ceased; and through the breathless hush That answered me, the far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant string Of my ascending prayer, and—crash! Before the wild wind’s whistling lash The startled storm-clouds reared on high And plunged in terror down the sky, And the big rain in one black wave Fell from the sky and struck my grave. I know not how such things can be; I only know there came to me A fragrance such as never clings To aught save happy living things; A sound as of some joyous elf Singing sweet songs to please himself, And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening. The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, Whispering to me I could hear; I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips Brushed tenderly across my lips, Laid gently on my sealèd sight, And all at once the heavy night Fell from my eyes and I could see,— A drenched and dripping apple-tree, A last long line of silver rain, A sky grown clear and blue again. And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,— I know not how such things can be!— I breathed my soul back into me. Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again. About the trees my arms I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling sob Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb Sent instant tears into my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark disguise Can e’er hereafter hide from me Thy radiant identity! Thou canst not move across the grass But my quick eyes will see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will answer Thee. I know the path that tells Thy way Through the cool eve of every day; God, I can push the grass apart And lay my finger on Thy heart! The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,— No higher than the soul is high. The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.