I was first exposed to Baba Yaga as a somewhat watered down
character in the story of Hansel and Gretel. The next time I found myself face
to face with the Baba Yaga was while going through a divorce. I had decided it
was time to remove myself from a marriage that had nothing to do with me. I had
no idea who I was, and happened to come across a book titled, Women Who RunWith the Wolves, written by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
http://intothehermitage.blogspot.com/2010/11/marvels-and-tales.html |
I immediately resonated with the author and found the
stories she retold to speak to me in a much deeper way than I had ever
expected. The first point of resonance for me was that this woman is Polish and
Hispanic. I am Polish on my mother’s side and had been married into a Hispanic
family for 13 years. I was able to identify with the feeling of cultural
confusion and then personal emptiness.
As a young person I
was raised with every derogatory comment or joke being told around me, focused
towards “Pollocks”… I learned that part of who I am is stupid, bumbling,
foolish, and someone to be disrespected. As a young adult, married into a Hispanic
family I learned “my place”… women were to serve, you were expected to be “fiery”,
and yet you better shut the hell up and do what is expected. The role of woman
in this culture was confusing to me, especially since it was the women who
treated me the worst. I had no idea who
I was or what I was doing here on this planet.
While reading Women Who run with the Wolves, I found the
story of Vasalisa and the Baba Yaga. I
have read this story over and over many times. Each time I read the story or
see images of Baba Yaga, I immediately remember being really small and going to
my mother’s grandmother’s house to visit. When we got there Busha (Grandmother
in Americanized Polish pronounced BOO-shah) would be there at the table. She
was old… I mean OLD… she looked like the witch in the fairy tales my dad would
read to me at night.
She always wore a heavy black dress, with heavy grandma
shoes. To top things off she was always wearing a babushka (scarf tied on her
head, it is actually a Russian word for grandmother). Looking back at my memories of Busha, she definitely
could have been Baba Yaga, flying through the air in her mortar, using a pestle
as a rudder and dragging a broom behind her to sweep up and move the clouds.
http://debratski.deviantart.com/art/Baba-Yaga-123629862 |
The story of Baba Yaga is a story that reflects the
transition from naivety or innocent youth to the wise crone. Now that I am a
grandmother and moving towards menopause, I am struggling with the identity of
the old woman… I don’t want to be the scary, witch figure, Busha represented to
me as a child.
The common story girls and women are raised on in today’s
world is a story of beautiful, slender, youth ruling and being the
desired prize of men and is in direct conflict with our image of a wizened up old woman
who is ugly, fat/thin, dependent, and mean; something to be cast aside like
yesterdays wilted and rotten dinner salad. The Baba Yaga challenges us to look
deeper at ourselves as women.
I originally was going to tell the story of Baba Yaga for
this post, but instead, I decided to tell the story of how she has influenced
my life, through my Busha, who incidentally, happened to be a witch. My mother
will never admit her grandmother was anything but Catholic, but the stories Mom
tells of Busha’s "wives tales", tells me Busha was a wise woman. she made a huge impression on me and has returned to
me in the story of Baba Yaga.
I encourage you to
read Women Who Run With the Wolves. You can also read an excellent essay on
Baba Yaga at http://www.mythinglinks.org/BabaYaga.html and you can find more info by checking out the links in the text.
Have a Wicked Good Day!
Molly