Becoming Baba Yaga
walks in the forest with the Crone herself
Baba Yaga has fascinated me ever since I saw the very first images of her magical hut in beautifully illustrated antique books. These books set in lands East of the Sun and West of the Moon were so unlike the whitewashed “happily ever after” fairy tales of the current era. They held cautionary tales that a girl could (should!) learn something from. They were not all sweetness and light - the Little Match Girl dies in the end.
But even as I devoured adventures of Vasilisa, the horsemen, the Princes, even the Firebird, those pages were frustratingly silent on the Baba herself. When she was spoken of, she was a bogeyman for naughty children, a trickster to be defeated, or an ugly old hag who’s hex was responsible for the ills of a neighbor. Like so many women of a certain age, she was left intentionally invisible. What a mistake. Baba has power well beyond the extinguishing of the male gaze.
We all do.
There are interactions we’ve spent decades tried to forget but which remain stubborn in our hips. Memories that haunt our dreams- similar experiences, similar nightmares- yet we have been shamed or bullied into silence. Some of us even internalized those feelings so deeply that they became proud enablers of their own oppression.
We may have blamed ourselves in the moment, but it does not have to end there. There is strength in numbers and our voices are louder together. A very brave and wise woman recently said “It is not for us to have shame- it’s for them. Shame must change sides.”
So let us reclaim the old stories. The stories with lessons coded in the language of the forest. Stories that bleed and growl and teach those who come after us how to protect themselves. Let us keep the hearth burning in these dark times. Let us offer that scared girl a cup of tea, a respite, and then let us send her home with the flaming skull of knowledge.
Sometimes there will be words, sometimes images or video. Eventually perhaps a podcast. I hope you will join me.