Unanswered Questions, Part 9...
Determining what the symbolic meaning of each of the feminine symbols is a good first step, but Cochrane says repeatedly that, in Witchcraft, nothing is ever what it seems. There is more to the symbols than just a symbolic representation and how they correspond to the other concepts. Concepts are good, but they aren't the core of the Poetic. The Poetic is about a story, as is ritual. And these symbols are used in ritual; they don't just sit there and collect dust. So to get a meaning that matters, it's necessary to find the story within the symbols.
First, I'll summarize the symbolic meaning in a couple words, from which to work from. There may be words here I didn't originally list, because they only are noticeable in a story concept.
The story would be one the lower classes and upper classes could both relate to, since Cochrane talked about both peasants and nobles being part of cuveens. It would be a story that could teach either something, not just one or the other. All the symbols would be involved, and each would represent a part of the story. But the order that of the story probably isn't the same as the order Cochrane listed them. I will attempt to write a story based on these six symbols. Others could probably do so better, and the chance it is the original story is low, but I shall attempt it.
The young girl sat in the company of the ladies of the house. Her mother and grandmother were there, as were other ladies, an aunt, a neighbour, a friend of her grandmother. As they talked, they worked with their hands, each with a distaff and a spindle. She didn't care much for what they talked about. What did it have to do with her? She wasn't listening, and her own spinning was going slower and slower.
She suddenly realized she was alone. Not just was she alone, but she was sitting against a tree in an open forest, not at home. In her hand was a flask, and she was sure she was supposed to take it somewhere. Getting up, she tried to remember where. She couldn't remember. Looking around, she realized she was standing beside a path. To her right, she saw footsteps in the dust, coming toward her. They turned and ended where she stood. That must be where she came from, so she must be heading the other direction. She stepped onto the path and continued walking.
The woods began to gather around her, and it started to get dark. She walked faster, hoping she'd get wherever she was going soon. But she didn't. The path got narrower and the woods thicker. The sky got darker and darker, and it started to rain. She started running, hoping she was close. The next thing she knew, she tripped over something, and landed on her face on the path. Struggling to get up, she started to worry about her dress. She loved it, and now it was muddy. Why was she out here anyway?
Her struggle to rise was in vain. Every time she almost rose, she slipped and fell back down. She started to hear something in the woods. She screamed, "Help!", hoping someone would come and help her up. She was getting muddier and muddier, and colder and colder. But all she heard was laughter. The noises and the laughter got louder and louder, then it felt like hands where pulling at her clothes. At first she thought someone was trying to help her up, but then she heard ripping and louder laughter. The hands tore up her dress, leaving her in nothing but her shift. She heard them fighting for the pieces, as they slipped back into the night.
She lay there on the path for a long time before she could think past the loss of her dress. Finally, she had cried herself out. She got up, having no problems now. She still had the flask, and her shift still covered her. She continued down the path. After a bit, the path widened out into a meadow. Even thought it was still dark, the meadow seemed to glow. The girl looked around and saw the source of the light. There was a tall woman standing by the forest on the east side of the meadow. The woman was also dressed in just her shift, and was holding a cup. She glowed with the light of the moon. The girl crossed the meadow to the woman, dropped to one knee and presented the flask, for she was sure this was who she was to give the flask to.
The woman took the flask and said, "Rise, my child," so the girl did. The woman unscrewed the top of the flask and began to pour from it into the cup she held. It was a dark red liquid and steam rose off it in the cold night air. She held the cup out to the girl, and said, "Drink," so the girl did. She wasn't sure what the liquid was, but it was intoxicating and warm. It raced through her like fire, and expanded all her senses until she was overwhelmed.
The next thing she knew, she had awoke in the meadow in daylight. There was no sign of the woman or her cup. The flask lay empty beside her. Slowly, she got up. She had never felt so rejuvenated, or so weary. Looking around, she noticed a small cabin with smoke rising from the chimney, just outside the meadow. She walked over to it and knocked. No one answered, so she tried the door. It was unlocked. She slowly opened it and called, "Hello." No one answered. She decided to go in. It was a tidy place, if small, and there was a fire burning in the hearth. Over the fire boiled a cauldron, and she could smell the most delicious stew. Going over to it, she dipped her finger in. It was wonderful! She found a bowl and ladled herself up a bowl and ate it. She ate four bowls before she was full, but the cauldron looked as full as ever. Noticing a bed in the corner, she curled up and went to sleep.
For a month, she stayed there, being unsure how to get home. The cauldron never decreased, and the stew was as good as ever. But something else was wrong. Her belly had begun to swell, and other signs of pregnancy were there as well. She couldn't understand how this could have happened. She had been about to set out in hopes of finding her home when she figured out she was pregnant. She decided to stay put.
While she waited, she made herself busy. There was a small garden outside, and she worked hard to maintain it for whoever lived here. She had found a book describing each vegetable and herb in the garden and how to care for them. Some of the weeds had thorns, and she looked and found a glove she could wear to pull these weeds, for she was afraid of infection.
Finally, she came to term. She was laying on the bed in the first pangs of birth when the door opened. An old lady came in and saw her. "Ah, I see I'm just in time, my deary." She prepared a broth for her, and began caring for her. It was a painful delivery, but the old woman helped her through it. She lay on the bed, holding her beautiful horned child, and looked up at the old woman. "How may I ever repay you?" "You already have. You cared for my garden from nine months while I was away."
She lived with the woman for a while, eating the stew, and vegetables from the garden. She helped out where she could, but the old woman was always busy, always cleaning or tending something. One day, she didn't have anything to do, so she asked the old woman what she could do to help. "Ah, I know," said the old woman. She pulled out a broom made from twigs and handed it to the girl. The girl, who had never swept anything, asked what she should do with it. The old woman just smiled and showed her how to sweep the front porch. After that, sweeping became the young mother's job. Each day, she'd get out the broom and clear away the dust and dirt and leaves from the day and night before. She felt useful and complete. She still helped with the garden, she swept, and she cared for the child. What more could she ask for?
One day, it all came to an end. A spark from the fire landed on the bedspread and the girl awoke to a blazing fire. She managed to get the child out, then went back in for the old woman. In the blaze, she couldn't find her. She got out just as the house collapsed behind her. She went to pick her baby up, but he was gone. She stood crying in her shift, with nothing left. The child was gone. The old woman was gone. The house was gone. Where would she go? What would she do? Even the garden had burned.
Exhausted, she lay down below a tree and fell asleep. She awoke to the sound of people talking. Opening her eyes, she found she was back home. It had all been a dream. But, having known both joy and loss, the girl was different from that day on. She volunteered to help around the house. She listened when the women talked. Her spinning was the best in the family. Her family were amazed at the change, and were very pleased and proud of her from that day forward.
Well, it's a story, anyway. The real story would be deeply connected to myth in a way I can't do yet, and would be in the form of a play or ritual. But the exercise of writing a story that involves all the symbols helps get the mind and heart looking in the right direction.
~Muninn's Kiss
First, I'll summarize the symbolic meaning in a couple words, from which to work from. There may be words here I didn't originally list, because they only are noticeable in a story concept.
- Broom - Purification, Balance
- Flask - Travel, Womb
- Cup - Fertility, Potential
- Glove - Protection, Work, Nobility
- Distaff - Femininity, Fate
- Shift - Humility
The story would be one the lower classes and upper classes could both relate to, since Cochrane talked about both peasants and nobles being part of cuveens. It would be a story that could teach either something, not just one or the other. All the symbols would be involved, and each would represent a part of the story. But the order that of the story probably isn't the same as the order Cochrane listed them. I will attempt to write a story based on these six symbols. Others could probably do so better, and the chance it is the original story is low, but I shall attempt it.
The young girl sat in the company of the ladies of the house. Her mother and grandmother were there, as were other ladies, an aunt, a neighbour, a friend of her grandmother. As they talked, they worked with their hands, each with a distaff and a spindle. She didn't care much for what they talked about. What did it have to do with her? She wasn't listening, and her own spinning was going slower and slower.
She suddenly realized she was alone. Not just was she alone, but she was sitting against a tree in an open forest, not at home. In her hand was a flask, and she was sure she was supposed to take it somewhere. Getting up, she tried to remember where. She couldn't remember. Looking around, she realized she was standing beside a path. To her right, she saw footsteps in the dust, coming toward her. They turned and ended where she stood. That must be where she came from, so she must be heading the other direction. She stepped onto the path and continued walking.
The woods began to gather around her, and it started to get dark. She walked faster, hoping she'd get wherever she was going soon. But she didn't. The path got narrower and the woods thicker. The sky got darker and darker, and it started to rain. She started running, hoping she was close. The next thing she knew, she tripped over something, and landed on her face on the path. Struggling to get up, she started to worry about her dress. She loved it, and now it was muddy. Why was she out here anyway?
Her struggle to rise was in vain. Every time she almost rose, she slipped and fell back down. She started to hear something in the woods. She screamed, "Help!", hoping someone would come and help her up. She was getting muddier and muddier, and colder and colder. But all she heard was laughter. The noises and the laughter got louder and louder, then it felt like hands where pulling at her clothes. At first she thought someone was trying to help her up, but then she heard ripping and louder laughter. The hands tore up her dress, leaving her in nothing but her shift. She heard them fighting for the pieces, as they slipped back into the night.
She lay there on the path for a long time before she could think past the loss of her dress. Finally, she had cried herself out. She got up, having no problems now. She still had the flask, and her shift still covered her. She continued down the path. After a bit, the path widened out into a meadow. Even thought it was still dark, the meadow seemed to glow. The girl looked around and saw the source of the light. There was a tall woman standing by the forest on the east side of the meadow. The woman was also dressed in just her shift, and was holding a cup. She glowed with the light of the moon. The girl crossed the meadow to the woman, dropped to one knee and presented the flask, for she was sure this was who she was to give the flask to.
The woman took the flask and said, "Rise, my child," so the girl did. The woman unscrewed the top of the flask and began to pour from it into the cup she held. It was a dark red liquid and steam rose off it in the cold night air. She held the cup out to the girl, and said, "Drink," so the girl did. She wasn't sure what the liquid was, but it was intoxicating and warm. It raced through her like fire, and expanded all her senses until she was overwhelmed.
The next thing she knew, she had awoke in the meadow in daylight. There was no sign of the woman or her cup. The flask lay empty beside her. Slowly, she got up. She had never felt so rejuvenated, or so weary. Looking around, she noticed a small cabin with smoke rising from the chimney, just outside the meadow. She walked over to it and knocked. No one answered, so she tried the door. It was unlocked. She slowly opened it and called, "Hello." No one answered. She decided to go in. It was a tidy place, if small, and there was a fire burning in the hearth. Over the fire boiled a cauldron, and she could smell the most delicious stew. Going over to it, she dipped her finger in. It was wonderful! She found a bowl and ladled herself up a bowl and ate it. She ate four bowls before she was full, but the cauldron looked as full as ever. Noticing a bed in the corner, she curled up and went to sleep.
For a month, she stayed there, being unsure how to get home. The cauldron never decreased, and the stew was as good as ever. But something else was wrong. Her belly had begun to swell, and other signs of pregnancy were there as well. She couldn't understand how this could have happened. She had been about to set out in hopes of finding her home when she figured out she was pregnant. She decided to stay put.
While she waited, she made herself busy. There was a small garden outside, and she worked hard to maintain it for whoever lived here. She had found a book describing each vegetable and herb in the garden and how to care for them. Some of the weeds had thorns, and she looked and found a glove she could wear to pull these weeds, for she was afraid of infection.
Finally, she came to term. She was laying on the bed in the first pangs of birth when the door opened. An old lady came in and saw her. "Ah, I see I'm just in time, my deary." She prepared a broth for her, and began caring for her. It was a painful delivery, but the old woman helped her through it. She lay on the bed, holding her beautiful horned child, and looked up at the old woman. "How may I ever repay you?" "You already have. You cared for my garden from nine months while I was away."
She lived with the woman for a while, eating the stew, and vegetables from the garden. She helped out where she could, but the old woman was always busy, always cleaning or tending something. One day, she didn't have anything to do, so she asked the old woman what she could do to help. "Ah, I know," said the old woman. She pulled out a broom made from twigs and handed it to the girl. The girl, who had never swept anything, asked what she should do with it. The old woman just smiled and showed her how to sweep the front porch. After that, sweeping became the young mother's job. Each day, she'd get out the broom and clear away the dust and dirt and leaves from the day and night before. She felt useful and complete. She still helped with the garden, she swept, and she cared for the child. What more could she ask for?
One day, it all came to an end. A spark from the fire landed on the bedspread and the girl awoke to a blazing fire. She managed to get the child out, then went back in for the old woman. In the blaze, she couldn't find her. She got out just as the house collapsed behind her. She went to pick her baby up, but he was gone. She stood crying in her shift, with nothing left. The child was gone. The old woman was gone. The house was gone. Where would she go? What would she do? Even the garden had burned.
Exhausted, she lay down below a tree and fell asleep. She awoke to the sound of people talking. Opening her eyes, she found she was back home. It had all been a dream. But, having known both joy and loss, the girl was different from that day on. She volunteered to help around the house. She listened when the women talked. Her spinning was the best in the family. Her family were amazed at the change, and were very pleased and proud of her from that day forward.
Well, it's a story, anyway. The real story would be deeply connected to myth in a way I can't do yet, and would be in the form of a play or ritual. But the exercise of writing a story that involves all the symbols helps get the mind and heart looking in the right direction.
~Muninn's Kiss