The Twelve Wild Swans

by Starhawk

  When the Fata Morgana asks Rose to spin, weave, and sew, she is asking her to spend long hours in the light trance state brought on by absorbing, repetitive work. Although the entire task might seem daunting, the actual doing of it on any one day may be quite healing and serenity inducing. Drummers, dancers, long-distance runners, artists, and craftswomen of all kinds can describe this kind of slightly altered state brought on by repetitive work. It’s almost as if someone else has done the work.

  Much of the daily work of our ancestors was of this sort: agricultural work, chopping wood, carrying water, weaving, and engaging in crafts of all kinds. No one needed a cell phone, an up-to-the-minute stock quote; no one “had mail.” The constant interruptions, the multitasking, of the attention-deficit home and workplace had not been invented yet. We each have within ourselves the ability and the longing to spend this kind of creative, meditative time. It feeds one of our deep soul hungers.

  So the stories our ancestors told are full of references to this kind of task. In “Rumpelstiltskin,” the girl must spin huge chambers full of straw into gold. The shoemakers in “The Shoemakers and the Elves” must make many pairs of shoes, each with hundreds of tiny stitches, by morning. In “Vaselisa,” the girl must sort a whole granary full of poppy seeds. In each case, someone else—a “little man,” the elves, or Vaselisa’s doll—does most of the work. In this way the stories reflect the universal experience of entering another world, peopled with strange beings, while doing otherwise overwhelming tasks.

  We can each choose to “let the doll do most of the work,” even if it is only for a small part of our day. Perhaps we can walk part way instead of driving or taking the bus. Perhaps we can put on some favorite music and chop vegetables instead of eating processed food. Perhaps we can embroider or play cards or whittle instead of watching TV. I find that I can “let the doll do most of the work” when I’m cleaning house, if I light a candle and put on some music. These are all ways of letting Younger Self come out and play, of feeding the ancestral part of ourselves that is capable of and longs to do trance-inducing, repetitive work. Younger Self will repay these efforts handsomely, with renewed energy, better appetite and sleep, and less worrying. Repetitive, trance-inducing work, whether it is embroidery or long-distance running, makes the nerve, fiber, and muscle tissue of our souls strong and flexible. Making sure we get this sort of activity and this sort of time woven into our lives is one of the ways we nourish ourselves energetically.

  Cynthia’s Sewing Meditation

  Cynthia, of Diana’s Grove, offers this meditation on repetitive, trance inducing work. She writes, “So many old stories are about women sewing, about the magic in daily tasks. It is easy to think that the story is about the shirts or the mantle or the cloth, the product and not the process. When our attention is on the product, it is really easy to forget about sewing and look for a good ready-made shirt, or mantle, or soul.

  Find an activity you can use as a silent meditation. Sewing is one way to dedicate time for listening, but ‘sewing’ might take another form for you. What would you like to do? What project could be a companion in your reverie and a mentor as you practice the arts of silence, breath, visioning, and connecting? What can you do that will enable you to claim a time and commune with the world around you? You might make a basket or work with beads. Choose something that can become mindless and that will support rather than eclipse your process of deepening.

  In sacred space, take up your task. Your fingers know what to do without any advice from your mind. Feel the sharpness of the needle, how, piercing and silver, it goes in and out, in and out, how its tip parts the weave as it comes and goes, comes and goes. The thread is strong and supple; it binds the edges together. It invokes silence.

  Silence can be like a drop of water on a summer morning, when the whole world is captured in the convex lens of a drop of dew. Imagine entering a drop of silence and listening to the world around you with your eyes, body, and heart. Listen. The world is telling you stories about yourself and life. What do you hear when you don’t hear your own words? In that space, listen deeply to a world that speaks without language. Can you imagine hearing a language without words? Your nose and body know how to listen to the wind. The temperature and direction of the wind will tell you stories about the weather.

  Breathe. Sew. Listen. Let the act of sewing become an act of transformation.”

  Exercise: A Nettle Doll

  Here is a simple exercise, which will give you a chance to do a little needlework and also to make a commitment to your own inner strength. When your circle meets, you can each make a doll stuffed with nettle, a spell for strong fiber and endurance to meet life goals. Or you can make one alone at your own altar, in sacred space. This doll can be as simple as an old, unmatched sock (everyone has at least one of these!) tied with thread for a neck and arms, or it can be as complex as you like. Fill your doll with the things you would like to have inside you. Start by putting in some dried nettle leaf. You can purchase this at your local health-food store or occult shop, or, if you know how, you can harvest the nettles yourself and dry them. You can also add many other things: herbs, stones, colorful threads, words written on scraps of paper, little precious objects, toys. You can use anything that represents qualities you wish for in your own inner life and in your own character.

  Dress your doll, and give it eyes, hair, and other physical details to make it look like you and to please Younger Self. At some point in the process, let yourself do some repetitive, mindless stitching. Observe how your consciousness changes when you do simple, repetitive work. Place your doll on your circle’s altar, or on your own home altar, which is now full of Rose magic, as a commitment to developing your own inner nettle-fiber strength and to “letting the doll do most of the work.” Spells like this should never be disposed of carelessly when you are done with them.

  Weaving with Words

  As Rose sits in her green cave, sending the shuttle flying across the face of the loom, weaving human soul for her brothers and justice for her family line, she brings to mind the Goddess herself, the weaver of the web of life. As ancient women knew, individual threads are constantly being added to a piece of weaving, and old ones are coming to an end or being snipped off. Yet the whole pattern of the weaving continues.

  Witches know that our individual human lives are like this. We enter a pattern that already exists, play our individual parts for a time, and then our lives come to an end. Our lives gain meaning in the context of the pattern of the whole web of life and the web of human community. These flow on unchanged.

  And although we are not the Weaver, we are also weavers, each in our way. We weave together the threads of life when we choose to act responsibly and respectfully in our interactions with the natural world, whether by buying organic vegetables or by defending a redwood forest. We also weave the threads of human community together when we act responsibly and respectfully toward one another. Like Rose, we weave the fabric of soul for one another, and pull each other out of the wild and into human community, when we weave a pattern of love, trust, and respect in our families and communities.

  Gossip is a wonderful old word that reflects the work that women have done since time began: weaving community by talking about one another and our family members. Although the word has come to have the connotation of frivolous or malicious talk, the original roots mean the “god sib,” or extended family member. We women are famous for spending hours together, talking over the nuances of relationships, the development of children, the troubles of a friend and how to support her. We were originally called gossips to honor the fact that our talk with one another, our encouragement and insight and counsel, make up a powerful thread that weaves together family and community. We are each weavers of soul.

  Many therapeutic and recovery programs now rely on this sort of honest talk about the personal details of life. There is nothing more healing and relieving than hearing someone who has already gone through a difficult exper
ience detailing their exact feelings and reactions. My friend Seed, when she lost a pregnancy, felt bewildered and foolish for having a desperate need to know what the hospital had done with the tiny body. She was so relieved when she went to a recovery group for women with similar losses and found that the women there expected her to have these feelings and knew exactly how to help her find out what she needed to know. Many women and men recovering from addictions know the relief and even the humor of hearing others detailing the exact kind of odd thinking that the detoxing person experiences: “Well, if I had a beer with a tofu burger and salad, it would be good for my health, right?”

  When we tell the truth about ourselves to one another, we find that we are each wounded healers weaving a tight, strong web, a safety net of human soul, which can hold each of our individual threads close to the design. It is only in the context of this high value we place on intimate, honest communication that the next part of the story makes sense.

  Choosing Silence

  There are also times when we must weave our communities and our human souls by silence. There are times when what we think or feel must not be spoken because the timing is wrong. And there are times when something must never be spoken, either because it is someone else’s secret or because it would do harm. I wish I had a nickel for every time I was tempted to make some comparison between my two children but kept my mouth shut. I wish I had a dime for every time I felt an urge to criticize my husband and instead took a deep breath or a short walk or said a quick prayer. The worst part of having to keep quiet about something is that you never get any credit for it! But the worst part of speaking when silence would have been better is that it’s impossible to take it back once “the cat’s out of the bag.”

  The spoken word has great power in traditional magic. At the end of a spell (a word whose root actually means “to say out loud, to tell”), many Witches state clearly and firmly, in rhyme if possible, exactly what they have done. Because we know ourselves to be truth tellers, when we say it is so, it comes true: “So mote it be.”

  By the same token, sometimes to say something out loud prematurely takes all the power out of it. Old wives knew this when they said, “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.” Children everywhere agree that the wish that is made when the birthday candles are blown out must not be revealed. If it is told, it will not come true.

  In our story, Rose must not speak until the shirts are finished, because all her intent and concentration is due this task, whose completion will bring justice into her own life story and into the story of her family line. Like all the wise, she must bend and weave her reality into a shape that will fit it back into the pattern of the Great Weaver. She must hold her power within, building her strength and focus. She must not boast, complain, or explain prematurely. What would sound sillier than explaining that her brothers have been turned into swans and that the Fata Morgana says she must weave nettle shirts for them? Really, she might find herself committed to a jail or hospital. Instead, she must do, complete, and show. The ability to stay silent is one of the powers of the wise, which some Witches (and mystics of many religious backgrounds) include as part of their spiritual practice.

  Rose’s silence is not the silence of a voiceless person who cannot speak up. We know Rose can speak up; she did so when she asked a million questions about the ominous silence and secrecy in her childhood castle. There she broke the rule of silence that hid the injustices of the past. But now her silence is chosen. It belongs to a Witch, deep in a meditative state while completing a spellworking.

  Exercise: Practicing Silence

  Choose to remain silent for a definite time period. A few hours may be good for practice, but many of the benefits of the exercise come when we allow ourselves longer periods of silence. We must not harm or confuse others with our spiritual practices, so it is important to negotiate with family members and friends before undertaking a period of silence. Sometimes because of outside responsibilities it can be done only by allowing a certain number of words that may be spoken during the day (thirteen is a popular number).

  When you have completed a period of silence, make some notes about what you learned about yourself in your Book of Shadows. Were there times when your silence saved you from hasty or meaningless talk? Did silence speak more than words? Was it a relief? Were there times when you missed out on a chance for communication and intimacy? Were there frustrating moments when you needed words as a tool?

  In circle, try creating a silent ritual. You will need to talk to plan it, but once it begins, use no words. Notice how the energy in the circle moves differently without language. Sometimes the people who are normally quieter in a circle really shine when language stops. Sometimes not speaking helps circle members open up other forms of sensitivity to one another.

  These exercises, when practiced attentively over time, can help each of us make better choices about how we use our words. Like Rose, we all experience times when, instead of speaking, we must do, complete, and show.

  Facing Pain

  As Rose works among the nettles, no matter how careful she is there will be times when she feels the sting of the formic acid that makes up the nettles’ early-warning system. For that matter, once the nettles are harvested and they no longer sting, the hard work of the fiber preparation, spinning, and weaving will sometimes hurt her hands. And so with us, when we live our lives as fully and passionately as possible, weaving our families and communities, stepping up to our life purposes, we will sometimes experience the “sting” of our imperfection, our humanness, and our mortality.

  Initiatory practices everywhere, and the initiatory tales that reflect these practices, include some sort of ordeal. Not the pain itself, but rather the initiatory candidate’s strength, resourcefulness, and ability to bear it, reflect an unavoidable piece of what human adulthood is all about.

  Like the wise of all spiritual disciplines, Witches know that pain is part of the life of mortals just as winter is part of spring. The pain and struggle of labor are part of giving birth to a beautiful little baby. The disorientation and sickness of detox are part of breaking a pattern of addictive behavior and beginning a new life of freedom and wellness. Overcoming the frustration and hopelessness of creative blocks is part of courting the Muse in every artistic process.

  Modern people, strongly influenced by a commodity-based, immediate-gratification culture, may sometimes feel that pain, whether physical or emotional, indicates a failure or a mistake of some sort. In extreme cases, even ill or recently bereaved people may find themselves being subtly blamed for their pain. When women and men approach huge life transitions, or when they experience personal or creative or healing breakthroughs, they may also experience pain, fear, physical symptoms—suffering in all its many forms.

  Witches do not believe that the painful parts of life are a punishment, as in the biblical Garden of Eden story. So feeling guilty for being hurt or ill or troubled is not our way. Instead, we remember that the pattern of the whole web of life requires that each thread have a beginning and an end. As every moon waxes and wanes, every human life includes many different beginnings and endings, and lots of plateaus, diversions, and transitions in between. Each creature (even the vegetarian) lives by feeding off the deaths of others, and in the end we are all food for the future. Witches neither seek the pains of mortal life nor fear them. In fact, pain can at times be valuable information, enormously helpful in a healing process. And so Rose is tested, and she passes the test. She is willing to undertake the challenge of her own life purpose, even though it will inevitably involve some pain.

  Pain and Silence: A Word of Caution

  Suffering and silence are not good in themselves. We are not recommending them as a way of life or as a primary spiritual practice! If a person is sick, sad, silent, or hurting all the time, quite possibly there is something wrong, something that needs professional attention. There is no shame in consulting traditional and nontraditional doctors and healers fo
r help when it is needed. We each deserve all the help we can get when we are going through periods of suffering.

  Our idea of healthy human life is not all about suffering and silence, although these are mysteries that human life inevitably confronts us with. Instead, our recipe is as follows: a quart of health and happiness; a cup of ecstasy; a half gallon of committed, creative, collaborative work; a dash of pain; a handful of transition; and three tablespoons of yeast in warm water, so that we can rise. Adjust seasonings to taste!

  Rose has accepted the Fata Morgana’s challenge and undertaken a period of silent, focused work to fulfill her life purpose. But now the story sweeps her along, and we must go with her, toward the next set of challenges in our journey of healing.

  The Outer Path

  In the Elements Path and the Inner Path in this section of the story, we worked with will and with the power of silence. Now, in the Outer Path, we are asked to consider what qualities we need in order to take on a great task of healing and creation.

  What is the task we are called to do? In the evolution of every project, there’s a process of clarification. If I want to heal the earth, I might first wander in the wilderness, wondering how to go about it. Perhaps I’ll find help and guidance, even get carried away by my enthusiasm for permaculture or biodynamic farming. I can fly high, ecstatically dreaming of what I’m going to plant and how I will meditate over every single seed for every healing herb. But eventually, to make the vision manifest, I have to undertake the healing of one piece of ground, the painful and sometimes tedious tasks of fertilization or erosion control, and I have to be prepared to sustain my efforts over the long term, until the job is done. The bigger and more important the task, the greater the effort that’s called for.

  In the Goddess tradition, pleasure is sacred. We don’t romanticize pain. But we do know that a big working, a large change in consciousness, may require sacrifice. At the crossroads, if we take one path, we forgo the other. If I go to the hearing at the Board of Forestry, I won’t be spending the day in my garden.