Sorting And Sifting The Apothecary Of The Heart

In the story of Vasalissa the Wise, as told by Clarissa Pinkola Est'es, the sturdy hag Baba Yaga gives Vasilissa the outmoded job of straightening out fusty corn from the good corn; and sifting the griminess out of poppy-seeds. To her treatment, a pair of camouflaged hands come to her help, as well as her own guess - the puppet definite to her by her slapdash close relative.

Est'es' performance of this part of the story faithfully resonates with me at the instant. Not only in the role of this time of time (fall) is a time for taking down, sifting and preparing for the long iciness. But for the most part in the role of the symbolism and meaning of these sensitive tasks: Est'es reminds us the health properties of fusty corn, fermented to form ethanol (jot alcohol). Corn-smut is a hallucinogenic, plus true for poppy seeds. The health properties alludes to the woman-healer role of foraging, collecting, taking down and preparing herbal remedies.

"This is one of the loveliest phrasings in the story. The pure corn, fusty corn, poppyseed, and griminess are all remnants of an melancholy medicine apothecary. These substances are used as balms, salves, infusions, and poultices to incorporate marginal medicines on the body. As story, they are plus medicines for the mind; some supply, marginal put to rest, some impulsive inactivity, others, provocation. They are facets of the Life/Death/Life cycles" (Clarissa Pinkola "Est'es, "Women Who Run Moreover The Wolves", p. 96)."

In this apothecary of the life, we gravitate towards our soul's therapy. Find the acceptably care - literally liberated our emotional state; or figuratively speaking in our spiritual course of healing:

"Baba Yaga is not only asking Vasalisa to part this from that, to arbitrate the difference between bits and pieces of like kind - such as real love from unsound love, or well life from broken life - but she is plus asking her to recognize one care from in mint condition". "(Clarissa Pinkola "Est'es, "Women Who Run Moreover The Wolves", p. 96)."

Type an artist or a healer, a large part of a perfumer's work is camouflaged from your eyes. A good deal of the unfettered spill, as well as the physical aspects of producing lipstick is complete alchemy. One of the spill is so despondent it is at times camouflaged from me, unconscious I'm undergoing a spill until I've popular at the "marginal side" of the rummage I've been heaving timetabled and struggling with for months. As I produce the end of that rummage, I'm re-born - not a teen, obviously; but a new person in several regards.

The supposedly floating search for meaning turns out to be in mint condition jar of care in my heart's apothecary. As I distill, remove and assemble the stories of my own internal spill - it's own therapy is suspended and recorded in the lab's ledger. As I do so, wounds close and interweave, maladies melt not at home, becoming plaintive chapters in a book that I'll never finish writing.