Vasilisa The Beautiful & Baba Yaga show how to awaken your intuition (transcript)

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Full show notes here.

Episode Transcript:

Lian (00:00)

Could a Russian folk tale show you how to listen to your own inner guidance? Hello, my beautiful mythical old souls and a huge warm welcome back. In this episode, I share the timeless tale of Vasilisa the beautiful and Baba Yaga. Each month I share a mythical tale, a spell, as memory, as invitation. These aren't stories to analyse or consume. They're here to be felt, stirred and remembered as mythical doorways into your own soul.

I first told this one live with our beloved community in Unio, our Academy of the Soul, where we continue to journey more deeply with it through a month long quest. If you found this story soul-stirring and you'd like to join us for the next one, I tell… and the mythical quest that follows you can find out more at bemythical.com slash unio.

The tale of Vasilisa is one of enchantment, resilience and the deep wisdom that lies hidden in plain sight. A dying mother's blessing, a dark forest, the fearsome Baba Yaga whose spinning heart and impossible tasks test what lives at the core of us.

What begins as a tale of cruelty and exile unfolds into something luminous, a transformation born from trust, listening and soul guidance. This isn't a story just about a girl surviving trials. It's about the part of us that already knows what to do. The part we forget to turn to. Through this myth, we're offered a mirror. One that reflects back our own relationship to trust, to trial, and to the quiet voice that knows the way home.

Are you ready to look into that mirror? Okay, let's dive in.

Lian (01:48)

So if you would like to make yourselves comfortable and really allow yourself to a bit like the bedtime stories that hopefully you were lucky enough to be read as a child. If not, allow yourself that pleasure now. and you can close your eyes but try not to fall asleep and it'd be nice for you to be with us for rest of the ceremony and then we shall begin.

Vasilisa the beautiful.

Once upon a time. As these stories often begin in a faraway land, there was a girl called Vasilisa, whose mother was dying. Her beautiful mother, her loving mother, she was on her deathbed. But before she passed, she gave Vasilisa a gift. It was a small doll, stitched by hand, woven in love. And Vasileis' mother placed it in her hands and said, This is my blessing, my dear. Look after this doll. Feed her, care for her and listen to her when you're lost, when you need help, when you need guidance.

Vasilisa received the doll, not knowing truly the blessing that it represented, because she was so distraught on the death of her mother.

Her mother passed away and Vasilisa and her father were left in the house alone.

Some time passed and is so often the way in these stories, her father decided to remarry. It may have been because of his own needs and desires, or it may have been that he felt that it would be best for Vasilisa if she had a mother figure and a family. And he chose what felt like a good choice of wife and stepmother. The woman came to the house with her two daughters. They came with sharp smiles and sharper tongues, but they kept those hidden until the father left on

business.

They found Vasilisa's growing beauty and goodness of heart a source of great envy. and so they put Vasilisa to work. They made her a servant in her own home. She said nothing, she worked without complaint. And each night she whispered to the doll and the doll listened.

Suitors came and went asking for Vasilisa's hand in marriage but the stepmother sent them away. She couldn't bear to lose her servant but she also didn't want Vasilisa to be chosen over her own daughters.

So time went by, Vasilisa continued to work, continued to toil, continued to find a way to have hope despite the way her life had turned out. One of Vasilisa's many, many tasks was to keep the fire in the household burning. And one night she went out looking for firewood. And when she returned, the fire had gone out.

The stepmother turned to Vasilisa. You silly girl. How will we cook? How will we stay warm? You must go out and fetch fire. You must go into the forest. You must go to Baba Yaga and ask her for fire.

Now everyone knew the stories. That was a terrifying prospect that meant certain death.

Vasilisa was pure of heart but she wasn't that innocent. She knew that her stepmother probably did not expect her to come back with fire. She anticipated that she wouldn't return at all.

But Vasilisa had accepted her fate and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, tucking her doll in the pocket and set off into the forest.

She walked for hours, maybe days, and as she went, three riders, three riders on horseback passed her. The first as white as dawn and all was white. She continued on and then a rider in red on a red horse passed her, as red as the blazing sun and all around her glowed. She continued to go deeper into the forest. And then a rider, as black as midnight, on a jet black steed passed her. And suddenly it was dark.

She then came to the hut.

It's spun on chicken legs.

There was a fence of skulls with light behind their eyes.

She was filled with fear, but she had no choice at this point. She knew she had to go on. So she mustered all her courage. She went through the gate to the house and Baba Yaga appeared. All sharp teeth and bone fingers and eyes, that held, the fear of all the people she had met and devoured.

What do you want? She growled I've come for fire said Vasilisa. Baba Yaga said, you let the fire go out, that's an ill advised thing to do. What a silly girl you are. Well, I can't possibly just give you fire, but I will give it to you in exchange for you working for me.

Vasilisa was so used to working and slaving and serving that I suppose for her this wasn't a new thing. And what choice did she have? So she agreed.

Baba Yaga led Vasilisa to a vast heap of seeds, a mountain of millet and poppy, all mixed together. She said, sort them by dawn, every grain sorted in their rightful piles. And then she vanished. Vasilisa despaired. But the doll moved in her pocket and whispered, sleep child, I will do this.

When Vasilisa woke up, the seeds were sorted, millet with millet, poppy with poppy. Baba Yaga returned and saw the work and narrowed her eyes. She clapped her hands once. Come faithful servants, grind this grain. And from out of nowhere, disembodied hand appears, long and pale and root-like. They gathered the grain, sorting one from the other, turning it into the pure grain without the chaff and vanished into the air.

The next day, Baba Yaga gave Vasilisa another task. Clean the house, sweep my yard, wash my laundry and prepare a feast for me and be finished before I return. If you fail, you die.

And then she left. Again, Vasilisa turned to her doll. And again, her doll said, it's okay Vasilisa, I will help. You rest.

And while she slept, the work was taken care of. The house was cleaned and the yard was swept and the laundry washed and hung. There was a feast, to end all feasts, bubbling in the pot.

Baba Yaga arrived home and sniffed the air. It was all too perfect, all too perfect. How had she done this?

She turned to Vasilisa and said, you work well. But you don't ask questions. That's strange. Would you like to ask a question? Vasilisa said, yes. What were those horsemen I saw as I arrived here?

And Baba Yaga said, those are my servants. They are dawn and the rising sun and the night. Do you have another question for me? And Vasilisa was about to ask her and then she felt the doll jumping up and down in her pocket. And she realised asking another question was a dangerous thing to do. So she said, no, no more questions. And Baba Yaga said, How did you complete these tasks? And Vasilisa said, with my mother's blessing.

Baba Yaga howled. It sounded like wind through bones. I need no blessed ones in this house. Take your fire and leave. She marched Vasilisa out of the house, took up one of the skulls with a fire for eyes from fence and handed it to Vasilisa. Go!

Vasilisa hurried home. It seemed much faster this time. She went through the woods full of courage, brandishing the fire, knowing how guided she was, how protected she was. When she arrived home, the stepmother and her stepsisters rushed to greet her. The house was cold and dark. she could see their surprise. And then as Vasilisa stepped inside, the skull's eyes glowed even more brightly. It turned its eyes on the stepmother and stepsisters. They were consumed in flame and turned to ashes. By the morning, there was nothing left of them. Vasilisa buried the skull as the doll told her to do.

She moved the city. She took on work as a seamstress and her hands guided by something quiet and wise created garments of great beauty. Things that humans had never really seen in this world before. Things that were created from the soul.

One day her work reached the Tsar. He was so awed by the quality of these great garments he asked to see their maker.When Vasilisa appeared. Bright. Fully alive. Radiant. Beautiful. He knew he had found a queen. They fell in love and married.

Of course, the doll was with her every step of the way.

and they all lived happily ever after.

Lian (16:52)

I hope you loved this mythical tale as much as I do and that it showed you something of the world and your own soul. If you're not already subscribed, I suggest you do so now if you'd like to catch each new story as they're released. And as I said at the beginning, I first shared this story live with our beloved community in Unio, our Academy of the Soul. And we begin each month with a community ceremony in which we gather and we journey with a particular tale, fairy tale, folk tale, myth, legend, together in community in this way. And then that initiates us into a month long quest. If you would like to journey in this alchemical mythical way, again, with others in community, which provides a level of depth and mirroring that really can't be matched in any other way, come join us. You can find out more at bemythical.com slash unio.

Thank you so much for watching. You've been wonderful. I'm sending you all my love. I'll catch you again next week. And until then, go be mythical.

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