Marei - book one. Part two: Initiation. Chapter 6

She was not long in coming up the hill, riding the same big brown horse that had carried John up the hill earlier, though she came at a walk and not at the same break neck pace. She tethered the horse to the same pole as the goat and strode purposely into the house carrying a small bundle of cloth. When she enfolded me in a hug almost as strong as John’s my façade of composure went crashing to the floor and I sobbed like a baby into her cushioned shoulder.

She didn’t flinch, just tightened her embrace and smoothed my hair and let me cry. So cry I did; I cried for all the hardships I had endured to reach the House on the Hill, for the loneliness of living here without my Grandmother for company. I cried because I missed my mother and father, and even my brothers and sisters and the cramped noisy house in which I had grown up. I cried from desperation and despair that though I had succeeded in reaching the house, I had yet to have my calling started and did not know for certain that it would start at all. I cried for myself, feeling at once too old and too young for the moment.

When finally the sobs slowed until only the hitches in my breathing told that I was still upset, Ursa walked me over to the table and eased me into a chair. Bustling about the kitchen, she took a handful of herbs from a pouch in the bundle she had brought with her and made a fresh pot of tea. She took out another mug and poured each of us a cup of tea before she spoke.

“Lass, we women are like the moon, how it comes and goes, sometimes empty and sometimes full. Inside of us, there is a place that starts out very small in young things like you, but when full of life and growing a baby can stretch out large. This is why when a woman is with child, her belly grows and grows until the child comes out.” I nodded. I had seen my mother’s belly grow larger and larger with each new sibling that was born after me, and had seen countless pregnancies and births with the animals we had raised. “This place is always getting ready to have babies, whether or not a seed has been planted. And, like the moon, it fills with blood to make a space safe for a baby should it decide to grow. Then if no child is planted within, it empties itself out to start fresh for the next moon.”

“You are bleeding. But this is not the blood of a wound. This is as I said; the blood that would have nourished a child as a seed is nourished in rich earth that must be cleaned from your womb if there is no baby within you. The pain you felt in your belly was your muscles clenching to push the blood through and start the cleansing process. Most women will bleed for 5 days, some more, some less. And most women will bleed at the same phase of moon when it passes. For you now, the moon is on the rise past the half, but not yet full. When it reaches the same point in its next cycle, you will most likely bleed again.”

“Will I die?”

“Of course you’ll die, child; we all die. But not from this. This is nothing more than pouring the liquid from the cup, if you are the cup.” She took a long drink of her tea and carefully considered me over the lip of the mug. “Have you been told yet about how the babies are planted and grow?”

I shook my head, hoping to get more of an explanation. I knew that when one animal would sit on top of another animal, babies would soon follow, but I did not understand how. Ursa sighed and refilled her cup.

“Well as you now know, there is a place inside you that is like a rich garden waiting to be planted. Between your legs there is an opening that leads to this place inside you. It is small now, but can stretch for it not only leads to the womb, but is the place where the baby comes out when it’s done growing and ready to be born. In order for a baby to grow, a seed must be planted inside you. Not just any seed, but seed from a man, you understand?” I must have looked as confused as I felt for she continued and elaborated.

“A man has a shaft – what he pisses with – that is the right size and shape to reach your womb if he puts it inside you. If you’re lucky, you will enjoy that very much and so will he. The fitting together of your pieces is such a feeling that part of the man’s soul comes squirting out and into your body, where it turns into a baby. And it can be such, if the match is right, that your body will quake and roil like the clouds during a storm.”

“Now the smart woman knows when she will bleed and when she is ripe for the seed. Half way through your cycle, your body is ready to plant and it is only during this time that a baby can be made. At any other time, you are not likely to make life, just as if you plant too early or too late in the garden, the seeds will not sprout. But should you chance to plant when you were not ready to tend the garden, here are the herbs that you should drink to make your blood flow again.” She took a small bag out of the bundle that when opened, smelled bitter and made my mouth feel dry. “Your blood will stop if a babe is planted, so if you go past the moon time when you should be bleeding and you do not, and if you are not ready yet to have a babe in your arms, drink well and often of this brew for it will weed your garden.”

She took another cloth bag from the bundle and set it on the table. “This is the brew that we are both drinking right now. It will ease your pains when the bloods come, and keep your moods from turning dark like the storm. Drink it a few days before your blood and as often as you need during and it will help you not feel the cramps.”

“There are some who say that a woman is unclean when she bleeds, but your Grandmother says it is a time of great Power for a woman, and I agree. It is our gift to bleed but not die and we should celebrate the time as best we can and be not ashamed of our blood. It was she who made these tea mixes for me so I could rejoice in my moon, instead of being pained. I have never felt unclean in my soul when I was bleeding, but you must take care to keep your body clean or you can become ill.”

She took out several cloth rags that had been carefully folded again and again, then stitched to keep the folds from moving. “you can continue to use the rabbit fur you are using now to staunch the blood and keep it from getting on your things, or you can use these rags and place them tightly between your legs to soak up the blood. I find that the most effective way to continue with your day without a trail to show where you have been is to twist one end of the rag and push it into your opening as far as is comfortable. This will absorb the blood and keep the rag from falling or moving as you walk about. And that is something you will need as you have no one else here to assist you when you bleed.”

“Wear each rag only for a day and night at the most to keep yourself from getting ill, or becoming sore between your legs. They can easily be washed if you soak them in cold water and rub them with salt to get out the worst of the stains, which I’ll help you do to the clothes you were wearing when my husband was here earlier. But first, you look as if you should have some food.” She stood from the table and began the makings of a stew for dinner to go with the crescent shaped breads I had baked that morning.

“The night is coming on quickly, so I’ll be staying here with you tonight, Lass. Did you make the Samhain candle?” I nodded and she gave her head a satisfied shake as she put the stew on the hearth.

“Come lass, let us go and celebrate that your child hood is dead and banish it to the other worlds with the spirits while our dinner is cooking. Today you are truly on your way to becoming a woman and a child no longer. Though you have been frightened and unsure, truly it is a blessing, and your birth right as a woman.”

Ursa led the way into the magick room and I followed her as she walked three times singing around the circle and into the center to the altar stone. She had picked up one of the smaller blades from the wall as we passed and now she pointed it at the four corners of the room and called to the powers of Earth, Air, Fire and Water to hear her words tonight. She gave thanks for the day, and for the past year, and spoke aloud the names of those she loved who had crossed to the other worlds. Then, when she asked me for it, I removed the rabbit fur from between my legs and placed it on the altar stone.

“From life to death we all must pass and our passing is marked by blood. Hear me now, spirits, and know that this child has passed from one world to the next on the flow of blood and is with us no longer.” With one hand she held up the fur above her head and plunged the bone handled dagger into the pelt, dragging it down to rip the hide in half.

“As we all receive new life and are born again in blood, so too has she been born again with the blood that empties from her womb. Bless her on this path and guide her to know the true power of a woman.” She handed me one of the pieces of fur and at her command I put it back to catch the remaining flow. She began a rowdy song of thanks that I had heard her sing once when they had stayed to help me prepare for the winter. I had felt then a surge of fierce joy listening to it and had struggled to remember and learn the song after they had left. I felt again the pride and exultation that the tune evoked and I raised my voice with hers.

Still holding the second half of the fur, she began a merry jig there in the center of the magick circle. Holding the fur out to me as a gypsy maiden would hold out a scarf, she wordlessly asked me to join her. I grasped the other end of the pelt and we ducked and wove, spun and reeled, singing and dancing out of the magick room, out of the house, and into the yard where we spun breathlessly to a stop near the garden. We were giddy and wild, laughing and howling up at the almost full moon, shouting at the stars.

Using the same dagger that had split the skin before, she quickly scraped out a hole as deep as her forearm and dropped in the piece of fur. We were both grinning as if sharing the same wonderful joke as we pushed the dirt back over the hole, burying the bloody pelt and my childhood with it. “Blood to the earth, as death goes to ground. We offer up this child’s blood that we may harvest a woman.”

She began the song again, and as if we were crushing grapes for wine, we lifted up our skirts and stomped on the ground, packing it down tightly over the remains of my child hood. The sound of our naked feet on the chilly earth was like distant drums and I could feel the eyes of our ancestors watching from the shadows of the forest. We sang again and again, the tune getting faster and faster as we danced and stomped, twirling and kicking and howling until suddenly breathless we both stopped and flung our arms wide to the sky and howled one long mighty wail.

Turning to me, she swept me up in a wide hug and kissed my forehead as my mother used to do. “Welcome to your other side, Marei. And congratulations.”