Perhaps it is no wonder then that this time of year brings to mind cooking pots (as I write this I’m reminded I need a new slow cooker). The cauldron is one of those items perhaps most associated with witchcraft, magic and fire.
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I like to go to the woods not long after sunrise, when the air is still cool and carries the scent of the night, like faded cologne on a lover's neck. It mingles with the wood spice scent of the dry forest floor, and you catch just a hint of it in the gentle breeze or as your feet kick up dust as you make your way along familiar paths.
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The River Mumma is a fierce protectress and mother, a beautiful woman but also something other, frightening, perhaps to some, even monstrous. We see these aspects of the female in other figures from legend and lore like Medusa, Babalon and more. Like I often say, folk stories always contain hints of truths at their core, like the single speck of grit at the centre of a pearl.
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The woods on a day like today are gloomy. The air is damp and cold, the sky a blanket of grey, making everything seem darker despite the early hour. And yet this is needed. I enjoy the festive period, the sparkle and glow of it all, the food, the drink and the merry making with my nearest and dearest and yet sometimes I just need this. The cold damp air on my face. The scent of the forest. The sound of the birds and the trees, of twigs snapping underfoot.
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Trees are symbols of this cycle, of this ever turning wheel. They signify the seasons, and show the incremental changes that occur as the wheel creaks ever onwards; the blossom of spring, the lush green of early summer, the fruits of late summer and early autumn. The dramatic colour show and loss that mark late autumn and the bare branches and evergreens of winter.
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Exploring duppy stories has been something that encompasses both my need and want to learn about my family’s and my own culture as well as my love of folklore. And it’s interesting because as you begin to study folklore, you begin to notice the similarities and the differences between stories from different parts of the world.
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Stories have a power after all, especially the Anansi stories. They give us hope that we may yet overcome that which oppresses us, our troubles and strife, even when those ills seem insurmountable, too big and too powerful.
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As the new year becomes something more real and tangible, I say we take the feelings of goodwill, merriment and joy that is plentiful at this time and take it into the future. I say we become Lords of Misrule, taking that which does not serve us, that which oppresses us and strangles us all and smash it to pieces. I say we become as the Lord of Misrule and seize back the power that we all have.
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