The legend of Baba Yaga

This is how all the stories begin: the cursing witch in the middle of the woods, and her hut on chicken legs — at the edge of civilization. Beware the wicked laugh and smell of baked sweets. 

I remember my great-grandmother anxiously warning me not to wander from the forest path…

But who is Baba Yaga?
The wicked witch sacrificing children to stay forever young?
The devilish woman who can seduce any man and damn his soul?
Or the chatty old lady, offering riddles in exchange for your life? 

I have always pictured her as a young girl, dancing and laughing,
mending wounds with fresh water and a handful of herbs —
before fear took root and she was banished forever.

When you are young, the stories so sound simple.
When you grow older, they begin to change.
Or perhaps they never changed at all.
Perhaps they were always telling the truth.

In Slavic  lore, it is said that you will meet her only once, at the threshold of your life.
You do not meet her when you seek her. She finds you when you're ready. 

Are you ready to let go of false beliefs,
to shake prejudice from your shoulders,
to lay down the weight of other people’s words?

What will you see, when you look into her mirror?

She is not a devil’s spawn.
She is the gate.

Not the loudest, not the bravest pass her threshold.
Wisdom, not muscle, unlocks her door. 

Mock her or deceive her 
And you will find no road ahead 
Nor will you ever find your way back.