Balancing Point
by Jan Harris aka Phoebe


Beware the power of waning moon,
and heed the wisdom of the rune

She was sitting on a rope-swing, which hung from an old apple tree. As it moved back and forth, the rope knocked the ripe fruit to the ground. The apples smashed as they hit the grass, spurting juice into the sunshine, each droplet separating into a halo of colour. The pain, low down in her abdomen, started to grow stronger. Suddenly the swing stopped in mid-air and she woke with the awful realisation that the treatment had failed for the third and final time.

For a long time she lay perfectly still, feeling bereaved and also cheated. The clinic had pretended to be ordinary, with cheerful yellow walls and low coffee tables. Stainless steel surfaces and sharp instruments were well concealed, so as not to alarm. People paid well not to be alarmed, it was part of the deal. “Its bloody expensive, we’ll give it three tries,” Ian had said, the words knocking another inch off her love for him. He didn’t seem to even try to understand how much this meant to her and he owed her that much, at least. The whole process cruelly exposed the sacred mystery of life. Drugs, injection, scans and harvesting; three embryos implanted each time, nine new lives, which refused to be party to the contract and fell from her womb in protest.

When bad news blows from the west
the bonds of love are put to test

She told Ian just before he left the house for work. There was less time to talk about it that way. He reacted as she had expected.

“I know you’re disappointed Jen, but it’s obviously just not meant to be, why can’t you accept that?” he said. “We’ve still got each other; that used to be enough for you.”

He held her warm, familiar face between his large, cool, hands. They chilled her to the bone.

“Look, come with me to New York at the weekend, it might help take your mind off things.”

She turned away from him and started banging pots into the dishwasher. “Is she going to be there?”

“I told you – she’s been transferred, I don’t see her at all any more. Look Jen, I can’t go on apologising, it was just one night and we were both drunk, neither of us had ever done anything like that before. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she stiffened her back against his touch. “I’ve got to go now Jen or I’ll be late for work.” She didn’t turn. “See you tonight then” he said slamming the door behind him.

Place your problems with your trust
An answer may rise from the dust.

“They didn’t find anything wrong with either of you at the clinic did they?” asked Claire, Jen’s closest friend.

“Unexplained infertility that’s all they said. Apparently I should have started trying sooner. Its really hard to accept though, I feel such a failure. I see other women yelling and swearing at their kids and think why can they have children and I can’t.”

“Have you thought of trying other things?” Claire asked.

“Like what?”

“Alternative therapies, herbs, homeopathy”, stuff like that.”

Jenny hesitated, she wasn’t sure whether to tell Claire or not.

“Well ….someone at work has offered to help …..apparently she’s into witchcraft.”

“What?”

“She does fertility spells, that sort of thing, nothing sinister,” Jen said, seeing the look of horror on her friend’s face, “She’s a really nice woman, quite ordinary really”.

“Jen, be careful, don’t go messing with stuff like that.”

“Why not, apparently she gets really good results, she said she could put me in touch with other people she has helped. It can’t hurt to try.”

“Yes it can,” Claire said. “Remember that girl at school who started playing about with Ouija boards. She ended up having a nervous breakdown.”

“Yeh, but she was unbalanced before she went anywhere near a ouija board – I’m desperate Claire, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Just promise me you won’t go any further with this witchcraft idea or someone will end up getting hurt. I can feel it.”

“OK, if it means that much to you,” said Jen, wanting to reassure her friend, but not really comprehending the depth Claire’s fear. The lie was to resonate for an eternity.

Apple blossom starts to blow
Soon the fruit begins to grow

The witch’s house wasn’t made of gingerbread and it wasn’t in a dark, dark, forest, but the ordinariness of it did nothing to calm Jenny’s anxiety. White blossom twirled around her feet like confetti as she walked up the path. They drank tea from flower-patterned mugs and grumbled about the minutiae of work, while the real reason for her visit clung around each word, threatening to smother it. After a while, the atmosphere in the room changed subtly, and she realised it was time. The air shimmered and parted and the witch’s presence became apparent. She took a leather pouch from the sideboard and tipped a set of bone runes onto the table. This is Berkana, she said, the first syllable sliding from her lips. It stands for growth and fertility. Hold it in your left hand while we meditate on your problem. Holding Jenny’s right hand in her own, she murmured an invocation as old as the earth.

Great Odin, as you watch over the world,
Guide us through the power of this rune,
Wise Freya, keeper of knowledge,
Help us to reach a true answer and
Bless us through the power of earth, fire, air and water.

They sat in silence while the age-old web of life began to tighten and pull into shape. The rune in Jen’s hand felt red-hot. Just as she began to feel that she could keep hold of it no longer the witch looked up. I can help you, she said, simply, but you must be sure that your intentions are pure and you must follow my instructions exactly.

Place a charm and you may see
The Goddess of fertility

Jen was expecting Ian home from New York at about nine o’clock that evening, giving her plenty of time to prepare. She opened the box carefully and looked inside. Atropa mandragora or Mediterranean mandrake, a herb grown under the gallows from the semen of hanged men. Jenny shuddered at the thought. Apparently when a Mandrake was uprooted it screamed. The noise was so terrible that anyone hearing it either died instantly or went insane. The only safe way to uproot the plant was to tie a starving black dog to the leaves and then entice the dog forwards with raw meat, so that it pulled the plant from the ground. The magical root lay in the box like a malevolent effigy.

Forcing herself to overcome her revulsion, she lifted the mandrake from the box and grated a few slivers into a glass bowl. The witch had given her the root to use in a charm. She had warned her that the plant was poisonous and that it shouldn’t be used in food or drink, but from her own research Jen had discovered that the plant was a powerful aphrodisiac. The temptation was too great. If I don’t use too much it shouldn’t hurt, Jen thought, he was a strong healthy adult after all. She added a bottle of red wine to the bowl and left it to infuse.

Now for the charm, Jen thought. She cut off another small piece of the root and placed it on a circle of green felt, together with the rune and some pieces of eggshell. She lit a small green candle. Placing her hands above the cloth, she focused on the candle and imagined herself holding her baby. She focused all her energy on visualising her child and an image gradually formed within the flame - a baby in her arms; blue eyes and blonde, downy hair. The softness of the baby’s skin caressed her own and she could feel the warmth of her milky breath. Holding the image close she gathered the cloth round the objects, tied it with a white silk ribbon and carried it up to her bedroom. She carefully placed it beneath her pillow.

Pray a new life may be born
A child of passion, fire and storm

Ian was relieved to get off the plane, it had been a long, uncomfortable flight and he desperately needed to stretch his legs. His right leg felt particularly stiff and sore and his calf was red and hot. The thought of deep vein thrombosis momentarily passed through his mind but he instantly dismissed it as something that only happened to other people. As he drove up to the house he realised that all the downstairs lights were out. He went inside – it was strangely quiet.

“Jen,” he shouted as he climbed the stairs, “Jen, where are you?” The bedroom door was open and he saw her sitting on the bed. Candles decorated every surface in the room, flickering and casting long shadows on the walls. A musky scent hung in the air. Jen’s long, freshly brushed brown hair shone against her white satin robe. There was a stillness about her, a sense of purpose which Ian had never seen before.

Ian felt as if he was being pulled into the scene by an invisible force. As he entered the room Jen reached across and took two glasses of wine from the dressing table. She handed a glass to Ian and he sat down next to her unquestioningly; the power to protest had been drawn from him. No words passed between them but Jen’s eyes held his steadily as they sipped their wine. As the wine began to take effect Ian found it difficult to focus. His head felt heavy and he felt detached, as if he was no longer a part of the events unfolding in the room. He watched while Jen slipped off her robe, never taking her eyes away from his own. She lay down on the bed and waited. He watched himself remove his clothes and lay down next to her. He watched his hands caressing her slender body. He felt aroused and although she lay still and quiet he knew that she wanted him. He saw himself join with her and her legs wrap tightly around him…..

When life begins its ancient round
A balancing point is always found

Afterwards they lay perfectly still, neither of them speaking. Jen knew that she was pregnant. She could sense new life stirring inside her and knew that this pregnancy would produce a child. The pain in Ian’s leg had started to intensify, but the wine and the mandrake’s poison had dulled his senses to the point that he was unable to react. Jen lay next to her husband, but her mind was a million miles away from him. She drifted off to sleep and woke with the dawn chorus remembering that she hadn’t blown out the candles. The larger ones were still alight, but the tea lights had burned down until only the black wick remained. She turned to Ian and realised that he hadn’t stirred at all in his sleep. She touched his shoulder, but knew with a sickening feeling that she wouldn’t be able to wake him. With shaking hands she picked up the phone to call an ambulance, but in her heart she knew that it was already too late. He would never see his daughter.

The baby was born as the first snowdrops began to show.

“She’s so beautiful,” said Claire holding the baby’s tiny hand in her own.

“You must think of her as Ian’s last precious gift to you.”

“Not really,” said Jen, putting baby Freya to her breast.

The circle of life was complete.

(C)2003 Jan Harris