I first felt Sigyn's presence when holding vigil at a hospice for a dear relative. She just fit in so naturally there, a quiet but determined presence, giving what care and support She could, a seemingly endless well of patience and calm, gentle, loving, but with a strength that took my breath away. Ever since then, I have associated Sigyn with hospice care, with tending the chronically ill. No, none of this is present in the lore, but it's a reasonable extrapolation from Her tasks in the cave.
Perhaps rashly, I pledged myself to the bowl meditation(*) ten minutes a night, for one hundred nights, if She would help ease our friend. Tonight was the third night--and ten minutes feels like a very, very long time. My arms start to ache within minutes. I shift my weight, trying to keep muscles from spasming. The bowl is glazed blue stoneware, and I not only have to hold it, I need to hold it steady. I don't use a chair, so within minutes, my back is screaming at me. My breath starts getting ragged as the pain builds. To my shame, I sometimes switch so I hold the bowl with one hand while I shake the cramps out of the other arm. But I hold it for ten minutes.
I stare at the glaze, my brain is oddly blank. Not meditation as I know it, more like the kind of numbness that comes after traumatic news. Is this mine, or am I feeling a tiny, tiny sliver of what Sigyn felt? When my wits make a brief appearance, I tell myself, "I do this for Sigyn, I do this for Loki, I do this for Narvi and His brother." Then I reverse the order, starting with the children, then naming their parents. I think of our friend, try to bear the pain, the doubts, the fear.
I don't know if it will help. But like Sigyn in the cave, this is all I can do. For another week and roughly three months. Ten minutes. 100 nights.