As Hecate has noted, it's time for the 5th Anuual Brigid Poerty Festival, a tradition begun by Anne Hill. Hecate has written (her usual) inspiring and insightful posts on Imbolc and poetry. Take the time to read those and then check out the original poem written by Anne Hill at her blog.
Would you like to contribute? Then post a poem (or poems) on your own blog and post a link in the comments section at Anne's Blog O Gnosis.
Blessed Imbolc to you and yours. Here is my offering.
Ode To A Chesnut On The Ground by Pablo Neruda
From bristly foliage you fell complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany, as perfect as a violin newly born of the treetops, that falling offers its sealed-in gifts, the hidden sweetness that grew in secret amid birds and leaves, a model of form, kin to wood and flour, an oval instrument that holds within it intact delight, an edible rose. In the heights you abandoned the sea-urchin burr that parted its spines in the light of the chestnut tree; through that slit you glimpsed the world, birds bursting with syllables, starry dew below, the heads of boys and girls, grasses stirring restlessly, smoke rising, rising. You made your decision, chestnut, and leaped to earth, burnished and ready, firm and smooth as the small breasts of the islands of America. You fell, you struck the ground, but nothing happened, the grass still stirred, the old chestnut sighed with the mouths of a forest of trees, a red leaf of autumn fell, resolutely, the hours marched on across the earth. Because you are only a seed, chestnut tree, autumn, earth, water, heights, silence prepared the germ, the floury density, the maternal eyelids that buried will again open toward the heights the simple majesty of foliage, the dark damp plan of new roots, the ancient but new dimensions of another chestnut tree in the earth.
Update from Anne - Collection of Poems at Delicious.com Yvonne has set up a system: if you post a poem this weekend, go to delicious.com and enter your post url with the tag brighid2010. (Or get a geeky friend to do it for you; it’s not super intuitive.) If you just want to read all the poetry, search for the brighid2010 tag at delicious and all our posts will show up together. Magic!
As we move forward on the wheel of the year, I would like to share this videoabout St. Brigid along with an article I found at Wren's Nest News titled From Goddess to Saint and Back Again. May Brigid's story inspire you to find your own way within the entrenched patriarchy that is still so much a part of our culture(s). Excerpt: (read the whole thing, it's well worth your time)
History and myth are particularly difficult to separate when it comes to figures such as Brigit whose lives straddled the political divide of Celtic and Christian Ireland. According to Mary Condren, director of the Institute for Feminism and Religion at Trinity College Dublin, the cult of Brigit has origins long before the historical figure we associate with the fifth-century saint. “I consider Brigit [the old Irish spelling of Brigid] to be a pre-Celtic goddess as the root of the word Brí is an indigenous European word for female divinity.”
Condren, who is the author of the Serpent and the Goddess: Women, Religion and Power in Celtic Ireland (New Island) is one of a number of academic theologians who have promoted a wider interpretation of Brigit than that which was handed down through Christian churches over the centuries. (1)
“Layers of separate traditions have intersected, making Brigit out to be one of the most contradictory figures in Irish history,”she writes. “But, it could be argued that precisely this complexity has enabled the figure of Brigit to move seemingly so effortlessly through thousands of years.”
...Brigid was already known for her great farming skills and tremendous energy. Coupled with her unwillingness to marry, these talents must have propelled her to seek land to start her monastery in Kildare. The details become a bit sketchy here but myths abound regarding her healing powers, negotiating skills and keen sense of justice.
...there is no doubt that monasteries offered women an alternative to marriage. They also gave these early holy women a place to learn to read and to write. Monasteries were also great centres of craftwork, farming and places of refuge for the poor and the sick,” explains Padraigin Clancy, folklorist and historian.
...in Christian churches in Ireland, there has also been a revival of interest in her as an icon of female spirituality outside of the more institutional (and some would say patriarchal) forms of Christian worship. One such “re-claiming of Brigid” is in SolasBhríde in Kildare where in 1992 a group of Brigidine Sisters founded a small Christian centre for Celtic spirituality and re-lit the sacred fire associated with the monastery Brigid founded in Kildare or Cill Dara, which translates as church of the oak. CáirdeBhríde (Friends of Brigid), an ecumenical community of women and men who promote peace, justice, reconciliation and care of the earth, has developed out of SolasBhríde, and the social justice organisation Action from Ireland (Afri) holds its annual conference in Kildare each year.
Women and the Goddess in Old Ireland:
It is no wonder to me that a talented woman of that time might seek fulfillment in the best way she could. This might lead her to avoid marriage (and the unending childbearing that was a woman's lot in those days) and become a leader within the framework and protection of the church while making her way right under their noses. (It is, after all, what many women still do today in churches, corporations and universities). Nor am I surprised that such a vital, creative and empowered woman might be associated with the stories surrounding the Triple Goddess of the Celts. There is a wealth of inspiration to be found in the Brigit stories and I take what I can from them, whether they come from my own tradition or someone else's. For example, Mary Condron calls Brigid a "soulsmith for the New Millennium". In an article of the same name she writes:
One hundred and thirty women from all traditions and none gathered to explore the spirit of Brigit through music, crafts, poetry,artwork, dance, and reflection: peace workers, community activists, artists, poets, psychotherapists, teachers, full time parents, musicians, and theologians.
Why Brigit? Why does her spirit still inspire today's Irish poets, artists, musicians, and soul seekers? What might the traditions of Brigit have to offer to contemporary women's search?
...Today, we draw on her pre-christian roots, the archaeo-mythology of her sites, her Christian Lives, and the rites to be found even in contemporary folklore, to bring women together in search of new cauldrons to hold, ferment, and nourish our hungry spirits. Against the backdrop of marching bands, violent oppositions, and the patriarchal mythologies...Brigit's spirit is fresh, untainted, and multivalent.
...The old dichotomies collapse under the weight of laughter; the old orthodoxies strain to the sounds of music; the old dogmas sway in the dancing of freed spirits.
The rest of this evocative and (to me) inspiring article can be found at the Institute for Feminism link below, in a PDF file. I would recommend it to anyone who studies Brigit/Brigid and the celts.
Happy Spring,
Sia
This post is for my sister Aeron who loved books, dogs, cats, cars, Brigid, gardening, and wild lands. We lost her eight years ago to breast cancer. She would have been 56 this month. Miss you, girl.
Madam the dog woke me early by pushing her large nose into my arm and making snuffling noises. She likes to wag her huge tail in such a way that it goes "fwap, fwap" against the end table. Fiendishly clever beast; she knows that one push is allowed when all she wants is attention and an early breakfast and that I have the right to roll over and ignore her when I need more sleep but we agree that two or more pushes and those "fwaps" mean "Outside, now!". This morning I got nosed awake at six, so after she did her business I made a cup of my favorite coffee and we strolled out together on to the back deck. The sunrise was fiery and full of birdsong. It's going to be a beautiful day.
I lit a new candle for Brigid and put it into the small chimenea on my table. Together dog and I wandered our property while the cats went their various and slinky ways. Madam kept me company as I watered the lavenders in their pots and filled the bird feeders. She carefully watched as I tossed down shelled peanuts for the Douglas squirrels (taking one or two as her due). I've come to love these tiny russet-bellied squirrels. They are so clever and brave and so very agile but they much smaller than the native grays. We call them Hobbit squirrels.
I took up my basket and Madam and I continued on down to the meadow where I threw down some apples and hazelnuts for the deer and her two does to enjoy during their next visit. (1) Ritual complete, dog and I circled back to our chairs out on the kitchen deck that overlooks the meadow. Madame began work on her newest bone, and I picked up my pen. We spent the next hour together engaged in our tasks, often watching the birds and squirrels enjoy their seed.
Brigid and Imbolc are very dear to me, so I've taken the day off to celebrate in my own way. At lunch, dog and I will meander down to our favorite nursery, the one with a nice variety of native plants and the staff who keep a drawer full of dog cookies for special visitors. Then it's on the wetlands, to look for eagles and the Eurasian Wigeons that have lately appeared. Then tonight I'll cook something special for Himself. Like the holiday itself, our dinner will involve some old favorites passed down through the family, and something new I've been wanting to try.
We could use a cheerful feast. It's been a rough couple of weeks both for my partner and for me because we've both lost valued colleagues to layoffs and a loved one has been ill. Of course, it's much rougher for those going through such changes. We try to be there for them, knowing they would do the same for us. Here we are, only a few weeks into the new year and already there are so many good people losing jobs all over the country. With so much vital energy going in so many different directions, it's a good time to connect with strength, healing, creativity and the many practical abilities embodied by a Goddess like Brigid.
Well, that's it, that's my ritual for Imbolc. Or at least as much of it as I care to share here. It isn't grand or complex, but it is full of gratitude and peace and I have good companions. However you choose to celebrate the turning of the wheel, I hope you find both beauty and good friends.
As I write this some dear friends in the Midwest and Northeastern parts of the United States and many in in Britain are caught up in some of the worst snowstorms they've ever known. (Folks, put out some food for the birds!) Here in the Pacific Northwest we seem to have finished with the worst of winter and now have clear skies and cold, bright sunny days, while friends in California are coping with unusually high temperatures and a looming drought. This network of friends all celebrate Old Imbolc (2) and each of us will honor it differently, depending in the weather, circumstance and our tradition. I suspect that it's always been that way. The day is different for each of us so why should our celebrations be any different? What binds us is much deeper than ritual.
Personally, I don't value any practice set in stone. What touches our hearts, lasts. What is useful to us, what resonates and nourishes, becomes as daily bread. What is not will pass away, as many faiths are finding. While I respect and cherish many of the old ways I use them as a guide not a rule. The older I get, the more I find Pagans who feel the same. In my practice we use the old traditions in order to connect to those who have gone before but we also create our own rituals, meditations and traditions, both for ourselves and our times, as our ancestors most certainly did. My students know that while our ethics stand firm, our rituals and celebrations can be creative, fluid, (and, within reason) eclectic. What matters is the attention and commitment we give to our cycle of days, not what robes we wear. Some of the most powerful experiences I have ever had as a Green Witch are ones in which form joyfully gives way to function. (3) Personally, I find that my own rituals are deepest when they remain simple and speak to time and place. Looked at in this light, this most likely means that Madame and the cats are far better Pagans than I am, since they are so much better at being in the moment. So be it.
These days, I'll do whatever it takes to keep my practice relevant and fruitful, something I need in both good times and bad. Perhaps it means that I need to pay more attention to my spiritual and emotional life. Or perhaps that means more walks with Madam or more time petting cats. Those things certainly clear my heart space.
Friends, family, furry kids, self and (please Goddess) meaningful work. Add, too, in my cherished volunteer work which I do so that the world will be a bit better for my being in it, and, because I love it. This is the community I value and the holy well I tend to every day. This is the service I'm called to. Lucky me.
(1) Assuming of course, that the animals we know as Murry the Possum, Kinky Friedman the Skunk or Mamma Raccoon doesn't get to them first.
(2) Old Imbolc is the time when this Cross Quarter Day in the year occurs, as opposed to the arbitrary date listed on most western calendars. Here is a helpful table of the astronomicaloccurrences for solstice and equinox days as well as the cross quarter days.
(3) Caveat: As long as my intent is clear and I have done the work required to clear my mind and heart beforehand from resentments, shadow issues and petty concerns; garbage in, as they say, garbage out.
In honor of Brigid, Goddess of Poetry and Healing, this year my contribution is a poem written Rabbi Jill Hammer (1).
Festival of Trees
When we went to the clearing to visit the trees, the great trees of the clearing, mother, grandmother, and daughter, sister, and faithful gatekeeper, we blessed them to grow upward, to spread the wealth of earth into the air as a fan scatters a breeze across the face. But when we came to the wise crone, the old dead tree wrapped in vines, escorted by milkweed and tall grass, her we blessed to grow downward to pour her radiance back into the soil so that all would grow from her body. That day in the snow she had the face of an owl, beak and hooded eyes. Her call could not be heard. It was beneath us, under the ground.
Imbolc Poemsby Jill Hammer Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion - Volume 22, Number 1, Spring 2006, pp. 75-82
Hacate mentioned this post and I enjoyed it very much as it sums up so much of the beauty of this Goddess and the women who never forgot her. I left this note at Owl's Daughter's blog, and I'll share it with you, as well:
Today, dog and I go to our favorite park, bags in hand, to walk and clean up any litter we find. This is a small, quiet park, little known and not much cared for except by the people who live here, and the odd tourist, junkie or hooker who leave their trash. They defile it, and we make it sacred again so that others can walk among the trees.
Endnotes:
Jill Hammer, PhD, is an author, educator, midrashist, myth-weaver, and ritualist. She is the director of Tel Shemesh, a website and community celebrating and creating Jewish earth-based traditions, and the co-founder of Kohenet: The Hebrew Priestess Institute.
Folklore and magic provide the foundation for Holly Tannen's music. While her repertoire includes many traditional folk songs from England, Scotland, France, and the United States, Tannen has attracted more attention with her own songs, including "Online Romance," "Song of the Suburban Shaman," and "Lily of the Net," which she claims were written while channeling entities from what she calls the "half-astral plane." Her ability to straddle between the two worlds has transformed her shows into highly spirited experiences. Reviewing one of her performances, The Oakland Tribune called her "a master at taking a small club and turning it into a magical forest." Studying magic since 1980, Tannen was initiated as a princess in 1984. Four years later, she studied folklore at the University of California at Berkeley, writing a master's thesis paper on the ballads of the nomadic travelling people of Scotland. An associate professor of anthropology at the College of the Redwoods in Mendocino from 1989 until 1996, she continued to lecture on contemporary magic at such locales as the University of California in Berkeley and Yale University. In February 2000, Tannen debuted a one-woman show, Practical Alchemy, at the Helen Schoeni Theater in Mendocino, based on the life and writings of French existential poet Arthur Rimbaud.
~ Craig Harris, All Music Guide Goddess & Saint
Brigit Haggerty writes this about The Goddess Brigid and her connection to the Catholic St. Brigid
What we do know of her is mainly through anecdotes and miracle stories, some of which are deeply rooted in Irish folklore. She is said to have been born out of wedlock to a maidservant seduced by a prince, sold into slavery by his jealous wife, and then raised by Druids near Kildare where she later founded a monastery on an ancient pagan site. It was there that a fire, tended by twenty nuns, burned continuously for hundreds of years after her death.
So, who was she really? A figure based on a Celtic goddess which was later adapted by the Roman Catholic Church when Christianity came to Ireland? Or was she the daughter of a pagan prince? While many Roman Catholics are often troubled by the inconsistencies of our spiritual heritage, she is so deeply rooted in our Irish customs and culture that the majority of us find ourselves accepting her existence simply on faith.
So, every year, on the eve of her feast day, I will continue to fashion a cross of straw in her honor, call on her for inspiration when the inevitable writer's block occurs, and, most of all, try to live the legacy she left us - especially that of giving to those in need.
A sweet, funny poem about St. Brigid (posted by Brigit Haggerty's on the site Irish Culture and Customs)
The Giveaway from The Love Letters of Phyllis McGinley
Saint Brigid was A problem child. Although a lass Demure and mild, And one who strove To please her dad, Saint Brigid drove The family mad. For here's the fault in Brigid lay: She WOULD give everything away.
To any soul Whose luck was out She'd give her bowl Of stirabout; She'd give her shawl, Divide her purse With one or all. And what was worse, When she ran out of things to give She'd borrow from a relative.
Her father's gold, Her grandsire's dinner, She'd hand to cold and hungry sinner; Give wine, give meat, No matter whose; Take from her feet The very shoes, And when her shoes had gone to others, Fetch forth her sister's and her mother's.
She could not quit. She had to share; Gave bit by bit The silverware, The barnyard geese, The parlor rug, Her little niece's christening mug, Even her bed to those in want, And then the mattress of her aunt.
An easy touch For poor and lowly, She gave so much And grew so holy That when she died Of years and fame, The countryside Put on her name, And still the Isles of Erin fidget With generous girls named Bride or Brigid.
Well, one must love her. Nonetheless, In thinking of her Givingness, There's no denial She must have been A sort of trial Unto her kin. The moral, too, seems rather quaint. WHO had the patience of a saint, From evidence presented here? Saint Brigid? Or her near and dear?
Imbolc celebrations began in our home at sunset on Feb. 1st and resumed again at dawn the next morning. We use fire, seeds, bread, (1) milk, and meditation to celebrate Brigid.This is only the beginning. In our home Imbolc begins on Feb 2 and lasts through the 9th. The actual astronomical midpoint in the year (the cross quarter day) is on Saturday, February 4th.
I don't plant seeds outside for this holiday. That would be silly with winter frosts still on the way. (1) Instead I make sure to keep our seven bird feeders full, as the cold nights can be cruel and the beasties need food to survive. We provide various kinds of seeds for the different species of birds on our property. I also put out a peanut feeder for the squirrels. I love our squirrels, the bloody little thieves. My favorite coffee mug has a picture of a squirrel dressed in a beak mask and blue wings holding a sign that says "Feed the Birds"
Much of the focus of my ritual this year was on Brigid as Healer because my partner was due to go in for surgery that week. He is home now, and doing fine.
Much of my free time is spent reading the thoughts of others about this holiday and keeping my own green journal, as well.A good deal of my "hearth time" this time of year is spent in cleaning and organizing (even more so now that we're moving). I like to clear out the weeds in my garden (both real and metaphorical) and fertilize where needed (in the real world and elsewhere). I look forward to sending a receiving email notes filled with blessings, good wishes, pictures and poetry. Most of these come to me from female friends who, like me, hold Brigid dear.
I took special pleasure this year in reading the Imbolc posting by Jason, a delightful Greenman (and a snazzy writer) who composes the Wildhunt Blog. His section on Brigid (2/1/06) was both lovely and informative.Anne Hill included some wonderful poems by Elien Bass and William Matthews on her blog this year. I sent a note about these to Rowan Fairgrove who, it turns out, has taken her poetry classes out in Santa Cruz. Rowan in turn kindly sent me the link to Ellen's website so I could check out her workshops, and she included a news update on celebrations at Brigid's Well in Ireland.
Some Imbolc sites inspire me. Others make me laugh. Years ago I found an essay on Imbolc that made me groan and giggle. I've since filed it under "Stupid Pagan Tricks." Every now and then I pull it out and give it to good hearted urban types with fantasies about the outdoors.
One year, our Priestess decided/divined that Candlemas/Imbolc was the proper time to Initiate our Dedicants. She also decided/channeled the information from our Guides that the influenza tradition had arisen because we weren't in harmony with nature. Therefore, those desiring Initiation would have to do an all-night Vision Quest outside, and a Sweat Lodge at dawn. Mind you, this was during February in the Northeast....
So much of what our ancestors did comes down to the dread of winter and the hope of spring, to seeds and farming and the migration of herds. Tens of thousands of years ago they knew the sea lanes and could track the flights of birds and follow the movements of whales and stars to new lands. Some followed the sea, some followed the deer and the caribou. Those who stayed on land knew how to find water, how to make beer or cheese, and how to help early the lambs be born. They valued woodland and weather lore, coupled their sky watching with common sense and brought their people up from mere survival into abundance, and made our poetry possible.
Such wisdom is worth honoring for it's own sake, as anyone who has ever tried to brew beer, bake bread, make tools or heal the sick can tell us. Is it any wonder then that Her gifts are so very practical? Those of us who watch the natural world take nothing for granted for we know that everything changes. Brigid teaches us the miracle in everyday things, and how to hold beauty in our hearts.
Blessed Imbolc,
Sia
Endnotes:
(1) Gardeners know better than to put seeds in the ground before the winter frosts are done. Most Pagan gardeners plant seeds in greenhouses and seed trays, and transplant these in March. Imbolc is when we order all those seed and gardening catalogs and begin to dream...
(2) I find it baffling that so many people who practice an earthwise spiritual tradition related to the seasons will plan their celebration around a date on their glossy paper calendar and ignore what father sun and mother earth are actually doing. Beltane is a good example of this. Many Pagans have no idea of the history of the calendar changes by the Romans and the Catholic Church, so they don't realize that the astronomical date for Beltane is closer to the 5th, and that certain calendar changes in the Middle Ages cost our ancestors 11 days, which meant that Old Beltane celebrations would have occurred in the middle of an ancient May, when the weather was much warmer. (This is actually the time when you'll see flowers blooming en mass in England and Northern Europe and when there is far less chance of freezing as we frolic in the wo-ods).
I once received an invitation to a full moon ritual from a Wiccan Coven nearby. It was set to occur on a Saturday. The moon had turned full the Wednesday before and was waning on the night in question. Ironically, the ritual was dedicated to abundance and prosperity. When I asked them about this, they said they were too busy to gather that Wednesday. They were nice people, too, just not real clear on the concept. I politely declined the invitation and wished them well. I'm sure the moon mistress who so loves woods and wild things blessed their endeavors as She thought best :-)
Note 1/09 This was written when we still lived in California. Things are a bit different here in Oregon, and I'm building a new, native habitat and learning new plants - Sia
Can you feel it?
I notice the changes in the neighborhood every day now when I walk our dog. The birds are singing (my Rhododendron sounds like a wildly popular cabaret) and everywhere we go the trees are in full bud. New leaves are coming out on the rose bushes, the bulbs in the ground are about to pop with daffodils, tulips, and Jonquils (1) and the weeds have overrun my garden.
Drat those weeds.
Since the sun came out, I see my neighbors again. They are all outside trimming and mowing and planting and generally running amok in their haste to put in some flower beds, and get some color back into their world. It's time to clear out my own bed of weeds before it's too late and we become a scandal and a hissing.
February 9th marks the Lunar New Year in 2005. The frosts are usually over by then and so this is when I traditionally plant my seeds, put out something x-tra special for the birds, and celebrate my own version of Imbolc, which involves learning from the past and looking towards the future. (2)
I plant a wild garden, using mostly native shrubs, herbs, and Mediterranean plants. It tends to look more free form than most other gardens, especially this time of year, but I know what I've put there, and what it will look like soon, so I can afford to wait, knowing that color and scent and great beauty will soon be mine again, along with butterflies, and bees and birds and the lower water bill that is my reward for planting draught tolerant species. All this wonder will soon be mine, if I can just get those rotten weeds out of the way.
Ah....metaphor. Ain't it grand?
There is a sweeter feel to the air, just now, a tingle and a tang, a sensual vitality. Can you feel it? The energy? It makes me think of a great artist standing backstage, warming up for Her big aria.
It's still a bit brisk and chilly out where we are, especially at night, and the stars sparkle and dance in their turning, making a splendid spiral for those willing to leave their TV sets long enough to go out and take a look. It's a sacred time, a time betwixt and between, a time of immense possibility. Gods, I so love this time of year.
Don’t let it fool you, though. There’s more harsh weather to come. Even so, it’s a good time to plant the hardy varieties, clean closets, and take a walk outside, and it’s an ever better time to rest and relax in front of the fire with a good book or a loved one. There’s nothing dark about this time of year, really. If you only look around you’ll see the life coming up and about to spring out all around you. If you have the courage to look inside, as well as outside this season you’ll see the promise this Path holds for a truly authentic life. This is our birthright. Along with that right comes the call for self creation and renewal. This is our our greatest challenge.
Blessings of the season to you and yours,
Sia
(1) Jonquil - isn't that a lovely word? It sounds like the name of a medieval dance or a rare Amazonian bird.
(2) My celebration of Imbolc is done as my personal New Year. It has four main features to honor the four directions: Gratitude, Cleansing, Planting (and/or Planning, if you prefer) and Giving (In my case, most often, to the birds, animals and wild spirits in my home and garden, but also to others in need). I generally foster some kittens this time of year, and donate items to a domestic violence shelter , a homeless shelter, or our local thrift store for charity. This year, many of my metaphysical items are going to the Pagan Garage Sale.
This day also involves the use of three colors for meditation and inspiration: the White of milk and stars for wholeness and balance, the Yellow of sunlight and flowers for inspiration and joy and Green of Gaia and for growth and renewal. The Goddess I most invoke at this time is Bridgid, along with two other deities who protect our house and hearth. My friend Reed uses a blended Pantheon of both male and female deities. Others I know work with the spirits of the land or use no pantheon at all or work with Christian, Jewish or Buddhist avatars - it is best if you find your own way.
This is also a time for us to use fire, candles, and water in our rituals and we honor the Green Man (also known as the Horned God) who strides the land in his role as protector, death God and progenitor.
