And She Will Always Carry On. Something Is Lost, But Something Is Found. They Will Keep On Speaking Her Name.
This weekend, G/Son and I went to a new nature center and marveled at snakes climbing gracefully down trees and a v large, v lovely owl, recuperating in a wonderful space. And, there I am, in the middle of the small wood in McMansionsville, surrounded by parents and G/Parents trying to find something to do w their kids in deep winter, suddenly accompanied by animals sacred to the Goddesss. Wherever you go, there she is, and it's all real, it's all metaphor, there's always more. The owl's daughter, Beth, has up a lovely post about Imbolc, tomorrow, when we worship the Goddess Brigid, patroness of smithwork, birth, and poetry.
For millennia at Her temple at Kildare (or Cill Dara, which means Church of the Oak), Her priestesses, and later, the nuns of Her order, tended an eternal flame in Her honor. Although it was extinguished during the Burning Times (the Inquisition), in 1993, Sister Mary Minehan boldly re-lit St. Brigid's flame in Kildare. It was lit again in 1997, in the Kildaire town square by Ragny Skaisten, a member of the Norwegian Brigidine Sisters, at the opening of Her feast day, Feile Bhride.
Since then, despite reluctance from the Pope, each year on Brigid’s Feast Day, the Brigidine Sisters in Kildare have lit the flame in the town square for the day.
Tomorrow, in the magical space between one snow storm and another, my circle of women will gather and do magic in Brigid's honor. And, tomorrow, all over Paganii Blogistan, Brigid will be honored w poetry. What a lovely way to welcome Spring. As my v creative circle-sister K said to me, as we made last minute adjustments to our ritual, "Whatever else, we'll turn the wheel." A witch's job is to turn the wheel, and round and round the wheel does turn.
May your life be touched by transformation, growing strength of will, poetry, fire.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."