Blessed Imbolc
Feb. 2nd, 2007 09:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chelidonDue to over half of the house being down with a respiratory flu bug (myself not among them, knock on wood), we'll be celebrating more properly tomorrow (executive decision -- homemade vanilla-maple-white chocolate malts absolutely count as "white food"), but in the meantime...a blessed Imbolc to you all!
It's been a hell of a ride the last couple of months, and I do not know if I have ever been as thankful for the surge of bright warmth and energy that comes at this time of year, or the week of dedication to Lugh that comes during the week just before and after this day.
I have much to be thankful to Brigid for. Last year at this time we had just scheduled the biopsy that 2 short weeks later revealed the cancer in my beloved wife and partner. A year later, after surgery and radiation and recovery, all indications are that we got it in time, and we got all of it. Nothing is certain, but for being where we are right now, instead of where we could be, I am grateful to Brigid of the healing waters, who has spread her mantle around us and held us safely in her arms.
I remember walking up to one of the lesser-known Brigid's wells in the west country of Ireland, into the dark candle-lit place where the waters were taken, crowded with human things, portaits and icons, candles and offerings, and, unsatisfied, following my heart up into the untracked woods, wandering entranced until I found the bubbling source of the spring from which the sacred waters issued from the earth. There She gave me a stone, old, dark and worn, which I still count among my treasures. The only time I have let it pass from me was to gift it to a friend who was dying of pancreatic cancer, to charge the water he drank daily. He lasted several times longer than they had told him he would live, but in the end returned home to die with his friends and family, on the land he had loved and nurtured. Doing a final ritual for him, with loves, friends and fellow priestesses, as he lay emaciated as a mummy, mind and soul waiting to be freed, but body still clinging tenaciously to the last thin remnants of life, morphine dripping slowly to ease the pain of starvation and dehydration, we held him, sang, gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svata, laughed and cried and unbound the cord of his life to let him go in peace. And after the ritual was complete, the soon-to-be widow of my friend gave me the stone I had received from Brigid, and I walked outside, looked up, and saw the hawk gliding lazily on the thermals, circling above, once, twice, three times, and then off to the west. And She reminded me then, as she does now, that death is a form of healing, too.
But this Imbolc, this blessed Brigid's day, I give thanks for the fires of life, for light and laughter and each and every day which is a gift beyond measure, never to come again. I look ahead into the possible future with hope, and I look behind with gratitude for every single blessed moment, with no regrets.
I'll close with traditional verse, and wish you all a blessed Imbolc, for life, light, and laughter around you (and if you prefer to be molested by serpents, feel free to read the following as purely metaphorical ;>). The earth warms, even under the white mantle of snow and ice, and the sap begins to rise in the trees, up from the roots and into the broad tall trunks, in anticipation of the Springtime to come.
Early on Bride's morn
The serpent shall come from the hole
I will not molest the serpent
Nor will the serpent molest me.
--Trad. saying
It's been a hell of a ride the last couple of months, and I do not know if I have ever been as thankful for the surge of bright warmth and energy that comes at this time of year, or the week of dedication to Lugh that comes during the week just before and after this day.
I have much to be thankful to Brigid for. Last year at this time we had just scheduled the biopsy that 2 short weeks later revealed the cancer in my beloved wife and partner. A year later, after surgery and radiation and recovery, all indications are that we got it in time, and we got all of it. Nothing is certain, but for being where we are right now, instead of where we could be, I am grateful to Brigid of the healing waters, who has spread her mantle around us and held us safely in her arms.
I remember walking up to one of the lesser-known Brigid's wells in the west country of Ireland, into the dark candle-lit place where the waters were taken, crowded with human things, portaits and icons, candles and offerings, and, unsatisfied, following my heart up into the untracked woods, wandering entranced until I found the bubbling source of the spring from which the sacred waters issued from the earth. There She gave me a stone, old, dark and worn, which I still count among my treasures. The only time I have let it pass from me was to gift it to a friend who was dying of pancreatic cancer, to charge the water he drank daily. He lasted several times longer than they had told him he would live, but in the end returned home to die with his friends and family, on the land he had loved and nurtured. Doing a final ritual for him, with loves, friends and fellow priestesses, as he lay emaciated as a mummy, mind and soul waiting to be freed, but body still clinging tenaciously to the last thin remnants of life, morphine dripping slowly to ease the pain of starvation and dehydration, we held him, sang, gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svata, laughed and cried and unbound the cord of his life to let him go in peace. And after the ritual was complete, the soon-to-be widow of my friend gave me the stone I had received from Brigid, and I walked outside, looked up, and saw the hawk gliding lazily on the thermals, circling above, once, twice, three times, and then off to the west. And She reminded me then, as she does now, that death is a form of healing, too.
But this Imbolc, this blessed Brigid's day, I give thanks for the fires of life, for light and laughter and each and every day which is a gift beyond measure, never to come again. I look ahead into the possible future with hope, and I look behind with gratitude for every single blessed moment, with no regrets.
I'll close with traditional verse, and wish you all a blessed Imbolc, for life, light, and laughter around you (and if you prefer to be molested by serpents, feel free to read the following as purely metaphorical ;>). The earth warms, even under the white mantle of snow and ice, and the sap begins to rise in the trees, up from the roots and into the broad tall trunks, in anticipation of the Springtime to come.
Early on Bride's morn
The serpent shall come from the hole
I will not molest the serpent
Nor will the serpent molest me.
--Trad. saying
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Blessed Imbolc.....
Date: 2007-02-03 05:06 am (UTC)I have to tell you, I read this post with my jaw on the floor - does anyone there knit/sew/quilt/crochet? If so, please let me know ( silverdolffyn @ yahoo.com ) I've something to share involving Brighid and healing that they might be interested in!
Thanks and SO many blessings!
Re: Blessed Imbolc.....
Date: 2007-02-13 11:35 pm (UTC)I have been so very glad to hear about your own healing progress, and may it continue onward and upward with ease! I have found that there truly is nothing like health issues to make you appreciate, well, everything!
no subject
Date: 2007-02-03 09:13 am (UTC)blessed imbolc to you also.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-03 09:15 am (UTC)I don't think the serpent's going to get molested today (or do any molesting) - we're off to see the best snowdrops in the country at the biggest christian pilgrimage centre in England, the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, with her holy well....
Spring blessings.
We have heard the song of the quickening year
And the morning's invitation
In the belly of the Green Maid something stirs
In bright anticipation.
Bring through the wakening seed!
Bring through the wakening seed!
We dance a rite to the old Bride well
And around the twisted hazel.
- Carolyn Hillyer, Spring Blessing