She also rules hearth and home

I dream of the bones, risen ghosts
Flitting fitful from longer poems,
And wake to a more concrete set
Of tasks, still given by Her.
The heart-deep fires She commands
Are also hearth-warmers, and do not
Light themselves.  So, to, inspiration
Leads to a stropped blade, then the sting
Of onions chopped to sizzle, and lay
The ground for alchemy of oil and spice,
Meat and sauce. Her candle burns in the glass,
Casting a blessing glow on the pot
Bubbling slow, transforming, as water
Soap and scrubbing set right the aftermath.
Now only to wait, stir and taste, and let
The spell of sustenance unfold in time.

  • 1/22/17

Simple Devotions

As a follow-up to my prior post, I had some thoughts about simple solo devotions.  Most of my practice is solitary, so I’ve come up with a few over the years.

Example 1:  Fionn MacCumhaill is (amongst other things) patron Power for divination.  So when I’m working with Tarot or shagai bones (my two major divination modalities), I call on Him as part of it.  Specifically, I put my thumb in my mouth and bite down hard enough to cause pain, in honor of the way Fionn gained knowledge from the Salmon of Wisdom.

Example 2:  Last night I celebrated Imbolc (yes, I do it on Groundhog Day- there are reasons).  First, I cleaned all of Brigid‘s shrines (surprise!  I have several!).  Then I cleaned myself up and put on some jewelry dedicated to Her.  Then I lit candles and made whiskey offerings at all of Her shrines, reciting several prayers and singing some songs.  I ended up the evening reciting a story which is sacred to Her in front of Her image.

I also started a batch of short mead dedicated to Her, but that wasn’t a simple process. 😉

Poem for a friend

Sometimes Brigid has me write poems for specific purposes, or for specific people.  This is one of the latter cases; a good friend who is also one of Her children is going through some rough health issues, and found out that there is a deeper level of work going on…

Hammer and Anvil

Lady, never let me forget that
Your flame is not solely set in the
Heads of poets, or lies within the coals
Wakened from last night’s smooring to
Joy on the hearth.  It also dwells in
Your forge- trying our metal, forcing it
To glow red to yellow to white to
Be seized and beaten, spark-showering
On Your anvil.  As You hammer, I only ask:
Make pure my steel,
Make true my blade,
Make keen my edge,
And grant me, in Your mercy,
Quenching in Your well.

Poem: Note for the journey

Note for the journey

When you are drawn down that hungry well,
That tunnel, bored through cruel stone,
And your eyes, straining through the blindfold dark,
Desperate for the least glimmer or phantasm,
Catch a firelight-flicker on the edge of sight,
Only to realize it sparks and glows, relentless
From the eternal flame that heats change’s cauldron-
Remember that the skeleton of the flower
Shall be fleshed out in petals of heart-flame,
And you shall rise from the furnace, purified,
Alchemized into the truest gold.

05/27/2007

Guest post: Prayer to Brigid for Peace in These Times

By Tirani Realta, a fellow child of Brigid:

Prayer to Brigid for Peace in These Times

Oh Holy Brigid, hear my prayer,
Oh Exalted One, hear my prayer,

Mother of the Hearth-fire, hear my prayer,
lay Your hand up those who fear for their lives,
and fear others different from them,
and those that fear retribution,
and bring the peace of Your gentle flame to them, so that their hearts and eyes may open.

Master of the Forge of Creation, hear my prayer,
lay Your hand upon those who work for justice,
and those that fight for peace and equality,
and those who stand watch over them upholding their oath,
and lend Your mighty strength to them, so they may do their work well and with honor.

Keeper of the Flame of Inspiration, hear my prayer,
lay Your hand upon those who turn away,
and those who cannot find a way to help,
and those who struggle to bring our feuding kith together,
and bless them with Your creative ways, that they may find the path to peace and equality.

Mistress of the Healing Well, hear my prayer,
lay Your hand upon those who mourn their beloved dead,
and those who are wounded in heart and soul by the division of our kith,
and who have been injured in body and mind by the struggle for equality,
and pour out Your healing waters on them, that their sorrow be gentle and healing begin.

First to Mourn, Keener of the Dead, hear my prayer,
lament the fallen who have died only because of the color of their skin,
and lament the fallen who have died only for the oath they swore to protect and serve,
and lament the fallen who have died protesting injustice and opening eyes to inequality,
Cry out their names through all the worlds, that the fallen may be honored by Your Voice.

Oh Holy Brigid, lay Your green mantle over our nation,
that we may come together in peace, and healing, and love,
and that we may number our injustices and find ways to mend them,
and that we may walk together as one people into a brighter future.

Oh Flaming Arrow, hear my prayer,
Oh Shining One, hear my prayer,
Great Mother Brigid, hear my prayer,
Amen.

(click on Tirani’s name above or here for her FB post containing the poem and note)

Many or One

Many or One

Her hand turns, the wheel (Her cross) spins,
And Mystery revolves into view.  Many Faces
Of one Power?  Many Voices in one Choir?
I do not, cannot know.  All I can say is:
Each Name- Healer, Warrior, Muse, Midwife,
Smith, Hearthkeeper; Exalted and Keening,
Flame and Well, on and on into mist and flicker-
Is unique, yet each is also Brigid.  No
Choice of mine which way the chance falls,
But Hers to decide; the road of approach,
The easy and the hard paths all are
Hers in this; and if after I pass from Time
To Her embrace I am indulged by Her and
She chooses to whisper the riddle’s
Answer to me, that’s enough- I will wait.

The Earth Shapers

Last night, I celebrated Imbolc in my usual fashion- lighting candles and and praying at my various Brigid shrines, offering Her whiskey, praying and praising, and (last but not least) starting this year’s batch of Brigid’s Mead.  Meanwhile, Monster Alice (not a devotee but sympathetic) was busily cooking while listening to Irish music… it seemed appropriate.

One of the devotionals I do is to read a story by Ella Young, called The Earth Shapers.  It’s a lovely piece- a Pagan creation myth for Eire.  Towards the beginning, Brigid says:  “I am going to put my mantle round the Earth because it has dreamed of beauty.”  This story resonates so strongly with me that I have a hard time reading it aloud…

Happy and blessed Imbolc!

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