Brigit, red-gold woman,
Brigit, flame and honeycomb,
Brigit, sun of womanhood,
Brigit, lead me home.
You are a branch in blossom.
You are a sheltering dome.
You are my bright blessed freedom.
Brigit, lead me home.
— Patricia Monaghan
On January 31st, Brigid’s Eve, I was feeling quite cranky midday. I was in “tech hell” with Mercury Retrograde kicking my behind. I had connectivity issues even after installing a new wireless router, the desktop computer kept crashing and needed to be defragged, my laptop was full and needed files to be deleted — all this while I was on an intense learning curve for the new version of iMovie. I was deep into editing and post-production on the video I shot last week for my first online art workshop on creating a Brigid Prayer Painting. I intended to deliver the workshop next Thursday, and it was going to be tight. To have all these tech problems on top of the work itself was disheartening to say the least.
I had planned to go to town for the community Imbolc ritual in the evening, but realized around noon that I couldn’t go. I was exhausted and needed to keep plugging away at the video editing and solving the tech issues. So (trying very hard not to feel sorry for myself and failing miserably) I decided that my service to Brigid this year would be facilitating soulful experiences for those taking my classes (30 Days of Brigid and Lady of the Radiant Flame), and that would have to be enough. My own well was just not going to get filled up this Imbolc.
But I took time to set up my Imbolc / Brigid altar, and that gave me some peace and comfort. Then Craig mentioned that he had run into an old drummer friend and had invited him and his partner over to play some tunes later that evening. I sighed. I would have to be a hostess and not even do private ritual.
And then the magic happened.
As I wrote on my Instagram feed: “Brigid’s Eve brought unexpected bards to my home, bearing cedar flutes, guitars, and sweet silver voices. They brought me a gift of a tiny dish of handmade pottery and green glass, not knowing it was Brigid’s holy night. I poured a wee bit of water into it, and now it sits on the altar as the well, adding holy water to sacred fire.”
The music was sweet, the company sweeter still, and they were touched to see their gift take a place of honor on my altar.
I felt — and still feel — as though Brigid (protector of bards) was grinning a big grin. She gifted me with an evening of sweet music that did indeed fill my well. I was blessed beyond measure. I still glow every time I think of Her kindness and Her grace.