I'm always glad when the Feast of Brigit rolls around, never less than this year, when I'm dealing with some serious healing issues in my family. Deirdre is melting in Brigit's forge, being hammered on Her anvil, shaped into something new and glorious. I am calling for Brigit's healing balm, carrying Her waters to those who have need of their healing. But basically I don't feel very creative. So in answer to the request for Brigit poetry, I offer this piece created by Diane Darling and me for a goddess masks ritual I created at New College of California back in 2000. The accompanying photo shows Lauren Raine's gorgeous mask of Brigit, worn by Diane, and photographed by Tom Lux.
I am Brigid, Lady of the Celts,Tonight I'm going to renew my connection with Brigit in community. I will thank Her for all She's given me, renew my pledge to Her, and relight a candle with Her flame. Here are the words with which I'll seal the spell.
Creatrix of the Island of Ireland,
Midwife to new life in Spring.
You may know I am here
when the snowdrop flowers
When the lambing begins,
and the calving and foaling,
When the babes conceived on Beltane are born.
I am Lady of the flame,
Mistress of changes,
without and within.
I shape the bright metals:
gold and silver, spirit.
I shape the bright hearts of the lover,
Feel My hand on yours as you craft your lives,
Shape your loves,
build your great works,
grow into your true self.
I am Lady of the Well,
the deep well
That reaches into the darkness
and rises to the light,
The spills the waters of wisdom
for all who care to drink.
I am the great fount of Inspiration
for poet and bard.
The harp sings in My voice,
and the pipes and drums
My song is sung in all the lands,
by bird and bard and babe.
You may come to Me for healing,
be it of beast or human;
For beginning new life,
for insight, for love,
Or just to shelter within My cloak
from life’s tempests and sorrows.
Call Me by My many names:
I am with you,
children of the children of the children of
The Lost Isles,
the Western Shores,
children of Turtle Island.
I have not forgotten you,
far flung though you may be.
Remember Me also, My beloved ones,
when the poet sings,
When the cow rises from the calving
and the fever leaves the brow.
What we have received tonight has been held in our keeping.
What passes now flows out of our hands and into the Earth,
Trusting in time and right season,
Let us go on.