Pagan Godspell

And in among the darkness of mourning and loss we feel at the passing of these great women the last few days, the seed of glory in spring makes our hearts laugh, and allows us the first stirrings of healing, the mantle of blessing laid over us by the Lady of Healing Herself.

I wish you all Brightest Blessings this glorious Imbolc/Oimelc/Candlemas Day!  Last night we here in the not-so-wild midwest received a dusting of light, clean snow that just covered the world – and with the cracking of dawn was taken up by the Wind and thrown through the freezing sunshine, filling the air with its rich glitter.  I am reminded of a teacher of mine, who once asked me, “If you cannot see the sparkle on the snow, how do you expect to see into Faery?”  What an excellent question.

A time for lighting beeswax candles after dark, and welcoming the Blessed Lady into the home.  Queen of Flame and Verse!  Much honor and praise to Brigid on this Her Feast Day.

May Brigid bless the house wherein you dwell
Bless every fireside, every wall and door
Bless every heart that beats beneath its roof
Bless every hand that toils to bring it joy
Bless every foot that walks its portals through
May Brigid bless the house that shelters you.
-traditional

I’m pleased to participate in the Second Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Poetry Reading in honor of this gorgeous holiday, by sharing once again some poetry that makes me shiver:

Snowdrops
by Louise Gluck

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring–

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.

———-

Dawn
by William Carlos Williams

Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky
with metallic clinkings–
beating color up into it
at a far edge,–beating it, beating it
with rising, triumphant ardor,–
stirring it into warmth,
quickening in it a spreading change,–
bursting wildly against it as
dividing the horizon, a heavy sun
lifts himself–is lifted–
bit by bit above the edge
of things,–runs free at last
out into the open–!lumbering
glorified in full release upward–
songs cease.

———-

Oh, you didn’t think I’d go without something by Mary Oliver, did you?  I hope not:

Snow Geese
by Mary Oliver

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask
of anything, or anyone,
yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.
One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was
a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun
so they were, in part at least, golden. I
held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us
as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,
but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.
The geese
flew on,
I have never seen them again.
Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won’t.
It doesn’t matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

———-

An Imbolc Prayer
(me)

The birds are drunk on brilliant Hush – O Mother!
This is the sound my heart was made for.
The riot of grass beneath the snow,
the laughter deep inside the Secret.
Let my tongue be heavy with honey.
Sing the song within the shining of my dreaming!
New breath, new prayer, new light.
The serpent stem unlatches from the seed,
a candle lit in the core of silence,
burning clean in the advent of blessing.
May the year be heavy with fruit,
may our houses be shot through with grace,
may the bread be warm and risen,
may our hands be the gifts we bring to the world.
In the fire pouring from the frozen stars,
I pray.

May it be so.