Today (February 4) is Imbolc, the midpoint between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. It is the first day of Spring. Our culture says Spring begins on the Spring Equinox, but traditionally, the equinoxes and solstices mark the midpoints of each season.* Modern supplicants bring Brigid on the wind a few days early, as the Gregorian calendar celebrates Imbolc on February 1. Our ancient families, however, saw Imbolc in on the sunset before the astronomical cross quarter day—for us, the evening of February 3, 2020.

My dreams have taught me that Imbolc is also a portal to Samhain, around Halloween. The cross quarter days are queer; they go both ways. This is reflected in the architecture of my ancestors. Stone mounds constructed to align with Imbolc also align with Samhain, such as the mound of Hostages at the Hill of Tara.

Mound of Hostages, Hill of Tara | image unattributed

Imbolc is Brigid’s time of year. If I lived along side sheep, I’d know it’s the start of lambing season. But I don’t. I don’t live by a river, and I’m not weaving reeds. Blackthorn isn’t blooming outside my window. I can’t think of any holy wells nearby to visit.** But I do have A Little More Energy. I can see spring green resume its place on earth’s palette. Sorrel blooms and daffodils fluoresce in competitive yellows.

What Imbolc traditions are portable after the diaspora? Which fit with our current occupied land and circumstances? What activities feel natural, rather than performative or contrived? Our unique context requires innovation. Today, I planned to wear white, but it was too cold for my JLo jumpsuit (the only white I own). I settled on light pink snakeskin. I put a white scarf out overnight on for Brigid to bless, which I am wearing for good health. I have been attentive to my dreams during this divination season. I’m doing the usual spring cleaning, in home and in spirit. I brought my piano up from the basement and took out my pastels. I printed out a favorite picture of Brigid, and lit candles at my altar.

Who is Brigid anyway? I have been reluctant to befriend old gods because human relationships are complex enough. But with Brigid, I don’t sense any strings attached. I don’t know her well yet, except in the way that you recognize a long lost friend when you meet them. She knows me the way a mother knows her child. The rest is catching up on surface details and outer layers of personal history.

Brigid has seen it all, but maintains a purity that lets us be new under her gaze. Our relationship with her is unburdened by life’s curveballs that make us go haywire. You can see her in the earth. Tender shoots offset deep black loam. The earth glows despite it all. Innocence is so fundamental that not even optimism occurs to it.

The Coming of Bride by Scottish Symbolist John Duncan

Brigid governs the rapid cell division of new life, so catalyzes art and inspiration. Poets adore the goddess Brigid.*** The fire of new life can escalate quickly, so it’s best to stay small as a seed and let nature have its revelations through our good boundaries and grounded attention to matters within. The rapid changes of Spring are likely to bring explosions for those who do not work deliberately with the fire we are given. Brigid is also a smith.

This year especially, I feel reborn. So much has naturally concluded, and I have consciously recognized and released these ends to prevent the false continuity of fate. I am starting from scratch with the fundamentals of the body. I have been having some pretty basic revelations (I have legs!). All of this makes sense in tandem with the beginning of a new 60-year cycle in the Chinese almanac. Spring times a hundred, if you like redundancy + hyperbole. Like, you can really make some structural changes right now. Whether through conscious choice or through life’s imperative, rebirth is in. And Spring is a pep-talk, so there’s no better time to do the hard work of being born. Not that you have much choice.

Pretty much everyone wanted to host Brigid on her big day. In the North of Ireland, where my Lacey and Duffy ancestors come from, a family member representing Brigid would walk around the house sun-wise three times holding a bundle of rushes. On the third pass, they would knock and be let in to have a special feast in Brigid’s honor. They’d leave a place for Brigid with offerings of food. Then the family would weave crosses to protect them throughout the year.

All over Ireland and Scotland, girls and young women would parade an effigy of Brigid around town. They wore white and left their hair unbound to express the purity of youth. They made the doll from reeds clothed in strips of fabric, shells, and flowers. In the Scottish Hebrides, a bright shell or crystal called the reul-iuil Bríde (guiding star of Brigid) was set on its chest. (Brigid is guided by her heart.) The girls visited every house in town, where they received offerings of food or decoration for the doll. Afterwards, they brought her home, where she had the place of honor at the Imbolc feast. Finally, they put the little Brigid to bed with lullabies.****

Even Groundhog Day comes from the weather divination of Imbolc! It’s amusing to imagine my ancestors stalking the winter dens of snakes and badgers to see if they ventured out. A Scottish Gaelic tradition says that if the weather is good on Imbolc, the Cailleach (the hag of winter) is out gathering firewood to make winter last longer. So, people generally hoped for “foul weather” on Imbolc because that meant the Cailleach was asleep, and winter would soon be over.

All of this is to say, Imbolc is a big deal. My excitement at this time of year is not just the stirring of Spring, but ritual memory. There’s a fine line between nostalgia and continuity. It is true that much has been lost, but the same loss requires us to come together to remember. Remembering is sad and wildly uncreative if that’s all we aim for. We are equipped to make something new from what is known. It’s not idealism or grasping for the silver lining; it’s maximizing our circumstances. It’s the practicality of our ancestors, and of nature itself. Our blood and our dreams cannot be broken. They are continuous traditions that we can call upon to move forward in ritual innocence.

Last night, just as the sun went down, I was watching tv with my kids when a glowing orb approached me from the East. I thought it must have been my son’s curly red hair coming into my field of vision, but no, he was on my lap. That’s when I realized that all of this is real. It’s not just words on a page, not theory or history, but living, breathing lore. I felt Brigid visit at her appointed time, sunset on February 3. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t set her a place at the table. I felt her like the first rays of sun after a long winter, her warmth pouring into my bones.

____
*When the sun is highest in the sky, we’re in the height of summer, not at the start of summer. That is why the Swedes call it Midsommar. The shortest day is the middle of winter, not the start of winter. Etc. Imbolc is the beginning of Spring. Spring Equinox is mid-Spring. Beltane (May Day) is the start of Summer, and Summer Solstice is mid-summer. Lughnasadh is the beginning of Autumn, and Autumn Equinox is mid-autumn. Samhain (Halloween) is the beginning of Winter, and the Winter Solstice is mid-winter.

**People tie scraps of fabric called clooties to trees at holy wells, and leave coins in the well as traditional offerings. Milk, porridge, and portable folk foods are also used as offerings to the land and water.

***translation of a quote from Cormac’s Glossary, written by Christian monks in the 10th century

****This is not a scholarly work. I got so much of the lore from Wikipedia.