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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in Imbolc

Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs
A Personal History of Imbolc

To this awakening goddess, celebrating holidays has more to do with personal history than traditional roots.  Imbolc, the modern Pagan celebration of an ancient Gaelic festival, means so much more to me now than it did when I first started studying Wicca and Paganism thirteen years ago.

Thirteen years ago, I found a home in Paganism at my very first public ritual, which was a celebration of Imbolc conducted by popular Pagan writer Ann Moura and her Ladies Tea Circle.  I entered my first circle at that festival, and won a raffle for the first time in my life – an amethyst earring and pendant set and an hour-long session with a psychic who would become my mentor on my path to developing my own metaphysical interests and abilities.

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

Brigidb2ap3_thumbnail_January-2015-120.JPG
of the Sacred Oak.
Brigid
of the Sacred Flame.

Sacred smith
shape our lives
in the cauldron of destiny.

Ignite our creativity
forge our passions.

Spill forth
in the language of poetry
falling leaves
and hot metal.

Brigid
Sacred Guardian
Keeper of flame
hope and hearts.

Enliven our work
guide our steps
inspire our message.

Thank you.

(modified from earlier poem: Woodspriestess: Brigid)

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
From the Ashes

February is probably my favorite month.  It has little to do with the season and a lot to do with it being the month I was born.  For such a short month, I always feel like there is so much going on in it. 

Imbolc, Candlemas, Brigid

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

If you pause in darkness what does your body have to tell you? What do your dreams have to tell b2ap3_thumbnail_January-2015-061.JPGyou? What does the frozen ground have to tell you? What do the spirits of place have to tell you?

What song can only be sung by you?

What emberheart can only be ignited by your breath?

What path have your feet found?

What messages are carved in stone and etched on leaf for your eyes and in your name?

What promise are you keeping?

Imbolc.
Time for your light to shine
from within the sheltering dark.

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Recent comment in this post - Show all comments
  • Cat
    Cat says #
    So beautiful and thought-inspiring - thank you!

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Satyr Dance

 I. A Satyr Remembers

 Imbolc was coming up, and I remember we were all thinking: Oh gods. The ritualists here in town were in a pretty major rut, and had been for years: it was All Brigid, All the Time, and not only that but pretty-pretty, nicey-nicey too, all gauze and Laura Ashley. Boring. “We need something with some juice in it, some testosterone,” we kept saying. So we put together the Dance of the Satyrs. The initial inspiration came from the old Roman Lupercalia, but the goat-men danced (and still do dance) all over Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, so it felt like something we could do here in Minnesota, too.

The satyrs agreed beforehand that we would all refrain from ejaculating for a week before the ritual. I made it, but just barely. I swear, that must be the longest I've gone without since I was a kid and first figured out what my body could do. I swear, by the end of the week, it was coming out my ears. I could practically taste it. I'd get aroused taking the garbage out.

So just before the ritual, we're all in back getting ready. We stripped down and Paul [B. Rucker] painted us up. We looked like something from off a Greek vase, or maybe a cave wall. And you could practically smell the spooge. It was raunchy, like a goat barn or something.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
In the Heart of Winter

It's late January, and my almond tree is blooming.

What makes that so surprising is that I live in Minnesota.

I've long joked that I'm a Mediterranean trapped in the body of a Northern European. (The quip would actually read more accurately as “...having a perfectly fine time in the body of....”) Civilized people drink tea and wine and cook with olive oil. Barbarians drink coffee and beer and cook with (ugh) butter. Not that there's anything wrong with barbarism, understand. Some of my best friends.... And since I've certainly put away my share of brews down the years, I suppose that by my own definition that would make me semi-barbarous. Fine. See if I care.

Why in the world am I living in Minnesota, one might wonder? Short answer: love. But that's a story for another night. Right now it's late January and my almond tree is blooming. I just can't look at it enough.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Let me add: in a world of resin repros, Constance speaks the truth of terracotta.
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    True story: when I got back from P-con, I hung the little Bell Goddess on a branch of the almond tree, which was budded out but no
  • Constance Tippett Chandler
    Constance Tippett Chandler says #
    Hey Steven, Glad to see you put my little Goddess to use. I think I remember you buying it at PantheaCon a few years ago. I live
  • Miles Gerhardson
    Miles Gerhardson says #
    So interesting to hear that here in Minnesota, where I reside also, that people actually DO grow such plants/trees. Wonderous!
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    I hear (how did I not know about this?) that there are hot springs down by Mankato that have created around them a semi-tropical m

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Fire, Beer, Smithery

I  packed up a basket full of goodies last week that's now living in my car. It's a scarred and raggedy peck basket that's been used for fresh produce and hoodoo oddments for several years.

Now it is full of Brigid and Her shenanigans.

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