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Here in the Okanagan Valley, the signs of spring are everywhere.

Beannachtaí Féile Imbolg! Beannachtaí Féile Bríde. Blessings of Imbolc! Blessings of Brigid's Feast! At Imbolc we are at the crossroads of the winter, six weeks past winter solstice, six weeks until spring equinox. 

The first days of February have been clear, frosty, but the sun has such a seductive heat in Ireland even in February. They say that weather like this augurs more cold, as the Cailleach is yet to release a vice-like grip on the land.  If it had been overcast and mild then the springtime was come.

I’ve planted seeds in ritual, at Imbolc before now. Of course if you wanted bulbs, those had to be in ground weeks, if not months ago. There are many things too delicate to put in the soil at this time of year – leafy salad plants and other exotica from warmer climes won’t tolerate the tail end of winter on the UK. There are still heavy frosts, and many plants can’t bear them. Some things won’t be planted until much later in the spring.

In life, as in agriculture when you plant may well depend a lot on what you are planting and when you hope to harvest it. Many projects take years to come to fruition. As an author I find I’m usually seeing the fruits of things I wrote months ago... this February, it’ll be seeds from years back that finally send up shoots. The third volume of Hopeless Maine (that’s the book cover adorning this post) comes out as a webcomic at www.hopelessmaine.com while a book I wrote years ago – Fast food at the centre of the world, finally comes to life as an audio series at www.nerdbong.com. Often we plant things with no idea of whether they will grow, much less when.

She giggles!
     “Knock Knock.”
          “Who’s there?”
               “Change.”
                    “Change Who?”
“Well, that’s always the question, isn’t it?”

    The NEW ONES are stirring. Feel the vibration of Nature in February. Every-thing in potential, teeming underground, sap rising, hibernation ending. It can be hard to believe, sometimes, that change will come. Imbolc is Her promise.
     As Above (the Equator):Imbolc/Candlemas is the day to honor the Goddess Brigit of Ireland, powerful in the success of Her worshippers’ adaptation. Her sacred flame was kept burning by priestesses, then by nuns, into the 16th century, and relit at Kildare in 1993. It is burning there tonight. Celebrants light every lamp in the home, build fires high, keep one candle burning, mindfully, all night long.
     So Below (the Equator): In Brazil, on February 2^nd, a day now consecrated to “Our Lady of Seafaring,” thousands of Candomble practitioners gather on the beaches at dawn, sending flower offerings out to sea for “The Queen of the Ocean,” the Goddess Yemanja, deity of fisher-people and shipwreck survivors, the female principle of creation, and the spirit of moonlight.
     Greetings Imbolc! Blessings Candlemas! Offerings to the Sea!
Carolyn Myers © Mother Tongue Ink 2014

Merry meet, fellow Witches and Pagans!

Another few months pass and another festival graces our lives. This time, it's Imbolc (or Imbolg/Oimelc), a festival of spring and renewal with its origins among the ancient Celts (unless you're in the southern hemisphere, in which cases it's Lughnasadh!). In celebration of the holiday, we've gathered all of our Imbolc-related posts and put them in one big pile for your easy reading. I realize this is a bit late, but hopefully you'll still find something to appreciate in it!

May your spring be warm and bright and the remaining winter be easy in its passing!

-Aryós Héngwis

Many years ago, from some long forgotten source, I read that the goddess Hecate's sacred festival was celebrated on January 31. Although I have never been able to find the source or corroborate this information (Stewart and Janet Farrar's classic “The Witches' Goddess” mentions August 13 for her annual festival as well as the night of the Full moon), I have celebrated this feast every year, in preparation for Imbolc and as an entry into the coldest (but not darkest) part of the Winter.

My experience of Hecate is as a seasonal Goddess. I sense her presence in October, as the frost bitten garden finally dies back, as the light deepens into honey and amber, in the first tantalizing days of Hallowstide, the first days of the thinning Veil. She is present in the Descent, and in the Underworld, and in the solemn, silent movements of our beloved dead. She is present in the rapidly darkening year, and she helps to midwife in the promise of the sacred Child, reborn as the Sun at the Winter Solstice.

One Imbolc, former pagan blogger Teo Bishop wrote about creating community poetry for use in liturgy based on the starting line, "I keep vigil to the fire in my heart." As someone who frequently experiences spontaneous poetry in the sacred spot in the woods behind my house, an experience I refer to as theapoetics, I was instantly captivated by this idea. Imbolc has a natural connection to the cycles of pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding and the fire in my own heart burns brightly for these pivotal life experiences. So, I went down to the woods, opened my mouth and this is what emerged…