We spent part of the afternoon at Mother Grove rearranging the entry room--a tiny space I call the "lounge." We moved the coffee-and-tea tables onto another wall and covered them in some plain black fabric. Looks sleek and modern.

Since there were several of us playing interior designer, a couple of us started stripping the main altar and replacing tealights on the other three.  The Ancestors had been exiled in their niche, covered with a black lace veil with no candles or wine or treats and it was also time to open up their area and fill their goblet and out a little something sweet on their plate.

It's time now to move all the Brigid stuff from the South altar and honor our gold-red Woman.  We're big on our Bridey at Mother Grove--She's one of the reasons we decided to work on creating a Goddess temple here.

Years ago, in the basement of a local metaphysical shop, we promoted a celebration of Brigid of Ireland, Gold-Red Woman.  We wanted to honor Her on Her festival and we weren't specific about the who of Her.  So we welcomed Pagans and Goddess folk, people who were enamored of Celtic Christianity, Irish-Americans, Catholics, Protestants.

Part of the ritual included pouring milk over a statue of Brigid and that took much longer than we thought it would.  Each person needed their moment with the Divine--for a request or prayer or word of thanks.

That's when we knew that there was a hunger here--and I suspect in many places--for the chance to be in the presence of the Divine Feminine, to feel the energy, to say those unspoken prayers.  It didn't matter that some of those people thought of Her as a Goddess while others thought of Her as a Saint.  They knew Her as a wonder-worker with a rich, deep history--a history that included them and their Ancestors and their visions of the world.

Sometime in the next week or so, we'll take last year's cloutie branch out to the spring we dedicated to Her years ago.  We'll make Brigid Wheels from corn husks and shake out our red robes.

Imbolc's coming.