On the Eve of Imbolc

Created:
February 10, 2022
Published:
February 10, 2022
Updated:
February 10, 2022

The time before nowthat is also nowspans across space, creating a web of infinite nows.In this now, this one here,I feel Brigidweaving her mantle to warm and bless meas bard, who sings of the now that was our homebefore nowin that other timethat was nowand we sat beside the Boyneand dipped our fingersinto the flowing riverand held our fingersto our lips to stain them with the clarityof the poems that are sung at dawnand at duskand call to her, to youin this guise as a mortal sitting in front of mehands outstretcheda flame in each handoffering healingoffering warmth.The tear, the singular tear that crawls slowly down your face belies the trust you had in us,the trust of remembering that which was too dear to be forgotten.Brigid, I am trying--still a little girl in a crone’s bodyI do not know the answers,I only try to remember the song,the melody beneath the wordsthat string the sounds into pictures and moment, and birds flying across the pure skiesand the fish moving sleek bodies through the water and beneath the waterand the trees, the trees, the trees,and the cedars outside my window with their sacred spirit beads.There is something coming that was said back then and remembered on the backs of the songs that swirl in ribbons of air around my head.We can change this, we can return to that now that is still this now.We, the poets, can remember, and tell the talesand seek the words to say this is not all that was supposed to be.There was a shininess beneath the dross that spills over at the edges of mankind.Brigid, give us strengthand fire to burn away the darkness and herald a new day of rebirth,to postpone the annihilation that breathes like a dragon across the land.Brigid—give us the fire, to forge a sword to bring the light to night to bring the right that is might to stand and fight to save us all.

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