Mid-witchery: Imbolc Blessings and An Ode to Fertile Nothingness

Imbolc marks the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox and is celebrated on February 1st.  It is an ancient fire ceremony that celebrates the Earth showing first signs of life as the cold grip of Winter starts to release. 

Imbolc translates to “fire in the belly” and we pay homage to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of fire, smithery, livestock, poetry, healing, and childbirth.  When Ireland was converted to Catholicism in the 5^th century, Brigid was such a beloved an prominent figure in Celtic households that she was transformed into St. Brigid of Kildare. Brigid is the only pagan goddess that also holds the title of sainthood, thus making her a true powerhouse of feminine strength, versatility and fortitude.  She is the patron saint of midwives, healers, poets, scholars, and the poor. Ireland refers to Imbolc as St. Brigid’s Day in her honor.   

Imbolc reminds us that we’ve travelled through the darkest parts of Winter as we witness the first frost begin to thaw and the early budding of plants.  Picture a blade of grass breaking through a layer of melting snow. This celebration is also where American folklore adopted Groundhog’s Day and the practice of weather divination. 

This holiday has many ancient roots – but how can we honor these traditions in modern day? Especially now that we have weather apps, calendars, and electricity.  Energetically, we are waking up from a long Winter’s nap.  Some parts of our brain have been lying in wait or have been put “on pause” as we have struggled to get through these barren months of winter. I urge you to wake up, look around, and see yourself and the world through open eyes.  

As Imbolc approaches, sit with your own stirrings.

Is there anything fueling the fire within?

What glowing embers are crackling within your core?

An Ode to Fertile Nothingness

Burrowed deep within the frost

Lies a maiden deeply lost

Body stiff and joints are aching

Dormant eyes are slowly waking

Whispers buzz between her ears

Midwinter’s dreams, hopes, and fears

Her eyes snap open with clear intent

Fog has lifted, she starts her ascent

A fire burns within her womb

Wakes her from her sleeping tomb

A purpose, a reason, a spark to the fire

A nudge, an urge, insatiable desire

The stirrings within cannot be contained

Her power, her calling, her soul ingrained

She arose from the cold, a budding sprout

Emboldened, enlivened, unfettered by doubt

Her magic resides in the space in between

The plotting and planning of things unseen

Your magic is within, that flicker inside

That shapes the world and turns the tide

Remember that you have much to give

Whether it’s a helping hand or a reason to live

Emerge from the darkness, cast your light

Tend to your fire, and let it burn bright

-- M. Jacklin