Sit. Feel your bones, your flesh, resting upon the ground, the Great Mother who stirs now in her winter sleep. Breathe – in and out, in and out, in and out. Each breath takes you deeper into the Otherworld, into the heart of things.
Feel the heat of the fire before you – feel it play on your skin, the light dancing on your eyelids. The tree is a gate, the well is a gate and so is the fire – the hearth fire, the heart-fire, the fire of life and need.
Brighid is, first and foremost, the Lady of the Hearth-fire – fire at its most useful, its most comforting. The fire that cooks our food, that heats our home. And indeed, it is fire that makes a home from a place. We gather around fire. It attracts us.
Brighid is the useful fire – the fire of the smith that shapes metal, the fire of making as well as the fire of nourishment.
And she is more. Breathe – in and out, breathing in the scent of the oak, the wood of the sacred tree, the tree of strength, the door. Fire is a gate to the Otherworld. Flame links us to the beginning-place, what the Buryats call the “gol” — the place where all possibility begins. It is a place of magick, of creation.
Breathe – in and out. And now you will gaze in the flames or follow your own path to the Otherworld for a message from Brighid or her brother, Aonghus Og, who too is flame – the flame of the heart. Seek your message, your wisdom, in the shape of flames or smoke, or the images that arise in your minds. When my drum stops, we shall return.
Brighid’s white mantle brings the spring, goes an old saying. When all seems lifeless, the trees silently bud. The groundhog stirs from sleep, and the snake leaves the mound on a warming day. There is darkness, but it is lightening. There is cold, but that, too, shall end.