Bridgit's Day

"BRIDGIT" danced by Linda Johnson.  Photo by Thomas Lux.

As it's IMBOLC,   Bridgit's Day.   I felt like posting my own "Bridgit's Poem" (1999), and the  Hymn to the Sacred Body of the Universe as told by the wonderful poet Drew Dellinger.   And the "Voice of Bridgit" by Diane Darling!

Diane Darling as Brigid, photo by T. Lux

I am Brigid,  Lady of the Celts
Creatrix of the Island of Ireland
Midwife to new life in the spring.

On the last dark night of January,
 leave a cloth outside your door -
For I shall be abroad on Brigid’s Eve.
I am Lady of the Flame, Mistress of changes,
I shape the bright metals:
gold and silver and spirit

Feel my hand on yours as you craft your lives.
I am Lady of the Well, the deep well
That reaches into the darkness
and rises to the light.

I am the fount of Inspiration
for poet and bard.
My song is sung in all the lands,
by bird and bard and babe.

Call me by my many names:
Breezh, Bridey, Brigit, Breed
Sweet Mary of the Gaels, midwife to Christ
When once again amongst us he is born.

I am with you, children of the children of
The Lost Isles, the Western Shores
Far flung, far from your homelands:
I have not forgotten you.

Remember me when the poet sings
When the cow rises from the calving
and the fever leaves the brow.
Raise a glass of golden mead to Brigid,
Lady of the Celts.

by Diane Darling (1999)

 http://www.currentmiddleages.org/conchobar/brewing.html

 BRIDGIT

"God's abstention is only from human dialects;
 the holy voice utters its woe and glory in myriad musics,
 in signs and portents.
 Our own words are for us to speak,
 a way to ask and to answer."

Denise Levertov

 There are some gifts that come to us
just once or twice in a lifetime,
gifts that cannot be named
beyond the simple act of gratitude.

We are given a vision so bountiful
we can only gaze with eyes wide,
like a child in summer's first garden.

We reach our clumsy hands
toward that communion
that single perfection
and walk away speechless, blessed.

And breathe, in years to come
    breathe,
breathe our hearts open
aching to tell it well
to sing it into every other heart
to dance it down, into the hungry soil
to hold it before us
that light, 

    that grace given
    voiceless light

Lauren Raine