04/02/2017
In the midst of the swirling chaos of this political moment comes the festival of Brigid, ancient Celtic Goddess of fire and water, of smithcraft, poetry and healing. Below is a Brigid poem, loosely based on the invocation I offered at Reclaiming’s Brigid ritual last Saturday night, as thousands crowded into airports around the country to resist Trumps illegal Muslim ban:
Brigid of the Forge,
the alchemy of making metal out of rock,
forging tools and weapons both.
We are a community uncomfortable with weapons.
We have spent our lives, some of us,
fighting against them.
Yet now there are lessons we need to learn
from the blade.
We have been hammered.
Now teach us to have an edge,
sharp and discerning,
to cut through lies.
We need the unity, the determination,
the momentum of a sword thrust.
The warrior’s selfless focus,
to be strategic,
to have a point.
We would rather wield
the digging fork or the pruning hook,
but we are called now,
not only to defend,
but to advance.
Brigid you are fire and water,
Holy well and sacred flame.
May the protectors of water
drink from your well.
May the homeless, the refugees,
warm themselves at your hearth.
You are smith, but also poet and healer.
May our words ring true as steel,
or better, as a great, chiming bell,
cracks mended.
May we carve out a space,
where our hands are free
to let go the grip on the hilt,
and open
to the caress of healing.
And may our hands
join with your great hand
to grasp that torch of liberty
and raise it high
above the currents’ rush and swell--
a welcome, a promise, a pledge.
