02/01/2026
Tending Your Inner Flame
Tonight’s Full Moon falls on Imbolc (pronounced IM-bulk), that quiet threshold where winter hasn’t fully loosened its grip, but something new is undeniably stirring beneath the surface.
And this isn’t just any full moon. It’s in Leo, the sign of the heart, the flame, the self that refuses to be invisible. A Full Moon here illuminates what you’ve been carrying quietly, your wants, your pride, your need to be seen and known. It can feel like a lot. That’s the point.
But Leo’s fire isn’t selfish. At its best, it’s generous. It burns bright so others can find their way. Tonight, the invitation isn’t to perform or prove. It’s to let your light exist without apology.
Imbolc sits right at the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, an ancient Celtic and pagan festival marking the first stirring of the sun’s return. Traditionally a time of purification and rededication. Clearing out what no longer serves so there’s space for what’s coming. In many traditions, candles were lit and blessed as a symbol of that returning light.
And at the heart of Imbolc is Brigid, goddess of the hearth, the forge, and the sacred flame. A keeper of wisdom, healing, and creative fire. Imbolc was one of the primary festivals dedicated to honoring her. Candles and fires were lit in her name, not as spectacle, but as an act of tending. Keeping the flame alive through the coldest, darkest stretch of the year was an act of faith. A quiet promise that light would return.
Together, these energies are asking the same thing: Stop shrinking. Stop waiting. The light is already here.
Imbolc isn’t about sudden transformation.
It’s about first light.
The small flame you tend when the world still feels cold.
The truth you’re willing to name before it’s fully formed.
The Full Moon amplifies what’s been growing quietly. Not just your hopes, but your fatigue, your boundaries, your resentment, your longing. This isn’t a moon that asks you to fix yourself. It asks you to listen honestly.
Where are you forcing momentum that hasn’t rooted yet?
Where are you dimming yourself to keep the peace?
What truth has been knocking that you’ve been “too busy” to hear?
Imbolc reminds us that devotion doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like saying no. Sometimes it looks like protecting your energy so the next season has something real to grow from. Brigid herself wasn’t about burning out in service. She was about tending. Steady, quiet, intentional.
A simple practice for tonight:
Light a candle. Let the flame settle.
Sit quietly for a moment. Place one hand on your chest and close your eyes. Take a few slow breaths, not to clear your mind, but just to arrive in it.
If you feel called, ask Brigid for guidance. You don’t have to know exactly what to say. An open heart is enough.
Ask quietly: What wants my care right now, not my control?
Don’t rush toward an answer. Let it rise on its own. It might come as a feeling before it comes as words. It might be something uncomfortable. It might be something you already know but haven’t let yourself fully hold.
Whatever comes, simply acknowledge it. No fixing, no planning, no judgment. Just: I see you. I’m here.
When you’re ready, open your eyes. Watch the flame for a moment longer. This is what tending looks like. Small, quiet, and enough.
