IMBOLC
Clear the decks,
We have a vigil to keep.
We must make space,
For the Goddess.
(Invoke the domestic Goddess!)
We must Make space!
To welcome in the spring.
The days are getting longer now
Stretching out
Starting to squash the night again.
The days are getting lighter now
This is no time to hibernate!
The extra light shows up the dust!
Open your eyes Love
Yawn and stretch and feel the new season
Time is blowing through our fingers still.
We must set the space for ritual
We must set the stage for inspiration
Spring cleaning.
Cutting away all the dead wood
Blowing away the winter cobwebs
So fresh beginnings
And new ideas
Can make their way inside
Invoke the Domestic Goddess!
Make space! Make way!
Here the vigil begins.
The house is awake!
Film/Poetry
Commission
For Magical Women
A series of short films, poetry and rituals commissioned to celebrate the coming of spring for Imbolc.
Shhh!
Did you hear that? Perhaps you just felt it in your bones?
The first shoots of green breaking ground
Snowdrop Crocus Fritillary
Gently shifting the soil and leaf litter to one side with the first searching leaf
The sun is thinking about starting to stride toward summer glory
Tentatively dipping its toes into the day before 8am
And waiting to tuck in a little longer
Sighing a little warmth into the night
With blazing sunsets as she goes
The frost of the morning will soon easily be
A shivering silver wash of the year’s first dew
The breath of the sun gathering
In droplets on the cold skin of the earth
The green fingers of spring reach up to bathe in it
The sky begins to give up its water
Let the February air kiss us dry with her chill lips
Not laced with the deathly scratch of frost like her older sister
But the fresh cold of waking in the quiet early blue
Just as the birds peel into the first song of the day
Close your eyes and dream the future
Even if it only reaches as far
As the coffee cradled in the warming cup balanced softly in your hands
Feel your weight upon the ground as the earth balances you softly on her skin
If you are quiet the old ones will whisper you words
Of encouragement in the morse code of your miraculous heart beat.
These are the times I feel close to the warrior in my bones
The moments she uses to strengthen herself
When she is on the attack and tightly sprung like a hissing adder about to strike
These are the whispering rooted idyls of home
That she with scream and bleed for in fierce necessity when her hand is forced
The cool damp fertile calm that has been forgotten in the fearful blaze of her fury.
This is the beauty
Of the promise of the first new season of the juvenile year
The slate washed clean and the energy to grow
To start again with, we start again.
For more film based poetics check out my Rusalka project...
