Writing Brigit


Writing Brigit

Many years ago I wrote my first Brigit prayer. Poem. Blessing... I have been writing them ever since, but seldom publish them. Some are carefully researched and crafted, some are simple and straight from the heart.

The prayers and blessings of my sisters in the Daughters of the Flame and other Brigit-loving women and men, living and long-dead, fill me with surprise and delight, as well.

I would like to share some of these writings with you.

Following is the one that signs off each of my emails, a reminder to guide my words and intentions with care when I write to anyone. It's as good a place to start as any.


Flame Offering

In the name of the three Brigits

I light the candle of my heart

May I offer it to everyone

gentle and steady

warm and bright



12 June 2018

"Prayer to St. Brigid for Successful Pregnancy" by Anna Rapp


Anna Rapp was told by doctors that she couldn't conceive naturally, but she refused to give up. She now blogs about her journey in To Make a Mommy. This is a prayer she wrote to Saint Brigit, to ask her aid in becoming pregnant. It comes from her post "Praying to St. Brigid for Fertility and Pregnancy." The title pane is from her blog.

Thanks, Anna, for your kind permission to publish your prayer here. May Brigit bless all who seek to bring children into their lives, and bless those children she brings us to.

 

PRAYER TO ST. BRIGID FOR SUCCESSFUL PREGNANCY

St. Brigid, champion of women and of babies, I ask for your blessing.
You are a healer who strengthens what is weak.
You bring harmony where there is discord.
Heal my body that I might conceive and birth a healthy child into this world.
Strengthen my soul that I may remain steadfast in my belief in my own fertility.
Bring harmony to me that my body, soul, and spirit may align to prepare for pregnancy.
Prepare my heart to welcome new life with love.
Hear my pleas, Brigid, and intercede for me to our Lord, Jesus Christ.
Through Jesus Christ I pray.
Amen.


ABOUT ANNA

I'm Anna and I beat the odds and got pregnant naturally after the doctors said it wasn’t possible. I blog about how I did it and encourage my readers to take charge of their fertility journey and get happy, healthy, and pregnant!

16 May 2018

Journey with Brigit, Goddess of Poetry (Online Course with Mael Brigde)



A moment away from presenting actual poems--I just wanted to alert readers to the fact that, after a change of hosts, registration for my course, Journey with Brigit, Goddess of Poetry, is open at last. This is an intensive course that both nourishes the writing (and reading) of poetry and connects the participant to the poet in Ireland, and poetry in our lives.
The classes come out one a day, and you are welcome to move as quickly or slowly as you like through each lesson.
You are welcome to join me there if you like. Either way:
Brigit's blessings on your pen!
Mael Brigde


25 April 2018

“The Giveaway” by Phyllis McGinley




The Giveaway

Saint Bridget was
A problem child.
Although a lass
Demure and mild,
And one who strove
To please her dad,
Saint Bridget drove
The family mad.
For here's the fault in Bridget lay:
She would give everything away.

To any soul
Whose luck was out
She'd give her bowl
Of stirabout;
She'd give her shawl,
Divide her purse
With one or all.
And what was worse,
When she ran out of things to give
She'd borrow from a relative.

Her father's gold,
Her grandsire's dinner,
She'd hand to cold
and hungry sinner;
Give wine, give meat,
No matter whose;
Take from her feet
The very shoes,
And when her shoes had gone to others,
Fetch forth her sister's and her mother's.

She could not quit.
She had to share;
Gave bit by bit
The silverware,
The barnyard geese,
The parlor rug,
Her little
niece's christening mug,
Even her bed to those in want,
And then the mattress of her aunt.

An easy touch
For poor and lowly,
She gave so much
And grew so holy
That when she died
Of years and fame,
The countryside
Put on her name,
And still the Isles of Erin fidget
With generous girls named Bride or Bridget.

Well, one must love her.
Nonetheless,
In thinking of her
Givingness,
There's no denial
She must have been
A sort of trial
Unto her kin.
The moral, too, seems rather quaint.
Who had the patience of a saint,
From evidence presented here?
Saint Bridget? Or her near and dear?



(from The Love Letters of Phyllis McGinley, New York, Viking Press, 1957)



Image: "A mound of butter" by anokarina from United States (butter) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

04 April 2018

“Why I Tend Your Flame” by Mael Brigde







why return always to this endless ritual
of nineteen days plus one

on the twentieth day of the cycle
when each sister has had her turn
you keep your flame alive

in the evening of the following day
you offer me the glowing coal
to kindle
my own small fire

I am so forgetful
I strike the match
and before the wick is blackened
I am a thousand miles away
planning   worrying   angry   wishful
hurrying to accomplish this and that

if I am so very forgetful
why return

in that moment
when I take a breath
place the candle in its lantern
lantern in its cauldron
pour water clean and fresh
around its base
when I add the blue juniper
whisper words of honouring
of sharing   of blessing
of request
when I open my hands to receive
your eye-bright coal
my heart opens with them
I glimpse this wider land
this wider life
I come closer
come for one fraction of a second
awake

this is your gift to me

mine to you
is to return
again and again
to this moment of ignition
in my soul





Image: “Shift candle” by Mael Bridge (2014).

02 January 2018

“Faerie’s Lorica” by Cynthia




Faerie’s Lorica

by Cynthia

I arise today through the courage
of the warriors of Brighid,
and am nourished by Danu.
Her spear forged in justice and power
goes before me.
Her maidens bearing fire and wisdom
surround me,
Her flame of inspiration alights upon my brow,
Her quiet words enter the secret door of my heart
and bring me comfort.
Her sons and her daughters fight for the freedom
of Eire, her sacred land and body,
and I am glad.
When I am weak with sadness,
she gives me courage to rise,
When I am drowning in crippling emotions,
She sends the seal of love and joy,
and the salmon of wisdom to me.
When my soul and heart are broken she mends them
with her smith's art.
When I am in danger she guards me,
I am blessed beyond measure that one day in
twenty,
Her spark is upon my altar.
I shall not be homeless,
I shall not be left in despair,
I will not be raped,
I will not be murdered,
I will not be overcome by the spirits of evil,
For the Great Cloak of Brighid is about me,
She is the protector and friend of my soul.

So Mote it be.





Image: Brigantia

30 November 2017

“Dubthach Versus the Druid” by Mael Brigde




Dubthach Versus the Druid

much is made of your father
Dubthach
how you lived with him and worked
in his dairy
how you gave away his splendid things
his gold   his sword
his butter and meat

but what of the druid
who bought from him
your pregnant mother

your birth on his threshold
his care as you grew

was he not the true father
of your childish heart

did not his love of gods
obedience to sun and earth
his store of lore and genealogy

shape your vision of your world
give you perfect apprehension
of this sacred pagan place

if in time you drank
from another cup
where a Son
not the Sun
predominates

were you not still at ease
in flesh and heart
among the spirits
of land and beasts

so the oaks embrace you
you know the fox’s speech
the snowdrop lifts its head
where you have trod

in you they recognize
the blood of one
who lives upon the limen
walks in bright accord
with sanctity






Copyright: Casey June Wolf (2015).
Image: "The mountains known as the Twelve Bens in Connemara at sunset." By No machine-readable author provided. Morna assumed (based on copyright claims). [GFDL   (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/)], via Wikimedia Commons

03 November 2017

“Divine Cow” by Mael Brigde




Divine Cow

luminous white the cow who nursed you
when taken from your mother’s breast

ears of silken red   eyes of warm pitch
called from the Land of Youth
by the clear-sighted druid
the sweet cow’s milk the only food
you could endure

was the land below his dwelling
alive with crying mists
as she trod the hillside’s quickened flanks
in answer

had the sidhe-mound quivered with new light
when you dropped to the druid’s threshold
your mother’s knees resounding
one on rush-strewn floor
one on naked earth without

did the cow then lift her large
and thoughtful ears
so far away and listen for your cry





Copyright: Mael Brigde, 2015.
Image: J. West Cattle Company.