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. (Belated update: I did eventually publish a book called A Brigit of Ireland Devotional - Sun Among Stars. It contains many of my Brigit poems and prayers, essays, and resources.)

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



09 March 2024

"For the River” by Mael Brigde


A very very very short song to Brigit that I end most of my meditations and rituals with. I sing it twice here so that you can get an idea of the melody the first time and then jump in the second time. I wrote it many years ago and still feel this gratitude deeply. Brigit is not named in the song so you could use it with other deities if it felt appropriate to you.

For the River
 
I thank you for the river that flows far from sunlight
for the hidden opening of that stream
for the sacred grove that rises from those waters
for the sacred wisdom pouring from those leaves

 

 

 

Video: of Mael Brigde singing at Daughters of the Flame online gathering.



29 February 2024

"Poem for Brigid" by Aed Dubh

 


Poem for Brigid

aeddubh

For Brigid

 

My feet still in the well, cool shock of yesterday,

I look to the candle, let open my head, my heart,

My hands, then begin. It is years since I first

Reached out (hesitant? hubristical? hopeful

I hope, and certainly teetered between

Extremes), and the worn steps still lead down

Into cool clearness, scent of moss and old

Stone and clean depths; spark-bright and

Ember-dusky petals still fall from

The rose dancing in the hearth, on the wick;

Forms still elaborate, fractally implied and

Impelled by tiny and mighty forces at play.

it is Her mantle I saw first, silver river,

All the shining things about Her, bright

As Her eyes, Her smile, the fire

She cradles in Her hands, that surrounds Her.

 

The Flame of an idea

The Forge of its making

The Well of its setting into place

 

Healer, maker, granter of imbas– She

Gave so much to me, it sufficed. Not

That I denied Her other domains, or scorned them,

Just bowed and let them pass on by.

 

But that complacent wall broke, and She stood

There in the middle of the night, when the

Bothy’s wall was torn down to take the body out.

Maker of the First Keen, Her voice wound through

The mourning sobs and whiskey laughter.

Sword not hammer in Her grip, shield hand,

Not healer’s She laid between my shoulders,

Behind my heart- wordless reassurance- “I

Have your back in this. Have, and give;

Have not, and receive; lapse, and be forgiven.

Make do, do without, but always do your best.”

And now she shows in so much else-

Sunlight flowing through amber glass, sparkling

On soapsuds; the smell of spices slowly

Annealing to delight in the cooking pot;

When I make any solid thing, or beautify

The familiar, known becoming rich and strange.

 

Washer of the Dead, Bringer Into the Tribe,

Midwife of the Soul through three worlds,

I shall never, ever lose my way to her Well

As long as I can set my faltering feet on

The first steps of the path to my own heart,

Where her living flame dances, too, paired

Water and fire, as much spring as forge,

As much spark as droplet, two and three

And oh! so many, unbound by number,

Spiraling infinite in the shining flow

Of Her mantle.

  

 

 

 

 

First published 24 January 2015 on The Words Swim, Waiting.

Image: “Brigit’s Wayside Well,” Kildare by Mael Brigde (2023)


 

15 February 2024

‘The Song of Brigid’s Cloak’ by Catherine Ann Cullen

 

‘There was a wise woman, we’re all agreed,

some call her Brigid, some call her Bríd.

She grew up kind and she liked a joke

and she always wore a wee small cloak.’

‘The Song of Brigid’s Cloak’ (illustrated by Katya Swan) is a children's song and book, written by Catherine Anne Cullen for the ‘Songs for Our Children’ project. The link on the image below will take you to a video where the song is taught to us by Aileen Lambert* and her daughter, Nellie. (Originally published on YouTube by her partner, Michael Fortune of folklore.ie.)


For more about the song, read what it’s author has to say about it here.



* Aileen visits Primary Schools as part of the Heritage in Schools Scheme. See www.heritageinschools.ie for more info and to arrange a visit contact Aileen on aileenlambert@gmail.com or 087 7552593. 

Images: Cover of ‘The Song of Brigid’s Cloak’ and screenshot of Aileen and Nellie from their video.


04 February 2024

"Ode To Bridget" (Gabhaim Molta Bríghde), sung by Nóirín Ní Riain


Click here to listen on YouTube



Nóirín talks about her spiritual journey, and of Brigit. "A River of Stars," part 1/2. Turas d'Anam (Journey Of Your Soul)

Image of Nóirín from Le Télégramme


24 January 2024

Lúireach Bhríde (Brigid's Breastplate) - a song to celebrate the lives of Irish women


Go to the RTÉ page where you will be able to listen to this beautiful song.
This article was originally published on Wednesday, 7 Nov 2018.

In 2018, RTÉ Radio 1 commissioned a new song to celebrate the lives of women in Ireland and, in this landmark year for women’s rights, to honour the lived experiences of our Irish foremothers. 

The idea for this collaborative project was three-dimensional. Poet Annemarie Ní Churreáin was commissioned to write the lyrics, the group Landless was invited to adapt the poem to music and filmmaker Tadhg O’Sullivan was asked to interpret the work on film - the resulting collaboration was premiered at this year's RTÉ Radio 1 Irish Folk Awards.

Watch their collaboration, entitled Lúireach Bhríde, above.

Annemarie Ní Churreáin

For the text, poet Annemarie Ní Churreáin revisited the pre-Christian stories associated with Brigid, commonly known in Ireland as a triple Goddess of poetry, healing and smithcraft. It is said that when Brigid’s outlawed son Ruadán died in battle, Brigid began to keen and this was the first time ever that keening was heard in this country. Despite her many reincarnations in Irish culture and beyond, Brigid remains a symbol of female power and strength, with the ability to express and transcend according to – and despite – the world around her.

Landless

Today at The Brigid Well in Kildare, where this text was composed, the oaks are decorated with ribbons, pagan emblems, and infant cloths in memory of the Goddess. A ‘lúireach’ (or a ‘lorica’) is a protective prayer or a ‘breastplate’. The original version of this text takes the form of a poem and is dedicated to the children of The Bon Secours Mother and Baby Home at Tuam, Galway. 


Images: both images and all text are from the original RTÉ article.


10 January 2024

“The Clothes Shrine” by Seamus Heaney

The Clothes Shrine


It was a whole new sweetness

In the early days to find

Light white muslin blouses

On a see-through nylon line

Drip-drying in the bathroom

Or a nylon slip in the shine

Of its own electricity — 

as if Saint Brigid once more

Had rigged up a ray of sun

Like the one she’d strung on air

To dry her own cloak on

(Hard-pressed Brigid, so

Unstoppably on the go) –

The damp and slumped and unfair

Drag of the workaday

Made light of and got through

As usual, brilliantly.










ImagePhoto of clothes on line (close-up) by Manu B on Unsplash.

Audio: Listen to Seamus Heaney reading his poem here.


24 December 2023

“A Ribbon for Brigid” by Hugh O'Donnell



A Ribbon for Brigid

from Time to Call Home

by Hugh O’Donnell

 

 

“It’s instinctive,” Teresa says. “You feel it in your blood. Earth stirs, shoots appear.” She’s talking about Brigit and the sense of her embodiment in the full bellied life fest of spring.

 

Goddess and national saint, girl and mother in a monastery garden, not meek and mild but shrewd and savvy. Seer and overseer, she gives protection to entrances and steppingstones, to poets and blacksmiths, animals and land.

 

She is neither to be contained in a monastery nor corralled by the state, this mystic of the natural world whom we celebrate in the ancient practice of weaving a sun-cross of rushes. By doing so, we are weaving together in her name all strands of wisdom from death-resurrection to the rhythm of seasons on our sun-shocked earth.

 

I call up Elizabeth for guidance. She describes how she celebrates the ritual for Brigid’s eve. At dusk, she leaves a length of ribbon outside so that as Brigid passes in the dewfall she will bless it. Afterwards, it will be cut into pieces and shared with neighbours who can apply the healing fabric to a body’s pain.

 

Imbolc, February 1, is the first day we invite her wise and wholesome presence into our lives. For those of us who have lived at a distance from the earth, it is still not too late to find our way home again in the company of Brigid as we take her hand and go play like children beneath the weeping birch where clumps of snowdrops shed their light.