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



18 May 2019

"Red-Haired Boy" by Mael Brigde





Red-Haired Boy

that one
—hair the colour of dried blood—
latched his mouth
to your swollen breast
—that hair
that mouth
made from you
from his half-foreign father—
drank you into himself and grew

that child
every portion of him the promise
of a king
—his father the beautiful
his grandfather the Good God
his mother
goddess of word and craft—

how could he not fall prey
to those who twisted
turned him
how could he not wish
to please his father well

yet how
how could he come before
his mother’s people
before the smith who loved him
beg of him a splendid spear
seek to cut him down

when the spear refused the service
when the smith wrenched back his arm
hurled the weapon home
how could your son not fall

before him hundreds died
born again in the Well of Wholeness
that well now shattered
Ruadán remained
as he fell

lay screaming
on crimson ground
till

silence on the land

and you
how could you not upwell
as the divine river before you broke its banks
and all the horror and all the sorrow
of that awful scything
not emerge in ululation

the birth of keening
at the slaying of your son



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