TC and LotS Synchronicities - Bear and Star

During this past week, I've done my best to avoid a lot of the identity-angst in the online Pagan community, mostly by writing here instead of replying to blog posts and social media comment threads where I might become food for trolls. But there has also been a strong current of energy going on that has led me to write a number of in-depth blog posts for Meadowsweet & Myrrh, which will be going up over the next few weeks.

I'm not even sure what prompted it, but today I wandered over to TC to check in and see how things were going (in part because it's my flamekeeping shift)... and I found that this had been going on. Another amazing riot of UGP and SPG centering on the Lady of the Stars/Brighid. It is so awesome to see such a vibrant and open conversation going on about the nature of the gods.

Part of me wants to chime in, but part of me feels like I've been away too long and I don't know if I could really get a foothold anyway. I've never really felt like I "fit in" with the TC folks, and I kinda feel like the reason the LotS group fell apart before was partly my fault (though maybe that's just ego-centric guilt talking). I know that Finn and Aster (and I think Tana) have continued to work together on exploring Brighid/LotS, and when we first got out here to Seattle, I did briefly mention it to Finn, but her response was one that seemed to suggest that it was something they were working on — like, it was "their thing" — and I would be welcome to learn about it when they were ready to share, but they weren't interested in me being involved in that work. I didn't want to intrude, so I just let it go. But part of me did feel a little sad, because I did so very much want to be able to practice with others. Sometimes I worry that I come across as too... keen, and it makes other people feel like I'm shutting them down or they just don't want to share because I'm in the middle of my swirling knife dance and they don't want to stick a limb out and get nicked. ("Keen" like the new young cop on the beat whose overly eager and going to get himself into trouble, so nobody wants to hang around him and the old-timers just shake their heads and brace against the eager energy and wait for the new guy to get some smarts knocked into him. But in the meantime, there's a lot of patient eye-rolling that goes on behind his back.)

Anyway, as a result, I think I struggled a lot with my relationship with Brighid over the past couple years because I didn't really have a community who was willing to support me and work with me in my relationship with her, and so like a lot of other things that I try to do on my own, I start to get really hard on myself and things kind of fall apart and collapse into a pile of frustration and guilt over it. Bless his heart, Jeff is pretty awful when it comes to shared practice and worship, because his gods are very much his personal posse and he always seems to talk about them like they're primarily concerned with him and his life, and there's not really much room in his approach to them that calls for group or community worship. I've really enjoyed our solstice rituals in part because it's my only real chance to have some kind of group practice, and I don't think it's a coincidence that for the past two years, these solstice rituals have mostly focused on stars and such. For last year's ritual, we specifically invoked Brighid in her aspect as Lady of the Stars, the guiding star on the darkest night though also closely related to the rebirth of the new sun. This year, we focused on the bear and her associations with the winter and the darkness of the cave as a place of rest and rebirth.

It's going on half a year since I suddenly stumbled upon a relationship with Artemis, and though she is very much the maiden hunter and moon goddess to me, she is also connected with the fresh wellsprings of cleansing waters, the wild forested mountains, and the bear. In fact, during this time of the year, her bear aspect seems especially pronounced and she even seems to have a bit of a "motherly" aspect to her -- though maybe it's more the midwife vibe, since she is definitely not the "mama bear" personality that is so readily evoked by people like, say, Sarah Palin (ugh). Anyway, the point is, I have this sense of her as a bear goddess, deeply connected both with the fresh waters of springs and rivers (and with the salmon of wisdom, to do a little cross-cultural myth mixing), and also with the stars, since the bear as a sacred animal has always for me been connected with the Great Bear constellation and the starry night sky (in fact, I've often called on the bear in ritual as the "starry bear of midnight").

So this thread over on TC about the Lady of the Stars seems interesting to me, especially since it began with some opening comments about Sulis and other "water related" goddesses. Artemis is, for me, very strongly connected with water, more than Brighid ever was for me, really. And she is very strongly connected with the stars as well.

Yet Brighid, who is still lingering and hasn't gone away, also has a strong connection to the stars. In both cases, there is a wildness there, a primordial feeling... but whereas with Artemis the wildness is quiet, rippling and dark (sometimes sleek like a deer or wolf, sometimes much more bear-like and somewhat lumbering, but swiftly), with Brighid the wildness is roaring like a furnace, dark but fiery like the heart of an intense flame, hot and active. I think of Artemis like the sweat of ecstatic dance or the wild chase of the hunt; whereas Brighid is the sweat of labor, the sweat of the forge and creation. Artemis sings like a bowstring, Brighid sings like a hammer on an anvil.

After writing the post on the bear that will be going up on Meadowsweet this coming Friday, I asked Jeff to read it. I wonder if maybe part of the reason I'm feeling more connected to Artemis, especially in her bear aspect, is because in some ways the bear is a totem for our family. Jeff has always felt very strongly connected to the bear, and his UPG connected it with Apollo but also somewhat with Odin. I have never really had any spark of connection with either Apollo or Odin, and there wasn't much of one with the bear, either, at least not for a long time. But now, it seems like the bear is becoming a powerful presence in our household.

Of course, when I asked Jeff to read my post, his response was that he liked it but that wasn't really what he associated with the bear.

So... still by myself in my worship, I guess. I read about other people getting together to talk about the gods and maybe practice together, even if only informally, and I wonder why I'm always on the wrong side of the UPG/SPG. Like in that meditative journeywork I did a while back, always having to linger just outside the bonfire's circle of light, listening to other people sharing stories but always having to dance to my gods on my own.

Dark Moon Vigil: Nights 2 and 3

I realize I never wrote up about the last two nights of my three night vigil.

Night Two (Friday night, August 17) was a quick and somewhat impromptu meditation quite late (it may have even been technically Saturday morning by the time I got to it, after hanging out with Leah reading Pratchett and watching a couple episodes of the IT Crowd). I didn't do a full formal ritual circle as I'd done the night before, but simply lit Sorta*'s candle and spent some time in silent meditation before drawing a card from the Oracle deck and then spending a bit longer meditating on its meaning.

The card I drew was the Hunter of Gifts — and my half-sober meditations seemed to revolve mostly around the subtle paradox of being a "hunter" of gifts, how this phrase seems to capture the paradox of our relationship with the gods, the delicate blending and balance of work and grace (to put it in more Catholic theological terms), or action and receptivity, effort and acceptance. I have never gone hunting in a literal sense, but I've heard stories about the long hours spent waiting quietly in the woods, moving gently through the trees trying to be unobtrusive as possible, how our ancestors sometimes had to stalk prey for days.... And the sudden appearance of the animal, when it finally arrived, could seem like a gift. A gift is a gift precisely because it is not earned or deserved or exchanged tit-for-tat... it is simply given, freely.

I found this particularly poignant because on this night, I had another object on the altar besides the Oracle deck, the candle and the water (which I drank, as before, to honor and bring into myself the energies of the divination and meditation).... a pendant that is an abstract depiction of a bow and arrow. It seemed a powerful omen that I would draw a card depicting a hunter on this night. (The night before, when I'd drawn the Shaman of Courage card, I'd had a piece of ritual wear that I plan to consecrate to Sorta* for shamanic/journey work on the altar, one that has ties to the deer/stag, which I always invite into the circle with an invocation of its strength and courage.)

Night Three (Saturday, August 18), once again I did a full clearing and blessing of the space while burning incense, lighting the candle with a prayer to Sorta* after some time in meditation. This time, along with the deck, candle, water and incense on the altar, I had another pendant, this one of a bear's paw print, along with Jeff's bear fetish that he allowed me to use. The card I drew during divination was the Shaman of Stars. Using the recorded drumming, I did some journeywork on the meaning of this energy (again, a good synchronicity that on the night I work with the bear's energy, which I've often invoked as "great starry bear" associated with the constellations of Ursa Major and Minor in the northern sky, I would draw a shaman card of the stars)...

Again, I entered into the hollowed cedar and found myself following a spiraling stairwell deep down into the earth. The stairwell itself had close, cool walls of bluish stone studded with "stars" that shone white and gold in the dark and which, on closer look, were various gems and diamonds. At the bottom of the spiral stairwell was a rounded, wooden door on which the image of the Shaman of Stars appeared. I reached out to touch the image, and at my touch the door swung open, giving way to a night scene of green, rolling hills under a star-studded and moonlit sky. I recognized this place as the same hillside I'd seen in meditation more than a year ago when seeking insight from Brigid about her role in my life and my role in hers. The image I'd received then was of me dancing beneath the moon and starlight off alone in ecstasy, while others gathered around a bonfire off in the distance sharing stories and laughing together. I remember feeling a protest in me about how this personal worship, away from the eyes of others, did not seem to me to be what being a "priestess" to the gods was about (I thought instead it was about serving the community and being in the public eye) and how I was chided for that attitude, reminded that tapping into my own deep relationship with the gods was the source of any "priestessing" I would be doing and that I needed to let go of my worry about others' expectations and opinions when it came to that work. This time, there was no one else on the hilltop beneath the starlight.... at least at first. Then I saw a movement, almost like a disturbance in the air, and there was the Shaman of Stars on the hillside, reaching up to pick stars out of the sky like fruit and bringing them down to the earth. He was tall, huge really, and his head seemed to be of an animal nature, with a snout, and he seemed to have antlers, though they were invisible, in which the net of stars would sometimes snag and shiver with the movement of his head so that the stars themselves glimmered. I approached him hesitantly, watching him awhile as he plucked the stars. Then he handed me one — it was cool and light, not heavy, though it was about the size of my fist, with many gleaming facets. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but had the impulse to eat it, so I put it to my mouth. Some rational part of my mind must have objected to eating something hard as a diamond, for I found that I had to crunch it with my teeth, and it shattered into a million tiny shards, like glitter, that I swallowed down with some degree of trepidation and even horror. But as I swallowed, I could feel the shards embedding themselves within me all along my throat and in my chest, sinking into my flesh, passing into my bloodstream and being passed throughout my body until I was shining and glistening on the inside. The heat of my body seemed to melt them somewhat, so that they were wet and almost like liquid. At the drumming call back, I thanked the Shaman of Stars and turned to return through the door and back up the spiral stairwell.

Of all the nights' meditations, this is the one I'm least sure of — the journey work on courage seemed to have some clear and obvious symbolism, the red-mud paint and the dancing naked by the bonfire.... This seemed to be the counterbalance to that night's work, all darkness and starlight and a kind of being anointed on the inside, by eating the star, rather than on the outside with bodypaint like blood. There are also obvious ties back to my work with Brigid, so that I feel that this is also about bringing the gifts of my past relationship with her into this new work that I'm doing. (The Libra-ascendant in me is all ready to be giddy: oooh! a sun goddess and a moon goddess! how balanced! ::headdesk::)

I had intended to complete these vigils with a ritual of integration on the new moon night (Sunday), but decided it wasn't quite the right time. Jeff and I did go out again to Tiger Mountain, where I spent some time in meditation in a small cave among the Talus Rocks, surrounded by rock and root, soil and sky. Obviously, since then, I've had a couple of rough days with inexplicable crankiness — today, though, I'm feeling more enthusiastic and energetic. I'm thinking perhaps that I'll do some work tomorrow night, on the sixth night of the moon, which is also a day of importance to this goddess.

Random discovery yesterday while surfing online: the western (or Pacific) red cedar is not a true cedar, but is actually a member of the cypress family. This is also pretty intriguing, since I've had an intuitive sense of connection with the western red cedar ever since arriving here in Seattle, and it turns out that the cypress is a tree considered sacred to the goddess I am calling Sorta*. Interesting....

Shared Insights into Brighid's Stellar Aspects

Something I shared just now over on TC's LotS group:

In November 2010, a bunch of us over on the old Cauldron forum had a moment of what might be called "unverified shared gnosis" about the stellar aspects of Brighid - when our individual UPGs seemed to converge on a shared understanding that, though common among us, was not necessarily reflected in the traditional lore and mythology about Brighid.

I've been thinking more about this phenomenon recently, and how it might be part the evolution of the gods in mutual relationship with our own growing scientific and technological understanding of the natural world. I'm no expert on comparative mythology, but I don't really know of any ancient deities that were both solar and stellar in nature, or any ancient cultures that believed that the stars were actually suns like ours that were small because they were so far away (if there were any, I think they were probably pretty rare at least). Now with our scientific understanding of the relationship between our sun and the stars in the night sky, it makes sense to me that a solar/fire goddess like Brighid would have a latent stellar aspect that might be coming to the surface in light (pun intended!) of our expanding knowledge.

So I like to keep my eyes open for other examples of this emerging understanding of Brighid as a stellar goddess. And I thought here might be a good place to for all of us to share any examples that we come across.

One that I found just today, in fact, was in the book The Salmon in the Spring: The Ecology of Celtic Spirituality by Jason Kirkey. In one section, he's telling a story about a time in his life when he was "apprenticed to winter" and struggling with a certain spiritual aimlessness, when he decided to go out walking among the hills of Ireland. Lost in a thick mist, he felt the spiritual winter melting away and Brighid's warm presence prompting him to joyous laughter. As he began to make for home, he realized he'd been completely turned around and didn't know which direction to head in to get back to the harbor village where he was staying - when suddenly, despite it being three in the afternoon, a single star appeared in the mist as a guiding light. He set off in that direction, making his way down the hill - and the star grew brighter and brighter as he neared. He writes (emphasis mine):

The impossibility of the moment was weighing on me. How could there be a single star shining so bright through the mist in the afternoon? At any moment, I expected to reach the star, now a vaginal opening of light through the mist, and be born back into the world. A wind blew suddenly. The mist thinned. Briefly I glimpsed a world which was foreign to me, inhabited by streets, cars, and fishing boats. In Ireland people tell stories of glimpsing the faery people and their paradisiacal world. I felt like running back to the stones to tell them my tale of glimpsing a human world full of both beauty and confusion. My star was the sun reflecting off the harbor. So disoriented, my perception within the mist had dissolved all heights and depths within each other; externally and internally. Here there was unity between Heaven and Earth.

He describes this event as occurring in early February right around Imbolc, but of having a feel about it that reminded him strongly of a solstice, so much so that he intuitively thought of the star leading the wise men in the Christian story of Jesus' birth.

This passage struck me so strongly for a couple of reasons:

- First, only a few days ago, I led a Druidic solstice ritual for my family (husband, stepkids, parents and brother, nine of us in total) in which we honored both Jesus as a deity of the newborn sun and Brighid as a stellar goddess. In Irish folklore, St. Brigid is known as the "midwife of Christ" and during our meditation and candle-lighting ceremony I used the story of the star guiding the wise men to tie into the idea of Brighid as a stellar goddess and creatrix helping to "give birth" to our most intimate star, the sun. That only a few days later I should read a passage in a book linking Brighid the goddess not just to Imbolc but to the winter solstice through exactly the same story was pretty powerful.

- Second, the very fact that after describing his sense of Brighid's presence, Kirkey goes on to describe a profound experience of being guided by a star.... a star that, in fact, turns out to be the sun! And not just the sun, but the sun reflected in water! Ummm..... Fire In Water anyone? This experience of disorientation where distance blends "up" and "down" until they are indistinguishable and a reflection below can seem like a star from above is something I myself experienced earlier this fall while on my honeymoon - traveling through the flat desert of Utah at sunset, gazing westward it seemed to me that I was not looking up into a rose-gold sky, but looking down from a great height out onto a strange sea whose waters were illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun, with the dark shapes of clouds scattered like islands in that water. So again, there's this blending of fire and water in connection with the sun. In my case, this was just before our first night of camping out beneath the stars in a national park that's considered one of the best star-gazing sites in the country.

What's interesting is that, even though he mentions Brighid only a paragraph earlier and in the context of this same story, Kirkey doesn't himself make any explicit connection between her presence and the sudden appearance of the sun-[i]qua[/i]-star. It's not as though he's intentionally trying to make that connection with his story - but the relationship seems almost inescapably obvious considering some of the Unverified Shared Gnosis of this group.

I'd love to hear people's thoughts on this, or if anyone else has come across examples of this kind of unexpected shared gnosis in other places!

Diary - Brighid, Lady of the Stars

Sun: leo (fixed fire), 6:35 AM - 8:11 PM
Moon: waning gibbous, taurus (fixed earth)
Earth: cool and bright this morning, though the air is thick with mist lying low in the grassy valleys of the park

A reader of my website asked me to elaborate on my relationship with Brighid as a stellar goddess. This is what I wrote in response:

S--,

That is a great question - in both senses of the word! It's a really good one, and it's also a really BIG one! :) I'll do my best to answer it briefly here, and I also have an "about the gods" post coming up in my 30 Days of Druidry meme where I'll probably touch on it a bit more.

My relationship with Brighid is very mutable and seems to always be in flux, but one thing that has remained consistent is my connection with her "darker" aspect. Lady Gregory described the goddess as having a face that was one half fair and beautiful, and one half dark and ugly. Up until then, I'd only ever read about her "light" aspect, her connection with fertility and inspiration and the sacred fire in all its various manifestations. When I read that line by Lady Gregory, though, suddenly something "clicked" for me, and Brighid as a goddess became suddenly much more complex and compelling to me. This relationship between light and dark mingling and rubbing up against one another creates that liminal space that is so much associated with Brighid - especially the saint, who was born at dawn on the threshold of the doorway, a daughter of a Druid chief and a Christian slave who grew up to become the most powerful saint in Ireland, even more than St. Patrick, as well as the first and only female bishop (so the legends go).

The goddess, too, has these liminal light-and-dark aspects in her lore. As one of the Tuatha dé Danann, she was a goddess of light, order and civilization. Yet in the wake of the war between the Tuatha dé and the Fomorians, she marries Bres, King of the Fomorians (and half-Tuatha dé himself) in an attempt to make peace and forge an alliance between the warring sides. Together, they have a son, who is later killed in battle as a result of a betrayal, and Brighid wails for him in grief - the first keening that was ever heard in Ireland. So here you have these deep connections between light and dark, joy and sorrow, peace and war, in the mythology surrounding her, and over and over she occupies a liminal position or place between the two. I think this is what Lady Gregory meant by saying her face was half light and half dark. As for the saint, it was said that St. Brighid was amazingly beautiful, but she was committed to becoming a nun with the church and did not want to marry, so to avoid a suitor she gouged out one of her eyes in order to make herself ugly, so that her face became literally half beautiful and half grotesque (afterwards, she restored her own eye in an act of miraculous healing). I think this story from the saint, as well as some of the lore surrounding Brighid as a goddess, shows her willingness to "go dark" when a higher purpose calls for it. It reminds me of a poem by Wendell Berry:

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

So all of that is the basis of my view of Brighid in the lore, which you probably already mostly knew already! My personal relationship with her, beginning with that realization of her darker aspect, has consistently included an understanding of her as sometimes swinging between these light and dark sides. My first most powerful direct experience of her presence was during a time when I was traveling, feeling ungrounded and lonely and cut off - I was sitting in a hotel room alone at night watching the rain fall steadily in an unfamiliar city, and I saw the lights of the city reflected in the water and had an overwhelming sense of her presence as this vast, deep awareness that was so.... big that she passed over me like I was a speck of dust caught up on the hem of her mantle. She wasn't just "represented" by the light in the water, she was the light in the water, and so in that way she was absolutely everywhere, she was a natural force that was utterly enduring and changeable, no matter what came and went she would be there in some form or another.

For a while, then, my relationship with her involved the more common light-focused aspects of sacred fire and solar energies. I began keeping her flame with a Brighidine Cill and working with her creative energies as poet. But I was rarely able to connect with her other two traditional roles - the healer, and the smith. Then late last fall, I was in conversation with some others in the Cill about her various aspects, and someone brought up the work of smithcraft and the forge as a place of creation and transformation. I forget exactly how it happened, but through the conversation and the "lobbing of lightbulbs" back and forth, we began to collectively come to an understanding of Brighid as a kind of primordial creatrix figure.

I guess one way to think about it is that her aspect as a solar deity kind of "withdrew" into a far distance and her darker aspect once again asserted itself. "To know the dark, go dark" - associations with the dark heat of the forge, with its noise and steam and sweat and dull ember glow, out of which springs suddenly the spark of light as the hammer strikes the metal on the anvil.... all these were images we came to understand were an aspect of her connection with the stars, those far distant suns that were only pinpricks of light, but that stemmed from a "big bang" in the primordial past, the same that gave birth to our own sun. The metaphor of "fire in the water" has some deep connections in the Celtic worldview with the basic stuff of creation and creativity - and this was not only reflected in the creative process of poetry (the spark of inspiration in the "watery" realm of emotions), but also the hot springs of healing and the blacksmith's process of tempering metal using both fire and water to achieve the sharpest edge. The stars themselves are like sparks of light in the vast ocean of night. They are inconceivably far away, and yet their light reaches us steadily, so reliably that they have shaped our understanding of the very structure of the universe (through both astrology and modern astronomy) and have been used for centuries as guides for sailors navigating on the sea with no stable landmark to follow. In this way, stars are themselves in a kind of liminal space and they draw us into that space as well when we gaze on them. Unlike the moon (which can sometimes seem so big that it's almost right on top of you!), the stars on a moonless night seem to exert their own kind of gravity. I've spent nights star-gazing on top of Mount Cadillac, the tallest mountain on the eastern seaboard, and more than once have felt that giddy vertigo of suddenly feeling the earth as a tiny speck of dust in the vastness of space, a speck too small to hold me down. Because the stars are so far away, and yet so present to us through their endless, self-giving light, they seem to pull us into this place suspended between intimacy and mystery.

So when I talk about Brighid's "stellar" aspect, this is a little bit of what I mean. I see Brighid primarily as a celestial deity - a Shining One, a being of the heavens, of sky and space. As a celestial deity, her "light" aspect is expressed through her role as a solar goddess, a goddess of the sun and the fires here on earth that we have the most connection and relationship with. But she is also a stellar goddess in her "dark" aspect, in which the light itself retreats into the surrounding darkness and becomes hardly more than the pinpricks of the stars, yet still with all the same power and mystery about it. In both senses, she has this liminal quality to her, and there is often overlap. (As a goddess of the dawn, she strides between night and day, with not only the rising sun but also the "morning star" of Venus as companions!)

So I hope that answers your question at least a little bit. :) This is still a relationship that I'm exploring, and like I said, it swings between light and dark for me quite a bit. Over the winter, her stellar aspect was especially strong for me, whereas in spring and early summer her solar/fire aspect was much more powerful and present to me. Now I seem to be in a place of balance in my relationship with her (and this is partly due, I think, to my evolving relationship with Manannan, Son of the Sea).... So, we'll see. :)

--Ali

She That Is: A Meditation on Brigid Star Fire

I gather together the candles, the prayer beads, the scattered objects and tools I've consecrated to Her over the past few years, and I set them before me on the altar. Three candles burning. One flame flickering deep, half-hidden in a thick, white pillar mostly melted down, its edges sculpted in soft dips and peaks like slowly collapsing snow or the heights of a mountain. One pillar still like new, solid sculpted wax, churning the cool rusted copper of LED electricity, nestled in its hurricane vase of cracked orange and red glass. One small candle floating, a dull gold ring around a bright, steady flame, hovering suspended by clear water studded with glints and glitter in a dark, blue bowl rimmed with black.

What is She? Who is She? Celestial, ephemeral, pristine and pure, delicate, new, grace itself, fresh and bright. Earthy, dark and grounded, sweat and dirt and hot breath, the hard flex and tension of muscle, the rough power of fire and stone, the burning fluidity of molten ore. Primal, deep and ageless, utter stillness and distance, utter light in the darkness, spun out, flung out, fragmented, holographic, the whispering wholeness buried within each disparate glint of limit and form.

And the hammer, the anvil, the spark — the sweat and hot breath of the universe, the work and labor of the cosmos brought to bear on itself, the earthy Ground of Being lifted, deepened, expanded to fill a sky overwhelmed with the clamor of stars, each forged, each made new, pristine, a shining fragment of light. And the stars, the infinite suns, perfect spheres in a great dance of beauty, humming with song, swung in great arcs as though in one another's arms, spinning into newly created moments, new beginnings, like a child spinning around her center in a fresh spring meadow, arms flung out, effortless in grace and welcome.

And the hiss of the steam, the pulsing of groundwater, the twining thrust of energy rising in the mound, a serpent of stars in the dark earth. The tongue of flame licking dark and bright above the wellspring, the purity and intensity of all-consuming heat, soften, tempered by the fresh, cold waters.

She is too much. I cannot hold onto Her, I cannot see Her — I can only follow the winding, spiraling connections, dynamic and always changing, fluid, fleet. Sometimes She is overwhelming, even austere, so hot and great that Her fire burns cold. Sometimes She is all innocence and promise, coaxing and gentle and warm, caressing and playful. Sometimes She is so intimate I cannot tell Her from my own passion, the drive that spurs me, the energy that courses through my blood and lashes out in righteous anger or sharp, clever words like a long blade. Sometimes, She is absence, void, the emptiness of death or grief, the keening of wind whistling through the hollow, the barely glimpsed sliver of light reflecting off the rainfall in the dusk, wane, distant, not enough.

Who is She? I don't know. I cannot describe Her outside of poetry, and poetry cannot do Her justice. She is creativity at the heart of existence, tempered and expressed in culture and art, the resistance and pressure of material forms that force us into relationship and engagement, and the release from those heavy forms afforded by inspiration and the spark of light and insight that lifts us up beyond ourselves, seems to defy even gravity itself. She is my Goddess, my Sun, my Center, my Light, my Starscape, my Tongue, my Draught, my Forge...

Astrology of Me: Change and Career

By way of explaining my absence here for the past month or so, I'll just cite this excerpt from the astrology site that Jeff routinely checks. He checked it this morning when we were both up before dawn — he, out of self-discipline, and I, because I woke up around 5 AM thinking about coding and website design and couldn't fall back asleep.

Uranus Triune the Midheaven seems to pretty much nail it on the head.

This influence represents a period in your life when you can make creative changes in both your professional and your personal life. In your career, sudden opportunities may come about that enable you to move in radically new and different directions. Often this influence signifies a change in career to another field such as scientific or technical professions, including electronics, computers and engineering. This influence can also signify an interest in the occult, especially astrology.

But this period has a larger significance. At this time you are able to change your life direction and do something that more truly expresses your individuality. The problem for most people is that this new field may be quite different from what you were taught was a "proper" profession. Most people's focus in this regard is too narrow. It is very important now to let yourself explore any field of endeavor that attracts you, regardless of how well it fits your preconceptions of a career. Please note that your new direction may not be a career in the usual sense but a field to which you devote your life, although it is unrelated to making a living. One's avocation may well be one's true calling.

The only restriction is that your new direction should be ethical and legal, simply because this influence can create serious problems with the law if you are not careful about legality.

This is also a time in your life when you will be innovative in whatever you do. Your thinking is fresh and original, and you do not try to solve new problems with old solutions, either in your profession or in your personal life. Thus you will be attracted to new techniques and new ideas, especially for your own personal development.

This influence began in May 2010 (right around the time I first injured my wrist, which eventually led me to quitting my old job at the end of June 2010) and will last until January 2012. It's the kind of influence with peaks and troughs, and one of those peaks occurred just recently, building strength through February and cresting the third week of March — right during the week that Jeff and I were at a week-long business conference where I put in more than fifty hours of work. The next peak will come in October, during yet another week-long business conference.

So let's see. We've got:
√ a new career direction doing relatively nonconventional work from home
√ tax issues cropping up due to filing as a "self-employed" independent contractor
√ complications in exploring legal options for a Pagan wedding (not career related, but still)
√ new, intense interest in website design and the use of new media in unique ways
√ growing interest in astrology

So there you have it. I don't know why I even bother keeping a diary, if the stars are going to be so precise.

Brigid Star Fire, An Imbolc Meditation

I began in a field, a green expanse full of flowers and bright sunlight unrolling on all sides. A figure danced in green and gold rippling, barely distinguishable at first from the wind shifting and dancing through the long grasses — yet as she moved closer, I was able to make her out. Eyes that flashed black and full of stars, a glimpse here and there in her turning and spiraling of a darkness, glinting cold and dark, then slipping, spinning back into green and gold. The mantle she wore spun out around her as she turned and danced, the colors of its threads flung out like sparks from a fire, leaping, or like flower petals of purple crocuses and myriad colored wildflowers — some falling to the ground to spring up as blossoms from scattered seeds, while others fluttered, took flight as a thousand butterflies flirting with the warm breeze.

So unlikely a scene, in the midst of this cold and bitterly long winter, that it took me a moment to adjust, to sink more deeply into the sense of place and allow myself to enter, to engage, the awakened land. The candle on my altar — the golden fire-in-the-water afloat among golden flecks of glitter in the blue bowl, the flame of transformation and forge fire that marked the opened center way — hissed and sparked as it consumed the offering of butter. On either side, the red candle of fire, poetry and inspiration and the blue candle of water, healing and integration burned steadily in their holders. But my eyes were closed, as I sunk deeper into trance. The green, gold meadow grew more intense in my mind's eye as I slipped down into my true center.

What is this dancing? I asked her, running to keep up as she laughed and twirled. What do you have to teach me, Brigid? Is spring here already? It seems so cold still. She seemed to ignore my half-frantic questions, challenging me with her movements to stay on my toes. Suddenly, she flopped down in the grass like a small girl, giggling, laying on her stomach propped up on her elbows, running her fingers through the grasses and flower blossoms. Her gold-flamed auburn hair fell around her face in braids, and the soles of her bare feet were slightly darkened with the dirt of the earth. I looked more closely at where her fingers were playing and dancing through the rich flora of the meadow. She plucked a white-fuzzed sphere of a dandelion and sat up, cross-legged, and held it up between us for me to examine. "Funny," she mused, "How the same flower that can be so golden and bright as the sun — turns to white, soft fluff carried on the wind when it goes to seed...." She took a deep breath and blew, closing her eyes for a moment as if making a wish. The we both watched as the seeds one by one let loose and drifted like snow across the wide field — some snagging in the nearby grasses and trembling there, others carried far and high until they were lost to our sight against the bright sky. "How much they look like tiny stars!" Brigid exclaimed, and she was on her feet again, running and dancing among the flowers. The field seemed suddenly full of dandelions, most of them golden yellow and bristling with sunshine. When Brigid found one ready to seed, a crystal fuzz-ball of intricate webbing in white, she'd flick it with her toe as she danced past, sending the seeds scattering to the wind.

But, I called out, what about my work? What work should I be doing? I have been so tired, it's so hard for me to work up the energy to stick to a discipline. You are the Goddess of the Forge, of the steady and unglamorous work of transformation! Don't you have any advice for me? She laughed with that laugh that always seems to mean, "You just don't get it, darling!" She continued dancing through the green, sun-bathed fields, calling out behind her, "The dandelion is not always sunny. Sometimes it must go to seed to survive, sometimes it must put down deep roots! Not every season is the season of discipline and work! Things change! I am not just a goddess of transformation — I am also the goddess of inspiration!" As if in response to these words, on my altar the red candle sparked and hissed, and its flame danced in its holder. "Now it's time for you to indulge in some joy, my darling!" Brigid announced, catching me up with her hands and swinging me around trying to urge me to dance. "Now is a time for the joy of inspiration — do what brings you joy, find again the playfulness in yourself. Now is not a time for work — I am sick of work — now is the time to play! As the spring comes and the days warm, play and be joyful! These are your duties now, to dance the spring in, to welcome it as it deserves!"

Her words kept coming, urging me to seek again the source of my joy, to sing my soul-song in playful notes, and set aside my worries about obligation and progress. Moved by her words, I joined her dancing, and together we spiraled and swirled and skipped through the grasses, singing and laughing beneath a high, bright sky. After a time, I asked her, Should I — I mean, you are my goddess. Should I take an oath to you, a formal vow? She scoffed kindly at my question. But others in our group have done so — and I have no doubt in my heart that I am devoted to you... Her dance slowed beside me so that she could gaze more deeply into my eyes. "For others," she said, "An oath is like the spiderweb that connects and weaves them together in my service — and it is on those strands that the jewels of transformation, devotion and inspiration collect like dew. But you — you are already too full of duties and responsibilities, shouldering too much of the world as an obligation. No, you do not need to make any more promises to me that you have not already made. What you need to learn.... is a little bit of joy and freedom!" And with that, we were spinning again, dancing. The red candle on the altar sparked and danced along.

And as the trance deepened, as I slipped in and out of the rhythm of the spiraling dance across the meadow, it seemed that suddenly she caught me up in an embrace full of passion and joy, kissing me deep on the mouth — her breath becoming my breath, sweet and warm with the scent of flowers and greenery in springtime. I opened my arms to embrace her, and found I was embracing nothing but breeze and sunlight, as my body shivered, transfused with a sudden warmth tingling in every cell. She had entered into my body, or merged, or blended — I found myself to now be wearing the lush green robe and mantle hemmed with golden knotwork ribbon weaving its patterns along each edge, and as I spun, it rippled out around me in long undulating waves that seemed the very expression of joy and creativity rooted deep within the earth. The dandelion seeds drifted white around me, and soon the field was full of them, wafting as thick as snow but warm and soft. I found the meadow had grown dark and the seeds drifted upwards to mingle with the stars against the darkness of the night sky. I seemed to hear her voice from within — yet from a great distance — "What you need to learn, child, is how to plant the seeds of joy in your heart and nurture them as they crave. What grows of these — leave that to me...."

Then slipping quickly back, the trance came to an end and I was sitting before my altar again, watching the three flames burning steady and silent in the still air. Dipping my finger in the butter again, I consecrated a fourth candle, a large white pillar in a red-and-orange stained glass hurricane jar. This was to be my flamekeeping candle for the coming year, lit and tended every twenty days during my shift. What promises you have from me are already enough, Brigid? I pray this is so, and that I may keep them dear....

New Year Divination: 2011

I ask for guidance about the coming year, one card for each house. What can I expect during the year to come?

I lay down twelve cards, one for each of the astrological houses, beginning with the first house to the left and moving counter-clockwise around the central altar to the three realms.

The First House (Ascendant): The house of beginnings, our first reactions and immediate attitude to the external world around us; our personality, external characteristics, public persona and the first impressions we leave.

The Hierophant (V) — The priest and teacher of wisdom and ritual, the Hierophant represents our inner urge to seek meaning and craft meaningful, beautiful ways of living and moving in the world showing honor and without doing harm to others. He is a figure of tradition and ancient patterns rooted in the secrets of the earth and the ages. He brings the spiritual or religious urge into manifestation in the earthly realm through the careful cultivation and practice of ritual and rite, and through these he can reveal mysteries and great wisdom with patience and calm.

The Second House: The house of security, stability, property, wealth and income; our attitudes towards wealth and material possessions, and our financial fortunes and economic sense.

Ace of Wands — This card signifies a gift, the possibility of creativity, excitement and adventure, the first urge in a new direction which can be pursued with enthusiasm and energy. A card of beginnings, it may represent a threshold to be crossed, a new enterprise to undertake, or perhaps a challenge to be met with strength, intelligence and wit.

The Third House: The house of connection and communication through analytical and critical thinking, information exchange, news and publicity; practicality, trade and exchange, as well as brief contact and short, quick communications with others.

Three of Cups — This card signifies a time of celebration and joy in friendship and community with others. A moment to pause and appreciate the good work and good feeling that comes with initial success, to enjoy the moment with dance and song and other expressions of merriment and gratitude, while also knowing work still lies ahead as the process continues.

The Fourth House: The house of emotional comfort and inner security which provides a foundation, as well as our desire to care for and cherish others; thus, also tradition, family, ancestry and memories of our youth.

Nine of Wands — A card of vigilance and watchfulness, holding strength in reserve and holding true to that core of power and inner strength that we might not expect we have until we have been tested. This card urges us to be prepared and ever-ready, strong in our resolve to work through conflicts without losing our edge over time. But it also reminds us to keep an open mind and broad perspective, to rest secure in ourselves and not to go looking for conflict or to allow conflict to arise because we are too one-sided or belligerent.

The Fifth House: The house of pleasure, entertainment, play and love, as well as our creative impulses and our delight and inner satisfaction in our own productivity and activity; our desire to express ourselves and develop self-reliance.

The Hermit (IX) — The restlessness and yearning for solitude expresses itself in the Hermit, who follows his inner longing for deepening personal fulfillment, withdrawing from the sometimes harsh external world to seek the spiritual life within and the guidance and light it can give. The Hermit experiences the intensity of that calling to the inner life and embraces the depth and profundity of the greater whole. Though from the outside he may seem withdrawn, reserved or even passive, within he undertakes a journey of soul-longing to find his place in the greater whole and learn how to put this new understanding into practice.

The Sixth House: The house of everyday life, and the routine of work, diet, health and habit; our attitudes towards our work, its joys and frustrations, and our relationship with our physical bodies through the concrete daily tasks we engage in.

The Star (XVII) — The Star is a card of hope, renewal and peace. She dances, full of grace, gratitude and joy, among the shadows of the darkest night, welcoming the coming dawn with acceptance and appreciation as one who has released fear and discovered the inner guiding light that bestows self-confidence and poise. Within refreshing darkness, the Star cultivates the space to prepare and uplift the spirit, embracing all the potential we hold within and engaging creatively with what the future holds.

The Seventh House: The house of partnership and teamwork, our attitudes towards our partners, as well as our expectations and experiences of partnership; a need for harmony and balance, equilibrium and friendliness.

The Hanged Man (XII) — The Hanged Man signifies surrender and willing self-sacrifice, a well as emotional release and acceptance of the ups and downs, shadow and sun sides of life. The Hanged Man perseveres through difficulty and suffering not by resisting them or seeking to avoid them, but by resting in the secret, subtle knowledge within that he will survive, that his strength will endure and he will emerge from his experience wiser and more capable than before. This card is also one of shift and change, a reversal in perspective that may flip the world upside; the Hanged Man's center of gravity is not the mundane world of ordinary matters, but the deeper or "higher" gravity of the heavens, a spiritual sense that leads him to trust in and surrender to the greater patterns of the universe.

The Eighth House: The house of animal instinct, intuition and the unconscious, in particular how these express themselves in our attitudes and relationships; the urge to take risks and pursue creative tasks, as well as our fears and anxieties about our personal power and its expression.

Seven of Wands — This card has a paradoxical nature. On the one hand, it can represent the courage, faith and selflessness to take a stand to protect or fight for what we believe in and what's truly important; yet on the other hand, it may also indicate that our own actions and initiatives are the source or cause for the conflict we are experiencing. In both cases, this card encourages us to take heart and remember our strength, to be on our guard and tenacious in our striving, but also to be willing to adapt, to bend and sway with the changing winds.

The Ninth House: The house of expansive vision and ideals; a thirst for travel, as well as our attitudes towards higher education, philosophy, religion, spirituality and our sense of justice.

Eight of Cups — This card signifies the completion or resolution of an emotional situation, and a new resolution to go out seeking in new directions. It is a card that urges us to dive more deeply into the mysterious realms of our emotions and intuition, to follow our leading down into the depths and the dark where our vision may be softened and connections appear more fluid and smooth. The sharp lines and bright lights of the everyday mundane world might be left behind for a time, as we explore our emotional depths on a journey of personal discovery. Yet we may not be sure where this journey will lead us, or what we may encounter in the dark depths, and so insecurity or uncertainty may also be an aspect of this card's meaning.

The Tenth House: The house of demarcation, boundaries and social positions; our attitudes towards our place and function in the larger world and our desire to define our sense of self in relation to others.

Death (XIII) — This card signifies transition, change and transformation. A card of death and rebirth, it burns away the old patterns and ways of being, whether they are unhelpful, unhealthy or simply no longer serving their purpose. In their place, new ways of being and living emerge that open new possibilities and opportunities to us. If we cling to the old, we face stagnation and deadlock, and yet if we can embrace these changes we will discover ourselves renewed and transformed by the process. Still, death and change are not often easy, and each carries its own sorrows and griefs as well as amazing joys and ecstasies. So this card also encourages us to face the coming changes with courage and compassion, and a willingness to embrace our transformation and its difficulties as the purging forge fire that will ready us for a new life.

The Eleventh House: The house of friendship, camaraderie and equality; our urge to break down rigid boundaries and get to know others as equals on their own terms; our attitude towards friends and friendship and our desire to seek out like-minded others.

Page of Wands — This card represents childlike innocence and joy, especially the pleasure to be had in engaging with enthusiasm and energy in activities and new projects or initiatives. The Page of Wands is charismatic, witty and personable, forthright and outspoken and able to draw others to her with her excitement and youthful wonder and energy. This card is an urge to action, fresh and uncomplicated, especially activities engaged in for their own sake with no ulterior motives.

The Twelfth House: The house of deeper connection and union with life, expressed through or leading to mystic spirituality, artistic work, or social justice work; our oneness with life expressed by the unconscious in dreams, visions, symbols or sometimes the absorption of the personality into the collective, the masses.

Page of Cups — This card represents romanticism and a connection to the world of dreams, visions and fantasies. The Page of Cups, a romantic at heart, longs for the quiet, still space in which to simply breathe and enjoy the pleasures that surround her, to delve more deeply into her dreams and visions, and to listen more closely to the whisperings of her intuition and the inner wisdom of her unconscious. She is receptive and childlike, which may at times lead her into sentimentality, indulging in her emotions and dreams without acting on them, perhaps without even realizing that she can act on them. Yet there are unplumbed depths here, as well, held within the possibilities of the peace and tranquility of this card.

The Astrology of Me, New Year Edition

More insight from the stars about the coming year. Jeff says during 2011, Jupiter and Uranus move into my 6th House (Jupiter and Uranus do funky things for everyone this coming year, bringing intense energies with their conjunction, but which house they appear in will depend on each person's individual natal chart). What does this mean? Jeff explains:

Jupiter is kingship, power, will; Uranus is trickster, surprise, sudden collapse, anti-heirarchy.  The two together are like a trickster-king.  So imagine this trickster-king moving into your life in the realm of health, work, daily routine, etc. It could manifest in many different ways.

For Jeff, Jupiter and Uranus will be doing their star-studded dance in his 3rd house, "which is communications and mental activity. It might be a super-big project at work, some new relationship I [Jeff] have to navigate, or something."



He also sent me a link to a fascinating article, in which the author, Dana Gerhardt, discusses the effects of the 6th house in more detail. She writes:

The 6th refers to daily time and how we spend it. Here most of us defer to the cultural norm—which is to do time mechanically. We fill it with productive activity: We work. Most of us have no choice. This could indeed be the “bad fortune” the ancients were talking about! However, most of us would admit that working is not entirely bad. There is something in us that likes a regular structure in our days. Studies have shown that the most depressed individuals are not the ones who have nine-to-five jobs, but the ones who don't—the unemployed, the infirm, the retired—those who have nowhere to go and nothing to do. The ancients said that action-oriented Mars “joys” in this house. Our 6th house likes to be in motion.

Gerhardt goes on to explore how we can cope with and compensate for the heightened energies of the 6th house:

Merriman was suggesting that to balance the 6th, we should look to its opposing house, the 12th. This is the house belonging to the invisible world. It is Neptune’s territory. To keep Mercury’s efficiency in proper measure, we can evoke more Neptune—imagination, spirituality, the unconsciousness of dream. Just as our dreams carry images from our days, we might allow our days to remember images from our dreams.

Jung teaches there are two roots to psychological disease: the gods we forget to honor and the gods we overdo. Too much of Mercury’s “doing” without Neptune’s “floating in the empty spaces” makes "stress" a common 6th house syndrome. When Neptune is forgotten, this uninvited and quietly vengeful guest lies in wait, to throw us under his spell. Driving the freeway home, we suffer brief comas, waking up just minutes before the off-ramp arrives. We forget why we opened the refrigerator or entered the bedroom. Our bodies working like efficient machines, we go numb to the day. When we lose touch with our present, we fall prey to addictions. It's dishonored Neptune who puts the drink, the cigarette, the remote control in our hands.

She continues:

What I discovered was that most people move through the day in the style of their Ascendant. I’ve got Virgo rising, which means I adore planning, making schedules and lists. "An hour for Tibetan prayers, another for reading, then onto my work," I’ll tell myself. But then there are phone calls, emails to answer, the electrician who doesn’t come when he said he would. Aquarius is on my 6th house cusp. Aquarius more accurately describes the unpredictable rhythms that I meet. Despite my best intentions, my Virgo plans usually break down. If the chart describes one’s daily rhythm, its formula goes more like this: The Ascendant shows how you want the day to happen. The 6th describes how it actually does.

My Ascendant is in Libra, and my 6th house edge is in Aries. When I asked Jeff what this might mean for me, he explained that, "This means you want a measured day, balanced energies and all; but what you get is a day full of passion and energy that may sometimes careen out of control." That does sound like me. When I asked him about balancing my 6th house with my 12th, he continued:

You have a Libra 12th, with the Moon in it.  This means that your emotions often come from somewhere you can't identify - they arise and disappear rather mysteriously - but they're not random; they're direct connections with Spirit, which knows more about what's going on than you do.

He says that I tend to follow Gerhardt's advice quite well already. I may begin the day with a plan, but I hold it loosely and if emotionally I feel "called" to some other work, I usually follow that leading and go. Still, this has become an increasing struggle for me lately, and in some ways it's refreshing to have this interpretation of astrological events serving as both an affirmation of the patterns I've been perceiving, and a reminder about how best to handle these greater currents sweeping through my life.



How long can I expect this to go on? Jeff tells me:

Right now they're slowly approaching Aries. They're still in Pisces, but they're close to your 6th house and almost conjunct, so - yes, you should already be feeling the effects.

It's something rather long-term. Jupiter will be in your 6th house for about a year, and Uranus for several years. There will probably be a lot of the energy this year, especially in the spring, and then as Jupiter moves on past Uranus things will settle down.

More specifically:

Jupiter enters your 6th house on Feb 2nd.  Uranus will enter your 6th house right around the middle of April.  ...  Actually, now that I look at the actual dates, it looks like the influence is probably strongest very soon:  Tuesday of next week!  After that, Jupiter moves very fast and leaves Uranus behind, and by May Jupiter is already on to your 7th house.  So...  as far as Jupiter is concerned, not such a long-term thing.

Uranus will stick around for a few years, but its main effect will just be to make your daily schedule unpredictable.  Uranus in the 6th house can indicate major health issues, but usually only in people who have other major problems (like high stress or whatever).

Meditations on Brigid: Creatrix, Goddess of Creativity

Brigid, Bright Creatrix,
Goddess of Creativity,
Source of All,
what message do you have for me?

Death: Not creation from nothing, but the creativity of rebirth and renewal is her nature, the cycles of destruction and creation in the wild, passionate dance of grief and joy, sorrow and love, bound together and unfolding in ever-new forms and ways. The creation of transformation, the embrace of fire that both consumes and transforms, the new is a seed within the old, hatched amidst difficulty and, yes, even fear.

The grief of the ancestors in my blood and bones, the land I walk upon, you are the Ancestor of my ancestors, the source in the stars themselves, the ringing clash of metal, hiss of steam in the darkness and star-pierced night of space. Before there was a land, there was fire and water, there was you, the forger of star-stuff, complexity building upon complexity in the furnace at the heart of the countless suns, and the scattering of star-ash across the galaxies. We arise from your burning self-sacrifice and the joy of your passion and song, your voice like harp strings humming and thrumming in tension between life and death, strung between earth and sky, taut in our hearts, our throats, our hand-weavings as we do our work. All creativity is transformation, the willingness to dance as a partner of death, to carve away and reform, re-imagine. The ember of creation is the last remnant of a slow-dying fire, smoldering warmth and with its last light giving the spark to set going a new blaze.

Praise to you, Source and Nothing, Creator and Death alike, embracing the world with a love that sustains and transforms. My gratitude for your presence in my life, Exalted Brigid.

Awen.

Brigid, Lady of the Star Fire

The Brighid Nebula by Randall Klopping

Meditations on Brigid: Lady of the Stars

Exalted Brigid, Lady of the Stars,
I seek to know you better.
Exalted Brigid, Lady of the Stars,
reveal to me an aspect of yourself.

Four of Cups: "I offer you a gift, yet you still refuse, sunk in your own revery, gazing at your own reflection."

What gifts do you offer that I am blindly refusing, Brigid, Lady of the Stars?

Knight of Pentacles: The gift of patience and steady commitment to hard work and unwavering devotion. The Knight rides the great steed of the earth itself, curling and arcing along its course with the ancient power of the deep dragon waking. He is not distracted by the temptations or distractions that abound, but sets his eyes on his goal and settles into the long, loving work of reaching it. He does not move, so much as grow, like a vine, ivy, symbol of perseverance. Though he may seem passive and still, he is unmoving only as the great stars are unmoving, turning above the earth so silently and gracefully that the eye cannot detect their movement. And yet still, they move.

The Moon (XVIII): The gift of hidden depths and unknown mysteries — the wellspring of the unconscious, the pale mirror-light of reflection, dreams and enchantment. The moon rises between the tangled limbs of forest trees, casting misleading shadows, and the symbols, images and dream-leadings of the unconscious arise to unsettle the conscious mind and disrupt carefully planned patterns. A mask itself, the moon reveals all masks and casts them off. This is the gift of the unexpected depths, the mysteries of darkness and night, the space between the stars that reveal themselves in strange fantasies and confusing patterns. Is it productive to wander by moonlight? Will the waking world accept the gifts of dreams, ideals and strange omens calling deeper? These are the wrong questions; the moon beckons us to dance, to indulge in an exploration of our own depths. With this exploration comes the gift of intuition, imagination, receptivity and grace.

The Star (XVII): The gift of hope, renewal and the gentle dance of inner and outer worlds together in harmony and balance. The star guides, and it is with joy, calm and trust that one follows that guiding, glittering light with movements that flow as naturally as the grace-blessed waters of the river and the milky way alike. Just as water flows, hope and inspiration work their own way out, and freedom that springs from within ripples outward to echo in the world all around us and in the lives of others. The star gazes on in tranquility, providing guidance and blessings simply through its nature. This is the gift of following one's own inner star as the path reveals itself before the earnest, trusting seeker's wandering feet. To follow with joy and trust is to open to generosity and gratitude.

My gratitude and praise to you, Brigid, Lady of the Stars, guiding light of my hope and exalted guardian of my trusting soul. May I serve you well, from the unknown depths to the gentle river of the stars unrolling, to the long, slow fecundity of earth that seems to sleep yet ever returns, renewed.

Awen.

Flamekeeping Meditation

Fire and Water in the Earth of my body,
I honor you, Brigid, Bright Goddess of Flame,
I honor you, Lady of Wellspring and Starlight,
And inscribe in my heart your thrice-holy name.

The candle is the center way, open between the worlds. I hold my hands as though in prayer, then slowly bring them apart to rest, palms upturned, on my knees. Above the soft sound of my breath as it rocks back and forth, ebb and flow within my body — the rustle of the wind in tree branches.

I am in a forest, rich and thick with the scent of evergreen. Tall pines stand all about me like the buttresses and columns of a great cathedral, shivering and shifting in a breeze. I feel as though I can sense every thin, green needle spread like whiskers, scenting the wind, turning this way and that. I stand in awe for a moment, unsure where to go or what to do. I place my hand against the rough, red trunk of one of the trees. Sticky sap seeps beneath my fingers, clinging to my skin.

A figure behind me — it is She, the Bright Goddess, this time draped in subtle, shifting green like the pine trees, her hair in radiant, auburn braids plaited thick and draped about her shoulders like a luxuriant fringe. "Taste," she seems to say with a small gesture, "the sap is sweet." Like the amber was once, I find myself thinking as I raise my fingertips to my lips and lick the sap from my hands. "The amber that once flowed through the veins of ancient trees," she agrees. "What is it that makes the sap sweet?" I do not know how to answer her. "It is the connection between earth and sky, the roots seeking deep for water, the limbs reaching, striving towards sunlight." She watches me as my gaze drifts beyond her back to the great trees of the forest. They seem to dwarf both of us, and I'm struck again by how small her form is. "It is the movement between the realms, the connection that flows through living veins, that makes the sap sweet."

I kneel down at her feet as she speaks these words. But she raises me up again with a gesture or a glance, or simply by her refusal to be an object of groveling or subordination. What do I need, what can you give me as guidance and aid? I try to ask her. But she says, almost sharply, "You already have everything you need." The amber sun — "Yes, the drop of liquid fire, the sweet sap of life-blood connecting the three realms. And the spiral shell? She smiles and looks to the new amulet I now where around my neck, the blue goldstone surrounding the glistening spiral forged of silver. "The dark waters of space, the depths of source and creation — do you think this amulet is so different from the spiral shell you were given at the wellspring?" And the sword? The missing piece, the gift I could not yet quite see — is it the sword of starlight? The simple athame? In answer, I find the small knife in my hands, lengthening into a sword glistening, pulsing with a light of its own, starlight or moonlight in the twilight beneath the trees.

I swing the sword, as though to test its sharpness and my strength. It slices through the image of the lady standing before me, slices it in half as though a flimsy veil, and the reality of the woods flap loose like a rip in space itself. Through the tear, a glimpse of dark night scattered brilliant with endless stars. I peer through, and seem to hear her voice coming from that beyond-place, reassuring me that I have not hurt her, only cut down the image of her to a larger reality. I wonder if this is the threshold between my inner landscape and the deep places of the realms beyond, the collective unconscious, the place of Spirit and soul. I remember the card I drew this morning, the image of the wanderer stepping out onto the thin earth-bridge made by the very act of stepping, a bridge created by the journey. I step through the tear and into the gulf of space.

Below my feet, it seems a thin foot bridge solidifies, bearing up my weight. I step again, moving farther out into space, and farther. The bridge, which at first seemed made of earth and brown stone, starts to sweat star-stuff like condensation, drips of night sky gathering like dew along its edges, running down the slope back towards the rip in space that leads back into the pine forest. The droplets of star-fire space sparkle darkly like pieces of tumbled blue goldstone, and I gather a few as amulets and charms, thinking somehow to bring them back for others. The bridge beneath my feet is soon coated completely with the shimmering dark surface, lit from within and glittering with stars, so that the bridge itself seems made of night and starlight instead of earth. All about me, the black abyss of space yawns open, the distance and nothingness sending a brief sense of thrilling vertigo through my body. Still, I keep walking — ahead of me, She is there again, her hair loose and flickering upwards like a flame, her form now draped in dark blue velvet robes that catch what little light there is in this place.

I can go no further, but far in the distance I seem to see the faint flickering of orange forge fire. I ask her if she can take me there, to the place where the stars are forged. She takes both my hands in hers and lifts me gently from the bridge, waltzing me across the distances, our feet trailing rippling mists like the tails of comets. When we reach the forge, it glows warm and pulsing like an ember nestled in a cave-like nook of nighttime. The hiss of steam and the noise of the bellows surround us, the ringing sting of the hammer against the anvil — and I see the forms being created there, tiny round discs of silver with curling rays, like miniature suns. They look quite like my own sun charm, except that their centers are empty. I ask this goddess of the Star Forge where is the amber, why the charms are incomplete. "Don't you see?" she seems to say. "These are only tools and symbols, but the amber is the life-blood, upwelling from the source — it must arise from you, from your life and your work. Only then will the sun become complete."

My mind wanders to the prayer beads I have crafted, and how I might make more to use as a tool for prayer. She laughs at me as though indulging the amusing obsessions of her child, chiding me a little for always wanting so much to make things, instead of allowing my work to be the upwelling of my life to fill in and complete what I have made. As I ponder this thought, I seem to hear the ocean waves in rhythm on the shore. In time with my breathing, they seem to draw me back to my inner landscape, and I find myself wandering down out of the tall pine forest to the pebbly beach, the ocean stretching out deep blue and etched with rising star light as, on the western horizon over the mountain, the sky blazes orange and red with the sunset. I sit for a little while, watching the dusk fade to blues and purples, holding a small memory of that fiery sunset within me as I prepare to keep the flame from this sunset to the next.

Bring my hands together again, I bow my head in gratitude for the wisdom shared. I slip the small flamekeeping pendant over my head, and breathe deeply as I sing my awen and promise to carry Brigid's Fire and Water in the Earth of my body. The meditation has ended, and I speak the words of peace as my breath moves through me like the tides beneath a night sky.

DOTR Lesson 2: Sea

It began with a few tenuous notes turning and echoing out across the waters, the keening of the violin striving against its own tension and yearning. I was there, on the same familiar rocky cliff that curved in around a small bay, the dark waters of the ocean stretching out far beneath me. The murmuring wash of waves among the pebbles of the beach below, rocking in rhythm until the music faded again into silence.

Above me, the stars began to slip out into the night, one by one, as though disrobing from the dark veils of the night sky. One by one, they turned and shot a gasp of brilliance blazing out in a spiny halo of light around them, then pulled back again, glistening and humming with a silent energy. I lifted my head to ask them for their wisdom. It seemed as though one beckoned to me, glimmering more brightly than the rest. The vertigo of a wild night sky thrown open from horizon to horizon swept over me as my gravity seemed to shift — and then before me, solid as stone it seemed, a staircase spiraled upwards into the starscape. Step by step I climbed, my feet steady, my eyes on the scattered specks of light. Each step fell thick and heavy as though on stone draped over with the deep, plush fabric of night and darkness and stillness. As I reached the final stair, the star before me stepped close as a woman, dark and brilliant with features that seemed to shift as she turned, as though I gazed into her eyes from across countless light years. She smiled, and lifted her hand to caress my cheek and temple.

Then all at once, her other hand was at my throat, grasping my jaw firmly. With one quick motion she wrenched my face away, palm hard against my forehead, and I felt my spine snap as my body crumpled beneath her hard, cold fingers.

My body tumbled as it fell from the sky, loose and undone. I felt almost relaxed, my body buffeted and slowed by the wind, as though some tension in me had snapped and let me drop. I fell like a limp dead thing, which is what I was, and when I hit the ocean's surface, it gave way with almost as little resistance as the air, opening its dark mouth in a crater-like wave that closed over me again as I sank down beneath the waters.

Down and down I sank, making no attempt to swim or even draw a breath. My body became as heavy and dark as the oceans themselves, and creatures glided past me in the dark glistening a wet gold, slipping in and out of sight almost like stars. It seemed to me that all this time, I could see the stars shining above me, above the surface of the water, though only dimly — so dim that perhaps it was no more than a memory. My body lay on the rough bottom of the sea for a long while, its limbs swayed only by the slow, sluggish motions of the currents. I do not remember making the decision to move again — and maybe it was only the ocean itself that gradually pushed and pulled and turned me towards the shore — but eventually I found myself on hands and knees, stumbling and crawling up the pebbled beach, waves dragging at me as I gasped and sought for a hold.

Exhausted, I could not go far, but sat just above the highest reach of the waves where they ran themselves out between the wet, rounded stones. I sat for a while, catching my breath as it returned and letting the ocean water drip from me until I found I was quite dry, though chilled beneath the night sky once more. Then down the beach came the white hound, old companion of this place, bounding with joyful greeting towards me. I flung my arms around her in an embrace and buried my face and hands in her warm, dog-scented fur. Life, with that warmth and panting breath and bounding joy, began to return to me and I felt happy and grateful to have found her again after so long an absence.

Yet, in the midst of our joyous reunion, she stopped — and a low growl began to build in her throat. At first, I thought she was growling at me, and a moment of panic at another betrayal swept through me. But then I realized she was looking past me, towards a figure that loomed up out of the dark some ways down the beach. I turned and ventured closer — the dark figure outlined against the sky seemed huge and thin, featureless as worn stone, and I soon realized it was not a person, but a statue: a thin, lank, faceless man standing on a dais, like an oscar carved from rock and weathered by the sea and wind. I turned to reassure the white hound by my side, who glanced up at me with a look of that showed a clear dislike for the figure — then the dog squatted and pissed on the dais and trotted off up the beach again as though her sentiments had been made clear. I followed her back to where we had been, and sat down once more on the pebbly shore, the dog curled up on my left while my hand ran over her long, white fur in gentle strokes.

Then there was the dark star goddess beside me again, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, feet bare against the wet rocks, the hem of her deep blue robes clinging with damp to the stone. I was not afraid, but comforted as she drew my head down to rest on her shoulder and she stroked my cheek again just as I stroked the dog's warm fur. Though she did not say a word to me, I came to understand the killing blow she'd dealt me was not a violence or punishment, but her gift to me: a change in perspective that sent me plummeting into the depths. Too many are striving towards the stars, climbing those steep ladders and struggling with all their might towards the heights to catch a glimpse of something marvelous.

She turned a little so that we could look one another in the eye. Sitting there on the beach, she was barely taller than I was, her face shifting in and out of shadow, her eyes shining, her hair seeming sometimes wet and dark as to be almost black in long, flowing locks, and sometimes like a liquid fire, deep amber and auburn, strands curling and licking along the pale, perfect skin of her face and shoulders like tongues of flame. Leaning forward, she pressed her little lips against my forehead in a lingering kiss. I felt the warmth of that kiss seep into the depths of me, blossoming and opening outwards from within. The sky above me seemed expansive and infinite in the darkness. The ocean spread like a black, rippling plain of reflected starlight so vast and great and deep that it stole all breath from my body. The stone and earth below me shuddered with solidity and power, hard and warm and heavy like a great weight on which I walked like some delicate, fragile thing. The three realms loomed in majesty, surrounding me in glory where I sat stunned in awe on the threshold, that liminal space where land and sea meet sky. I was so utterly small — and yet, a witness to this greatness, I held all this in the intimacy of my own body, concentrated and unfurling through the three realms, the elements of my being a microcosm of this larger world.

The goddess of starlight and transformation leaned away from me, a small, slight figure full of power and primordial energy churning in the dark. This is it, she seemed to say, this is what you are here for. To be the witness to the wild, overwhelming wonder of the world — to be small and simple beneath the sky, to drift light and buoyant upon the sea, to dance fragile and always half-rootless across the land. No other view is better than this one right here, no other view is meant for you. You cannot become big by strife and struggle. You can only participate in the vastness of creation, you can only join in relationship with the greatness of the world, by staying here to attend to your place in it with openness and gratitude. You are not in service to your self alone; you are in the service of greater things than you.

The kiss lingered still, flooding my senses with the slow opening of light and energy and song. I felt as though I were slipping into deeper trance... yet soon I found myself opening my eyes, the meditation over, the mundane room around me and the candle flickering in its holder, amber-rose in the bright sunlight thrown in slanted rays across the coffee table. Still, the energy flowed through me, and the vision remained.