Imbolc

Otherwise known as Groundhog Day. I'm not sure, actually, what the relation is between the two traditions, but Punxsatawney Phil saw his shadow today and thus predicts an early spring. I'll take it!


Imbolc, at any rate, is an ancient Irish tradition. It is a cross-quarter festival, that is, halfway between the major turning points of Winter and Spring. In Christian tradition it's the feast of St Brigid, an Irish saint, probably descended from the Celtic goddess of the same name. Brigid was an important goddess, patron of poetry, arts, cattle and livestock, and wells, among other things, and is invoked on this holiday as a plea for an early spring.

It's a festival of light - the returning light that comes with longer days and signifies the rebirth of the earth and the coming of spring. The simplest rituals include lighting a new white candle as dusk falls, and taking it through the house, bringing new light to the abode. Remove any leftover greenery from Yule; you can burn it, and save the ashes for planting with the spring garden. I like another simple tradition, which is to put on a light in every room in the house, even if just for a few minutes.

A symbol of Brigid and of Imbolc is the Brigid's cross. I seem to recall making these in elementary school.

I'm not feeling the early spring just yet, since we got a foot of snow last night! Nevertheless, I'm getting that itch to start planning my garden. Anyone else getting a little spring fever?

Darkness and Light

Although the wheel is turning back toward longer days, we're in the heart of winter's darkness now. Despite the fact that winter arrives every year, I'm never quite ready for the 4:30 sunset. The dark, even more than cold or snow, is the hardest part of winter.

And then I drive through the neighborhoods. The beauty of the houses lit up for the season is such a welcome sight in the everlasting darkness - so much so that I can't bear to take them down after the Yule season. I don't decorate the outside of my house, mostly because I'm lazy and don't like ladders. Inside, though, I swap out colored lights for white ones, and leave them strung over the corner barrister bookcase and the windows in the front room and the library.

For most of human history, we didn't have the ability to light up the night. The hearth fire, candles, oil lamps - these were the weapons with which we fended off the darkness, and they are feeble things in the vast scope of the night. What would our ancestors make of this brightly-lit world?

One of my small Yule rituals is to turn everything off for a brief period. Television, lights, even the cable boxes and night lights. Turn everything off and just feel the darkness. It's a little frightening, to be honest. I'm always glad to turn on a lamp again.

On the other hand, there is no beauty like that of the stars on a clear night, and winter brings my favorite constellation: Orion, the hunter, so huge in the sky, so easily found. You've seen him. If you don't know him - look up, an hour or two before dawn. His left arm is marked by the red giant Betelgeuse; his right leg, the blue star Rigel.

(image linked from Pinterest - source link here)

The myth of Orion is Greek. There are differing accounts of his story, but the one I know best is where he, the great hunter, boasts that no beast on earth can best him - and, of course, such hubris is immediately punished. He is killed by a tiny scorpion. For this reason, he and Scorpio are never in the sky at the same time.

As the saying goes, I have loved the stars far too fondly to fear the night.

But I light the lamps.