One of my favorite rituals of the year is Brigid (as is often, though not always, celebrated in Reclaiming). I love the promise of spring and the moment at the well where I run my fingers through fire and dip my fingers into water from around the world before making a pledge to Her.
(Which I promptly forget.)
I know this happens. I know that I will have this glorious, shifting moment at the well, with the whole community watching. I often say my pledge aloud so it can be witnessed, and it still slips from between my fingers before I make it home.
Not this year.
By Fire, By Water, By Heart
I don’t know what I’m going to pledge before I get to the ritual. I let the magick of the trance (often) take me to the places I need to go. I watch for clues and hits and tingly feelings on my neck.
I watch the waters of the world drop into the well. I watch the way the light of the faery fire lights up faces. I look at the deep communion that happens when a person is ready to make their pledge in front of community.
And I hold the sacred stillness that comes after the anvil clangs after each pledge.
In this moment, early in the morning, I am tapping into the feeling that last year’s ritual brought up in me. I remember talking about my heart as I stood at the water. As I stood at the well reflecting on a year of grief.
And in this very moment, I remembered my pledge.
Well, I remembered where I put it.
Brigid Watches Over
I have an altar to Brigid, in my bathroom, by the sink or modern-day well. She is standing with sheep and there are offerings at her feet. Her image is sharp, but her face is soft. Beside her is a bottle of water from the well at Kildare from a beloved one, as well as an oil to St. Brigid.
And beneath her, on a yellow post-it note, is the pledge I made last year.
I wrote it down (!)
I pledge to live with a wide open heart, to heal, and to help others heal.
I could tell you how I have lived up to this pledge this year, how even when pledges are just whispers of what-the-heck-did-I-say-again, they made it into my bones. They made it into my movements and decisions.
But for now, I’m going to spend the days leading up to Brigid thinking about how I have held my pledge(s). And I am going to offer gratitude to Brigid for holding me too.
For holding my pledge right where it was, right where I needed it to be. Steady and safe and certain.
I guess, I really never do lose my way to the well of her memory.
Brigid Blessings to you!
(If you pledge, keep it in a safe place. Remember it. Return to it.)