Snowdrops and icy mist.
I lit my candle for the Imbolc day last week and scrabbled for my glasses. Where on earth had I put them? I am now officially at that age where its a blur on the screen unless I wear them, yet another marker of mortality I suppose, then again I do quite enjoy wearing my glasses. I think they make me look kind of, well, owlish and that makes me laugh. Anyway where was I? Ah yes, Imbolc, the cross quarter day marking the first glimmers of hope for the coming harvest. The time of the snowdrops and thick icy mist that gives a surreal otherworldly feel across the garden outside my window. The day of the pagan goddess Brigid and the first stirrings of new life as the earth awakes in that time between winter solstice and spring equinox.
I love that the year can be sectioned into the eight weekly fire festivals, tracking natures steady growth and death cycle. In between the solstices and equinoxes lie the four other fire festivals of Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas and Samhain, each offering a different quality of seasonal energy that allows time for reflection of what has passed and the dream of what may yet come. Imbolc gives me focus to set the intention for the next phase of my year. What seeds will I plant, what is my intention for the year ahead? Much more poignant to be asking this on 1st Feb than the Gregorian calendar new year, still its also good to celebrate life in whatever ways work for us all.
Being born on Beltane eve, 30th April, I feel the rise of these Celtic pagan celebrations quite deeply. To be honest I don’t really have a choice in feeling them, for as they approach my energy begins to burn more brightly and I suspect it is the way for many of us, whether we are born near one or not. The fire festivals mark the cycles that the earth makes, in her changes from winter to summer and back again. They are human ways of beholding the change of season and time and give clear markers for the growing cycles of plants and animals in the northern hemisphere, which in times gone by would have been essential.
Now of course we can buy whatever we want in the shops, shipped in from wherever and so these festivals seem a little redundant. Yet, I see an ever growing movement in society to reconnect with such rituals of the earth. The more we observe, celebrate and nurture the land upon which we live, the more we are in balance. Speaking as a survivor of breast cancer I cannot express more clearly how eating naturally, in season and locally produced food has become a non negotiable aspect of my life. So, a seeming festival such as Imbolc bears greater importance than just an old Celtic tradition. It is a call to arms for the gardeners, artist and creatives to feed ourselves well. A spiritual beckoning whatever your belief system. A reminder to give pause to the moment and where you find yourself within it and a chance to dream a better dream for the next bit.
What will you nurture into form from this still seeming winter time?
