Ida of Kildare

ĺda was a child, barely six years of age, when she was brought to the abbey of Kildare. When she arrived her stomach was as empty as her head. She wasn’t the only little girl there. Nuns herded groups of five or six into and out of buildings like the shepherds that herded the little black and white and brown sheep. She gave a fearful good-bye as her father deposited her into the hands of the sisters dressed in gray. She cried mightily for several days when she realized he would never would come back for her. Some nuns were kind and took compassion on her; finger combing her hair until she fell asleep. Some nuns were neither kind nor caring. They had seen this before and showed no mercy; little girl comes, cries, and carries on with her life. This was the way of things at monasteries and they believed Kildare should be no different.

With a bent head she learned to read and write with rest of the little girls. She took to the learning of Latin verse and prayer as a babe takes to the breast. Of all the girls there at Kildare, ĺda was the one who recited the rosary and the Lord ’s Prayer the best. Her vowels were strong and her consonants sharp.  By age nine she knew the linage of Christ, the number of popes in the Holy See, and even a little Greek she learned form a traveling Bard who had a little yellowing scroll bearing the names of prophets she had never heard of before.

Ĺda, head always bowed as in prayer or titled toward an illuminated manuscript. She did not find outside world beautiful nor pleasant as ink on velum. The pastures of sheep terrified her as the reciting of rosaries did not. She said their eyes were slant wise and would twist her mind in evil and unwanted ways. The forest too was filled with terrors only Satin himself could have vomited into the world. Treacherous mushrooms and trees branched out in twisted and obscene angles only to reach out to devour wandering travelers whole. The worst of the hillsides wonders were the little folk. The nuns whispered in their tiny ears that they were demons who donned unholy tattoos and danced around fires every night, singing prayers to their earthly gods. They instructed all students to stay within the nunnery grounds; that the lights in the hills would steel their very souls. Ĺda, who trembled like twigs in the wind at the mention of anything that might come from within the dark, green wood consumed every word of the nuns folktales. 

Mother Lìadan scolded them. She called them fools. She heard their non-sense as she prayed in the little chapel or sat beside the holy well of St. Brigid. She was old, far older than any of the other nuns clothed in brown or gray. Though her hands were roped and her face withered as February apples she still managed to bring in water from the well, tend the herbs, and lift herself after kneeling for many hours without the aid of others. She has seen the faire folk and knew they are neither demons nor evil spirits sent by Satin to spread sin across the green and fair Ireland.

“Those folk are harmless and know the joys of life as you or I never will,” she said with spite. She looked at Sister Marie and Sister Dorianne squarely under her wrinkled brow. “They come to drink from the well just as we do. This is a blessed place. All who come before God, by whatever name they call him, are slacked of thirst here and should be welcomed with open arms.”

With that she says no more but bitterly sips her thin mutton broth. The cross of St. Brigid swung back and forth, like a pendulum. Its reed-woven form kept time in the rarefied air and no one spoke for the rest of the lunch hour. She knew what they said about her in the secrecy of cloister or garden wall. They said she was actually a Druid. They said she called their patron saint by her old name. They said she knows how to make poisons from herbs. The worst she ever heard was that she was in league with the devil himself. 

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Hope you enjoyed this little piece of fiction. I know it sounds a little dogma heavy but it gets far more interesting. I'm nearly done with the first draft. This will be the February Lunacy Project. If you like it then share this post with your friends. If you have $5.00 and want the whole thing, sign up for this month over at my website. I'm so happy to have inspiration once again!  

Imbolc and Brigid

I thought I would talk about the holiday that is today. Now you might be asking you’re self what is there to be celebrating here on February 2nd. Good question actually. Like most holidays, take a look outside and see what’s going on and you’ll have a general idea of what would be honored on that day. Thanksgiving is the harvest, Halloween we honor our ancestors. Christmas… well that’s a whole book’s worth of topics. Like all winter holidays, this one honors the returning of the sun.

For those that don’t know, Imbolc was celebrated by the ancient Celts as the time between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Imbolc can be translated from the Old Irish I mbolg meaning “in the belly”. This refers to the time when ewes were pregnant. It can also be translated from oimelc meaning “ewe’s milk”.  The combination of the fertility/gestation, nourishment, and the returning of light makes Imbolc a very special time.

Okay, so I’m going to assume you’re thinking that an ancient pagan holiday has nothing to do with me? Ah but that’s where we can thank Christianity for not completely eradicating all traces of early earth-based traditions.  When the Roman Catholics invaded the British Isles and Ireland the celebration of Candlemas is celebrated on February 2nd and there for the two was merged. Candlemas is also called the Purification of the Blessed Virgin. Seeing how I’m not Catholic, nor have I been, I’m not exactly sure what this purpose of this holiday is but if I might take a stab in the dark I think it might have to with Mary, Mother of Jesus, and honoring her in some way.

Now back to the Celts. The Goddess Brigid (pronounced BREED) was honored on this day. She was the goddess of healing, poetry, and smithcraft (metallurgy). Her name translated means “exhaled one”. She is also said to protect cattle (and other livestock) and bring the spring. Remind you of anything; groundhogs day perhaps? Of course there will be six more weeks of winter. Brigid carries the sacred flame. This is both the heat from the hearth fire and the fire of inspiration. It is the fire of divinity, the fire of the holy spirit in Christianity. This fire brings us hope and light to our cold and winter-weary bones. Six more weeks till the Spring Equinox and the warming of the earth.

So here we have Imbolc and Candlemas, Brigid and the Virgin Mary. These things correlate so well do they not? Brigid the goddess was made a saint. She served the same purposes as a saint as she did a pagan goddess. St. Brigid of Kildare is very controversial for the documentation of her birth and her death appear in several places but do not match up.  It is also very striking that the Celts would have a goddess who just happened to match up perfectly with the associations of this saint.

Where does this leave us? Here in the Midwest we are experiencing the coldest weather we’ve had since… well, last winter I would suppose. Last winter was very warm and that makes these temperatures that hover just above zero during the day and that dive well into the negative thirty’s at night all the more intense. We can light candles on this day, or a fire in the hearth if we are so privileged to have such things, and feel the fires heavenly warmth. We can look at the rising sun and see how far we’ve progressed with the intentions and goals we set at solstice or at New Year’s. Have we tended those goals? Have you given up on them? In reflection do you find the soil has gone fallow? What do you need to nourish to bring life back to your goals? Are you tending that inner fire? What are you feeding that fire and is it proving to be good fuel or do you need to dig deeper, find the better wood, make the hard choices and sacrifice something in order for your goals to be nourished?

In honor of Brigid, I will be posting a short story on the blog next week relating to this fire festival. 

Check back in the middle of next week for that. What creative endeavor do you do? What do you create? What does that fire feel like?