Celebrating Imbolc & Goddess Brigid ~ Pray ~ Love ~ Train ~ Create

Celebrating Imbolc & Goddess Brigid

– this time? It’s personal

I’m sure you know of the Goddess known as Brigid.  She’s one of the most popular deities in the pagan spiritual movement.  Sometimes she’s seen as three sisters, other times as a triple deity. Some of Her domains are poetry, healing, and smithing (creation of tangible things).  While I have all of these things in my personal and spiritual life, that’s not why I honour Her.

Her followers are famous for flametending rituals or cills. They are famous for tending and caring for local public waterways.  They are famous for learning and speaking Gaelic. They are famous for weaving rushes for crosses to protect their homes. I don’t do any of those things. Goddess knows I’ve tried.

I honor Her for different reasons than most. The Goddess Brigid and I got personal. We got close.  We got “real” in a way I could finally understand.

She came to me in a dream, disguised as a waitress. She took away my food. She took away my seat at the table. She took away my husband’s food. She slacked at her own job in attending other patrons at restaurant.  A “snake oil” salesman came into the establishment and pestered the customers. She didn’t throw him out.

She made me so damn mad that I lost my temper.

For reference, I do my best not to lose my grip on my anger at any given point in time.  When angered, I’m not coherent – or nice. I scream. I yell. All the fires inside me roar – and burn everything in sight.  I am a dormant volcano. When I finally blow my top? I take an entire coastline of friendship and several hundred square miles of social niceties with me.

So there I am, no place at the table, starving and seeing that those around me are also not getting the nourishment they need. I knew that I was treated unjustly. I knew that the charlatan had fake magic potions. I knew that Table 9 needed more napkins and Table 19 needed more hot sauce.  So I lost my spiritual sh_t.

I let the fires inside me roar. I fed it the injustice given to me and the patrons of the restaurant. I fed it the anger that someone would willingly not care for those in their charge. I fed it a good dose of magical “b_tchslap” that I wanted to dole out to so many who take advantage of others in weaker states and positions.  Yes I got angry; then I got busy.

Instead of letting the rage boil me from the inside out, I stepped up and moved the “waitress” out of the way. As I yelled at Her (yes I know, just go with me on this), I did the job. I tossed out the snake oil salesman. I got Table 19 their hot sauce, fed my husband, got Table 9 more napkins and more. I took over and moved Her out of the way.

In my dream state, since She clearly wasn’t doing the job, someone had to step in to the role and take care of the people.  I did the job. I took care of the people and myself, all while yelling at Her from the top of my lungs.

Sigh. Yes this is where lucidity crept in to my dreaming mind.

The “waitress” just took it. She just stood there while I ripped Her apart. I stopped and realized that I couldn’t see her face. She was a glowing being of light that I could not focus on literally. That’s when I realized who She was – and panicked.

A little boy popped up at Her side. I’m sure that it was my patron god Lugh – goofy smile, mousy brown hair bleached blonde by the sun. He smiled and merely said “Sorry about that.”

This is where I woke up and had a spiritual meltdown.  This is also the reason why I honour Her. This is where Brigid and I got personal.

Brigid – the triple goddess, the lady of the hearth, the forge and the well deity of early spring, goddess of the sun, keeper of the flames – does not want me to be flametender. She doesn’t want me to tend the local waterways. She doesn’t want me to learn Gaelic or weave rushes. She doesn’t want me to solely write poetry or become and black, copper or silversmith.

She wants me to care for the people. She wants me to use my skills to make magic – to protect the people. She wants me to release the fires inside me, not just in anger, but in confidence that I can and I will do what needs be done.

In some ways I am Darlugdach, Her pupil. This was my dream of coal filled shoes.  Instead of intense desire for someone that would sway my faith, I had the intense desire not to be in the spotlight. I didn’t want to be the heavy in any situation where I had to make hard choices. I wanted all the magic, but was too afraid to do the work – in case I made a mistake.

This dream changed all of that.

I honour Brigid because it’s personal. She has shown me all of Her within myself.  To not take up Her mantle goes against everything I am.  Her flame burns within me. The lesson of the dream was to let it burn, bright and hot, to let the heat of the Fire work to help others.

Why do you honor Her?

Imbolc 2016

 

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Don’t Call Me Reverend ~ Pray

No Reverends Allowed
Yes. I am officially clergy. Yes, I have earned the title. No, don’t call me that. Not yet.
The term “reverend” has been around since the 1400s. Under normal circumstances, it’s used as a title of respect for members of the clergy. See that word “respect”? I haven’t earned that just yet. I’m working on it.

To earn the respect of others is a big deal to me. Anyone can study spirituality. Some can pass the tests dictated by their belief systems. Few get to invoke their Higher Selves to tap into the powers of the Universe… That doesn’t mean squat when it comes to respect from their fellow humans and peers.

Earning the respect of others is my ego check incarnate. I may think I’m the best thing since communion wafers – but when things get hard I don’t want to break. I want to be the kind of Reverend that gets those Psychic 911 calls. I want to be the kind of Reverend that goes out drinking with you as the designated driver when you want to drown your sorrows in cheap scotch. I want to be the kind of Reverend that rarely answers Facebook pleas or Kijiji listings for house blessings, readings, mini magic or handfastings. To show respect, to earn that title of “Reverend” means that the people and community I serve know me. They know who I am, what I am and what I can do. My community will recommend me for anything that is needed.

To be clear, this is not to be confused with fame. I know a few famous people and Reverends. I wouldn’t recommend them for giving you the time of day. Sure they are usually favorably know and placed high among their peers…. But that doesn’t mean a thing to me. They didn’t earn my respect either through their actions or attitude. Bad behavior and news travels fast everyone. And in a community as small as mine? Everyone will eventually know a version of the dirty details.

So I know there will be the talk behind my back. I know that there will be rumors. I endeavor to at least get people to spell my name right when it happens. I also encourage those who have a bad story about me to tell me about it! I want to know what the scuttlebutt is! If the dirt is true, I’ll confess. I have no more illusions of my own infallibility. If the gossip isn’t true? I at least know where I stand and where the misinformation is coming from. Who knows? I might have a bit more gossip to spread just to see where and how the information flows. Yes, that is rather low. I’m ok with that.

So for now. Just call me Terrie. I’m fine with “Priestess.” But, don’t call me Reverend…. Not yet.