Settle yourself. Close your eyes. Feel your body relax.

Feel as the tensions drain away from your face, your neck, your shoulders, your arms, your torso, your legs.

Sense the whole of your body, calm, heavy in its relaxation.

Center yourself.

Feel for that calm, comfortable center in which you are whole.

Ground yourself.

Extend yourself into the Earth, your mother.

Feel as your roots grow into the ground, as you find your connectedness with her again.

This time is the time of Imbolc, the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.

The sun has begun his journey back to full strength.

He was born at Yule, and progresses through his transformation from infant to young man.

He is potential, waiting to be realized.

The days are lengthening as the nights shorten. Each day the sun brings a little more warmth, foretelling the thaw to come.

For now, however, the Earth remains in slumber, Spring still only a faint whisper.

Extend your senses beyond the walls, to the world outside.

Smell in the crisp air the hard frosts that grip the land.

The cold grabs the inside of your nose, and every breath is a gasp.

See the dark grey skies.

Sharp ice crystals bite into your cheeks as the wind whips the tops off the snow drifts.

A branch breaks with a loud snap as cracks caused by summer storms finally lose their battle with the weight of heavy snows.

Foxes sleep, snug in their dens, as sparrows fight for a chance at the feeder, not always refilled.

The bright flash of a cardinal contrasts starkly with the sullen white snow, a bloody gash across a barren landscape.

Ice coats the twigs and chimes in the breezes.

Rebirth seems remote - even the call of the goose is a distant memory.

But look into the barns and the fields and watch the teats of the cows and the ewes begin to swell.

The milk is beginning to flow.

Old loin-fires of bulls and rams are soon to burst forth as the first new calves and lambs.

They will struggle up on unsteady limbs, symbols of the green waiting impatiently to explode from the as yet quiescent soil.

This is the time of metamorphosis, of the promise of fruition of seeds sown in seasons past.

Brigid stokes these fires, inspiring the bard, the smith, the healer.

Fertility and creativity begin to flow in this dormant season, as small things born at the solstice begin to manifest, heralding the full flowering to arrive when the sun reconquors his throne.

Fire.

The fires in our hearths.

Feel the warmth, smell the food cooking.

The fires in our smithies.

The clang of hammer striking anvil, shaping raw metal into tools.

The fire of desire.

The climax which joins cell with cell in the creation of life.

The fires of creativity.

Music rings and voices flow as living beauty is sculpted from idle words and actions.

The fire of transformation.

The season of transformation from the depths of Winter into the rebirth of Spring.

Now, slowly, gradually, come back inside.

Come back to us.

Begin to sense the world inside.

Prepare yourself to celebrate this season of Brigid, this season of fire, this season of changes.

Rouse yourself.

(PAUSE)

As our ancestors once did, so we do today, and so our children will do in the future.

We are here to pay homage to the Brigid, Lady of fire and to Dagda, the all father, to the Gods, dead and the Sidhe and to the rising light of the year.

Now is the time of stirring when the earth begins to soften and the waters to flow.

While frost still bites and winds blow, and the light is growing stronger, and life begins to wake.

This is the feast of Brigid, the Goddess of Fire and Water.

She is the year's midwife who births the sun.

Also we make offering to Dagda, the lord of perfect knowledge.

Through the union of fire and water, the ancients, our forebears, worked magic to call in the spring.

So let us join together as one folk to make our offerings in joy and reverence.

"We now show our respect to the realms of this world, and to all the kindreds who dwell within or without."

"O Sea, the waters that ebb and flow beneath us all—please accept our offering. May we know your depths of wisdom and potential."

"Sea, may we feel your flow within us!"

"O Sky, source of Light and Shadow, boundless realm that covers us all—please accept our offering. May we know your vastness and that of the Shining Ones."

"Sky, may we feel your scope!"

Keeper and dweller
of the hearth fire,
without and within us,
the warmth of home and family
without which we surely
would be cold and dead.

Mother of the spark
we carefully tend,
the germ of imbas,
the fire in the head,
gift to poets and musicians
and to all who would know your heat.

Heart of the flame
which drives the forge,
the fire of shaping,
of knowledge,
of forming the world
around and within us.

"To all the kindreds--to the Shining Ones, to our ancestors, to the many-colored spirits of the world around us, to all of those who have gone before us and who walk with us now—we honor you!

Come those who wish to come; stay those who wish to stay; and fare those who wish to fare."

Dagda most honored...To you we make sacrifice

To Eochaid{Yock'-kesh} the All Father...You, the Fire Beneath the Cauldron

Hear us, Old Giant, God with the Great Staff
Ruad Rofessa, {Roo'-ah Roe-fess'-ah} Lord of Perfect Knowledge.

Fire of the Sacrifice, Great in Appetite... To you we do honor,

Excellent God...Mate of the great queen

Fergus the mare's son Chieftain of Danu {Dah'-noo}, bountiful giver

Flame in the belly that sustains life,
Flame in the eye that comprehends life

Be in us as we are in you
Boiled in the cauldron upon the sacred fire

O harper of the seasons, taker of sacrifice
Druid of Oak and Hazel

Dagda Mor--Great good God

Accept our sacrifice

In this the time of the little sun, the sharp Hag of Winter reigns.

Since Samhain she has grown ever more gigantic and fearsome,

Imagine in your mind's eye - the Hag.

Her body is shrouded in dark fabric, with her head and face mainly concealed.

In her hand she holds a staff or wand.

First she is kneeling, hunched—and then she rises up and seems to grow.

Holding her staff, she has leapt about, blasting all the green with frost and ice.

After all these years and in spite of all our preparation and "modern advances", her ferocity can still strike fear in us.

Her season feels eternal.

She moves and jumps around, waving her staff and pointing it at things.

It is still the time of sharp and biting winds, of frost and snow and deceptive ice.

But, though this is the cruelest month, the Hag's reign is swiftly reaching its end, as it does every year, on this day.

Our sweet Lady Brigid replaces her.

Today the Hag goes to the Well of Youth, washing her face in its waters�?

She goes to the fountain/well representation, turns her back to the group, and makes as to wash her face and comes away bearing a bright face and mantle.

She removes the dark cloak and turns around to face us all, completely changed.

For Brigid's face has two very different sides, one young and lovely, the other old and wizened.

Winter and spring, hag and maiden, yet one—this is her mystery.

And as when her people first came to Ireland, Brigid begins to hear the song of the sleeping Earth.

She looks about her and finds the proper place, and yo u now hear the voice of Brigid

"I am going to put my mantle around the Earth because it has dreamed of beauty."

And she spreads out her green mantle over the land,
and with it slowly come the sighs and laughter of spring
soon to be heard throughout the land.

Bring out the sweet bread (Bairin-breac), butter, ale, milk, and anything else to offer or eat.

A thousand welcomes to you, Brigid!

Come to visit us, to inspire us, to heal us, to prosper us, to bless us with good luck.

We offer this humble food to you.

Place a good portion of each type of food on a plate for Brigid, and set it aside.

It should be placed outside the front door later on.

May this drink be filled with the brightest blessings of Brigid.

Thank you for joining us today, Bright Lady, and thank you for your many blessings.

Brigid of the mantles,
Brigid of the peat-heap,
Brigid of the poet's flame,
Brigid of the auguries.

Brigid of the white feet,
Brigid of the smith's fire,
Brigid of the shining palms,
Brigid of the kine. {cattle}

Brigid, woman-mentor,
Brigid of the harvest,
Brigid, goddess-helper,
Brigid, woman-mild.

Brigid, daughter of Dagda,
Brigid, Nurse of All -

Each day and each night
That I call the descent of Brigid

May the power of healing be with us
May the power of poetry be with us
May the power of shaping be with us
In all the realms and among the kindred.

Kindle your flame in my head, heart, and loins,

Make me your cauldron, your harp, your forge,

That I might heal, inspire, and transform

All in your honor, Brigid, Triple Fire

Brigid above ud,
Brigid below us,
Brigid in every way about us,
Brigid in our truest heart.

Extinguish her flame in the candle.

Dagda, the Good God,
Spirits of this place, of the ancestors, and of all the realms,

Thank you for joining us tonight.
Go with our blessings if you must, stay if you will.

Blessed be!

breathes in deeply, and then raises her arms in the goddess position as she begins to address the Watchtowers in a bidding of thanks and farewell �?/P>

Hail to thee Guardians of the Watchtowers of the East, the powers of air.

I close my hand and the circle shrinks, and the boundries of our circle calm, dissipate and depart.