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This is a prayer for Imbolc.

This is a prayer for when roads flood.

This is a prayer for the lingering dark.

This is a prayer for resistance.

We spark the fires to beg the light to return, but we never really know if it will work. The road may flood; this could be the year it all falls apart. The February rains may be too much. We fire up the forge to bend hard metal to our will, but we never really know if it will work. The road may flood; this could be the year that it all falls apart. The February rains may be too much. We write the poem to express what’s inside, but we never really know if it will work. The road may flood; this could be the year it all falls apart. The February rains may be too much.

Imbolc is a chance we take, a chance we take in the dark.

This is a prayer for when things fall apart. This is a prayer for when roads flood. This is a prayer for Imbolc. This is a prayer for the lingering dark and this is a prayer for resistance.

Brigid, the Goddess of poetry, invented keening for those times when no words were enough. Shall we now keen? Brigid, the Goddess of smith craft, invented forges for those times when small flames were not enough. What shall we now forge? Brigid, the Goddess of healing, invented beer for those times when water couldn’t cure the deep thirst. What shall we now toast? Brigid stands in the February rain, a warm flame in her hand, watching the roads flood. She will neither look away from the flood nor extinguish the flame.

Imbolc is a chance we take, a chance we take in the dark.

This is a prayer for when things fall apart. This is a prayer for when roads flood. This is a prayer for Imbolc. This is a prayer for the lingering dark and this is a prayer for resistance.

The shepherd goes out despite the rain. The shepherd is the resistance. Without the shepherd, the ewe will miscarry, die in the mud, bleed to death, deliver the lambkin still. The shepherd sees the rain, throws on her cloak, and cuts through the meadow. But she never really knows for sure if it will work. The road may flood; this could be the year that it all falls apart. The February rains may be too much. But she still wades towards the ewe. Brigid sees and holds her flame.

Imbolc is a chance we take, a chance we take in the dark.

This is a prayer for when things fall apart. This is a prayer for when roads flood. This is a prayer for Imbolc. This is a prayer for the lingering dark and this is a prayer for resistance.

It’s Imbolc! It’s pouring rain in the lingering dark. The roads have washed away. The ewes are miscarrying, the forge fires going out. The poets are throwing down their pens, the yeast has failed the hops. Who are you in these times? What’s Imbolc to you or you to Her? Resistance thrives in the lingering dark and flash floods bring forth new paths. Put on your cloak and wade through the mud. The Goddess Brigid is holding her flame. The Goddess watches and weighs.

Imbolc is a chance we take, a chance we take in the dark.

This is a prayer for when things fall apart. This is a prayer for when roads flood. This is a prayer for Imbolc. This is a prayer for the lingering dark and this is a prayer for resistance.


-- by Hecate Demeter.