According to the ever marvellous ‘Moonwise Diary’ yesterday was officially Imbolc and today Candlemas. In my mind imaginary pagan selves are gathering around a spring pool, where golden catkins hang from the wisdom giving hazel trees and the sacred salmon circles and circles in the cool, deep waters. Meanwhile imaginary High Church selves are blessing beeswax candles in the rich, dark, incense laden depths of an old, stone church. Within myself, these selves each feel equally true…though no doubt if they were to meet in the outer world they would judge and disapprove of each other!

While Pagans and Christians often misunderstand each other, to be able to, within oneself, look back over a long continuum of spiritual tradition and embrace it all, is a wonderful sacred marriage. In this the archetypal Bride seems the perfect symbol as she is beloved as both the goddess Brigit and Saint Brigid. At this time last year, Sue wrote a wonderful poem which she has given me permission to share here…

Bride
Winter’s nails
Reach up,
Achingly slow,
To pull back the grey cloak and hood.
Thin white bones
Fracture
Into ice dust
A cover of cold white glory
Bride arrives
In droplets 
And vapours
Laced with a burning hidden light
Green limbs
Poke up
Promises dangle
Behind the veil of her approach
A whisper
Of hope
A buried heartbeat
Soft dreams of wild colours to come
Purpose 
Forgetfulness
The worlds are married 
Bride is breathing:  asleep, awake, asleep, awake.