The Garden Forge; a visit to Brighid

You are standing in a clearing on a hill, surrounded by woods.

Before you stands a stone tower, the surface half-covered with moss.

There are ancient symbols carved into the stones and as you try to decipher them you notice a rough wooden door, dark with age.

You pull on the latch and slowly, the door opens enough to allow you to enter.

Inside it is quiet. Light filters in from windows high above and the air smells of wood smoke and blackberries. The floor is smooth and worn.  There is a stair to your left spiraling upward and to your right leading down.

You turn to your left and begin to ascend the stair.  The stone steps are even and smooth and easy to climb.  The light and air are warm and fragrant.  You can see glimpses of blue sky through the high narrow windows above you and you climb step by step up and around and up and up and up and around.  You can no longer see the door but you keep climbing wondering when you will reach the top.  Just as you are considering turning back you come to another door. 

The stair continues to spiral even further upward and you consider continuing your ascent but you notice a hammer hanging by the door. 

The door is a warm golden wood finely carved with intricate spirals and graceful symbols.  You test the latch and the door opens smoothly and easily outward into an orchard, filled with the sunshine of a bright summer day.  There is a path through the trees in front of you lined with blackberry bushes full of ripe black sweet berries.

You hear the sound of a hammer striking an anvil in a regular rhythm and you follow the orchard path to the source of the sound.   The trees are large and in full leaf and you cannot see beyond the ones immediately surrounding you. But you keep following the sound until just when you begin to think that the sound is actually your own heartbeat you step out from the next tree and find a roofed structure with no walls. 

Beneath the roof is a Forge.  The coals are glowing and a woman stands at the anvil beating the metal she is working, with the hammer in her hand. She is tall with a strong body and a presence that is even larger.  She seems to take up all the space within the forge.  Her short red hair, her entire body, seem to glow with flame. 

She plunges the piece into the basin of water beside her and the steam rises.  She then looks at you with bright hazel eyes and smiles a warm and welcoming smile, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm.

This is Brighid, the Goddess of Smiths, the Mother of Midwives, and the Muse of Poets.  Warrior, Healer and Fiery Arrow.  Go to her and she will transform you, speak with her and she will heal you, listen to her and she will inspire you. 

When you feel it is time to go, thank the Lady and take your leave of Her.  Follow the path through the orchard back to the tower. The door stands open and you enter and descend the stair then pass through the open door to the place where you began.

Hephzibah House Remembered...

I unlocked the dusty cobweb covered box and opened it wide, and found…empathy.

I also found memories of a place that I visited once about twenty-seven years ago.  The visual and olfactory memory of a place where girls, who have committed no crime other than to be born into families where their spirits are abhorred, are held in captivity and no one has yet been able to free them.  My heart becomes filled with rage when I think of them.  I have remembered them off and on over the past years.  But, as is often the case when our life is not directly impacted, I put it aside because, after all, it is not mine.  But if it is not mine then, Whose is it?  Are they not my daughters, sisters, granddaughters?  Do they not belong to the God and the Goddess simply because they exist? 

They belong to me because, I remember them. 

It matters not that they and their families live within a culture of fear.  They are not lost.  They are not forgotten.  I call upon Kali to see them, to hear the unvoiced cries they dare not make  even within their own minds, hearts and souls. I call upon every Goddess and God with whom I have relationship. I call upon every daughter and son of the Goddess and the God.

My patroness Arianrhod is a Goddess of Sovereignty and she has given me a fire in my heart to act against this prison, in whatever way I can, to bring freedom to these, her daughters.  I will work every day until Hephzibah House is no more. 

“Do not turn away. Do not turn your hearts to stone.  Swing wide the doors of the prison-house and let in the bright light of day.  Let the truth be spoken aloud so that it cannot be ignored, let their pain be felt so that it cannot be forgotten, let not the children be kept unseen.  Do not let them remain invisible.  Shed tears for them, weep openly.  Do not let their spirits be murdered in silence.  Tear down the walls and break their chains.  Do not rest until this house and its jailers have been razed to the ground and turned to dust and ash.”

If you find within your heart a desire to work to free these girls, light a candle to whichever Goddess or God that you worship, and make prayers for the freedom of these children.  Leave a comment below if you wish.  Blessed be.

To the Survivors of Hephzibah House, may you find healing with your God or mine, may your stories be heard, may your efforts be victorious, may your lives be blessed, and may your spirits find joy and know their true worth.  Your strength and your courage inspire me.  Blessed be.

http://hephzibah-girls.blogspot.com/

Remembering the Maiden

Dancing Maiden by Katarina Silva

This past weekend I met a radiant young woman who has a beautifully open heart.  We encountered each other a few times and engaged in pleasant and polite conversations about art and other things, and about not limiting ourselves with language (this lesson I have learned from one of my teachers and  in turn try to pass it along to others).  I saw her dance and smile and each time I was filled with joy at being witness to her first steps upon a path that I have loved for many years now.

It brings great light to my heart to hope that I will be walking this path with her and that thought inspires me to remember that the Maiden lives within me as well, even as I take my first steps into my life as a Crone. 

On the last evening of the weekend I found myself engaged again in conversation with this Bright Child and as will sometimes happen, the conversation went somewhere that I did not expect and rather than politely restraining myself, I dove in head first and followed where my heart and mind led. 

It was a wonderful feeling but after, I felt as though I should be embarrassed that I had been “too loud” and “too big” in expressing my thoughts and in engaging so enthusiastically and completely.  Indeed I was surprised at my behavior.

The next morning I was given the gift of hearing the perceptions that some in my community have of me, specifically that I am never loud or big and while I was not criticized for my unusual behavior it was remarked upon for its rarity.

I learned a few things from this experience.  First was recognition of the feeling that I should be ashamed for being “too loud or too big”.  (One of my teachers will be very pleased to know that I am no longer going to unconsciously accept that premise.)  It is not cause for shame to be engaged fully and enthusiastically with others.

Another lesson I have learned from this experience is that the Maiden is alive and well within me.  My sisters on this path embody the Maiden even as they welcome me into the Sisterhood of the Crone.  They are full of life and joy and adventure and I am grateful for their companionship and guidance.

I give thanks for the Maiden Encountered and for the Maiden Remembered and for the Maiden Reborn within me.