Brigid, in all her guises.
Goddess. Saint. A sacred Celtic blend of the two.
Brigid, with all her names.
She’ll answer whether you call her Brigit, Bridget, Bride, Bríd, Exalted One, or Mary of the Gaels.
Brigid, with all her powers.
Fire. Healing. Hospitality. Poetry. Beer. Smithcraft. Fertility… And that’s just the short list.
With all her titles, facets, and skills, Brigid has spoken to the soul of the individual and the collective for millennia.
She is of Ireland, of course. And, variations of her stories are rooted into the land of Scotland, Britain, and she was venerated all across Celtic Europe, too.
With the work of the Brigid 1500 movement, and the creation of the national holiday in her name, Ireland has done so much to claim their matron goddess and saint. As is the way when a group of committed folks focus their energy, this countrywide celebration has reached the far beyond Bríd’s homeland.
As Brigid is celebrated locally, in Kildare, in Galway, and in Dublin, she also walks the globe.
And so it is that I feel her presence in the midst of a New York winter.
It was last year that my friend and soul sister, the poet and activist Laura Murphy, who played such an integral role in the advent of the Brigid’s Day holiday, told me “you are an anchor for Brigid on Turtle Island.”
To be so named by Laura is one of the greatest honors of my creative and spiritual life. And with such honor, comes an abiding sense of responsibility.
Laura’s own story, Brigid: Rebirth of the Mother, which she shared on KnotWork Storytelling for Imbolc 2023, is so intimately tied to the land of Ireland.
How do I hold space for Brigid - in my heart, in my home, and in my work - and also stay reverent of the ways she is a creature of place?
Since I was a teenager in America searching out a confirmation name, Brigid has been a guide. I felt kinship with the saint who I imagined to have red hair and green eyes and who had the same name as my great grandmother.
Later, when I was truly immersed in her stories, I felt like I had found a true friend.
I didn’t necessarily have that language for Brigid until I sat down with Kate Chadbourne for the very first episode KnotWork Storytelling, released on Imbolc of 2022. In Conspiring with Brigit, Kate invites us to know Brigit as anam chara, as soul friend.
And that invitation reaches across borders and oceans, time and spiritual temperament.
Meet Brigid, Goddess and Saint
I’m so blessedly familiar with Brigid that I forget that her lore isn’t instantly associated with February 1 the way the tales of the manger in Bethlehem are associated with December 25.
We celebrate Brigid on Imbolc, the start of spring in the Celtic year. This quarter day festival falls halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. In 2024, that’s on February 4.
You’ll read different take on the origin of the name of her festival - it could come from oimelc, which means “ewe’s milk” or it could spring from imbolg, which means “in the belly.” For a being with such depth and embodied, nature-identified power, these meanings seem to braid together, fite fuaite, interwoven.
She was the daughter of the Good God Dagda and sister to God of Love, Aengus. Some say that she could have been the daughter of the Morríghan, but I am with Laura who describes Brigid as the daughter of Bóinn. In the ninth century, she is named in Cormac’s Glossary as goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft.
And then, there is Saint Brigid, who, to me, is a continuum of the Great Mother energy of the land embodied by a single radiant woman.
The “1500” in relation to the modern celebration refers to her death one and a half millennia ago, in 524. Though I know that many who seek the wilder magic of pagan Ireland are less interested in the Christianized version of Herself, the Church’s stories provide essential clues to her timeless power. I think it’s simple enough to see all the wonder of the ancient Celtic world shining through her story.
Brigid was a liminal creature from the beginning. It was her rebellious choice to reject a marriage that would be a good match for her tribe, her tuath, and join the new community of Christians. She was the daughter of the highest and the lowest classes of the time - her father Dubhthach was a druid and her mother Broicseach was a “bondmaid” in his household. Broicseach gave birth to her daughter while standing on the threshold of her home, and it was said that a great flash of light emanated from the meager dwelling at that blessed moment.
Now, doorways are liminal spaces, they are portals between here and there. They are places of magic and great possibility. Brigid holds open that door between traditions and ways of seeing the world.
Brigid is the portal that links the deeper power that enlivens an animate universe and a faith in of a higher power contained by churches and creeds.
A Ritual to Honor Brigid
This is where I admit something about which I’m a bit abashed: I have never woven a Brigid’s Cross.
The practice of weaving a cross from rushes (or cattails, or sweetgrass, or grapevines, or whatever is native to your landscape) is foundational to honoring Brigid. I have been given crosses, I have inherited them, but I have never been in the right space to make my own. Maybe this year…
Instead, I have always been called to the tradition of the Brat Bhride.
Each year, on eve of Imbolc1, my children and I gather our most beloved scarves and leave them out for Brigid to bless as she passes by.
Some say the cloth will ward off headaches and sore throats. Some say it will guarantee healing and fertility. Others say it promises you Brigid’s protection on a journey. I like to imagine I have a trace of her magic with me in every season, and that’s why I always include a bit of summer silk with all that cozy Irish wool!
I first put out my cloak - which I still wear - back in 2000 when I lived beside the River Corrib. Friends from the NUI Galway Pagan Society taught me the practice, and I’ve practiced it almost every year since. (It would be interesting to know how many Februarys were too full of darkness or distraction for me to remember this simple ritual… Melancholy, disconnected moments in time.)
Of course, putting out the cloak when the river is miles from my door - and it’s the Hudson, the Muhheakunnuk, the river that runs both ways, not the sweet and glorious rushing Corrib - is a different sort of act. It requires more faith, more imagination, more reliance on memory and intellect to bring a folk tradition 3,000 miles across an ocean and expect it to work.
Does Brigid make it over to Turtle Island during her Imbolc progress across the landscape? A sovereignty goddess of her own beautiful island, one wonders if she feels called to cross all those waves…
But then, there’s the question of whether Brigid is simply a goddess of the land, or whether she might she also be a goddess of the people.
As Herstory Ireland and Sandy Dunlop of Bard Mythologies remind us:
Truth be told, Brigid was a pan-European goddess. Rising from Danú and the land of the Danube in southern Germany, her influence spread all across Europe from Turkey to Spain.
Brigid has always spread her mantle broadly, and she has traveled with the people who remember her name.
As much as Brigid’s power is rooted in place, her power also roots deep in the heart.
Brigid is of her own native land, but her soul song is pitched to be heard and felt by folks across the world.
Beannachataí na Féile Bhríde oraibh! Blessing of Brigid upon you all!
If you do leave your cloak or scarf for Brigid to bless, please let me know! Better yet, tag @marisagoudy and @knotworkpodcast on Instagram!
When IS Imbolc? Modern calendrical tradition celebrates Imbolc on February 1. If you want to follow the alignment of the seasons rather than Pope Gregory’s edict, you would welcome Brigid in on February 4. The Irish Bank Holiday is on February 5. I love this reminder that Imbolc is a season, not one particular day, so when Brigid whispers, allow yourself to hear her and answer her with whatever small ritual or remembrance resonates for you.
Oh, Bríd, Bride, Brigid travels far and wide, for sure. I am reminded of Imbolc last year, when I lie in bed, holding my daughter's hands, whose arms and legs I had wrapped like a leper's because she was having such a horrific eczema flare up that she would scratch her skin to shreds while she slept. Bríd visited us during those sleepless nights, helping us get through them. Covid followed shortly thereafter, and Bríd held us in her way then, too. I am new to the laying out of the Brat Bhride, only having twice placed a shawl I knitted on our front porch for her to bless. I feel her in there, like a mother's hug. I am looking forward to celebrating Imbolc with friends this year: I have had day lily leaves hanging since late summer, drying to use for our Bríd's crosses. I hope you can find a time to make your own - there is a beautiful rhythm to their weaving that feels very ancient.