Imbolc: Tending to our Creative Stirrings

Plus a special downloadable Imbolc Guide and meditation.

Hello all,

And to those new here, a very warm welcome too. Feel free to come and introduce yourself here.

Today on The Wild Edge, I am bringing you some reflections on the threshold in the Celtic Calendar of Imbolc. This is the beginning of Spring, and while the dark still lingers, below the substrate of the soil/ soul, emerging from the dreamtime of winter, there are stirrings. The land begins to awaken, and we are invited into our own gentle openings too, guided by the mythological patron of Poetry and the Arts, Brigid, and our own gut instinct rumblings; ‘I mBlog’, meaning ‘in the belly’. My illustrations to accompany Imbloc, are lead by the song thrush, whose dawn chorus, prevalent in Spring, feels like a remedy for so much.

I hope you enjoy, and if you’d like more, for paid subscribers, I’ve also created a downloadable guide, with prompts, reflections, a creative practice and a special 11 minute audio meditation to support your own emergence into Spring. Also a reminder that I am hosting a special Seasonal Salon with poetry, journalling and seasonal creative ritual this coming Friday 31st January.

Thank you, and sending wishes during these times of change, flux and transition.

Clare x

You can listen to this post here:

The tail end of the storm was a wet one, whipping up the sea into a circus of slaying furies; rain lashing sideways against the roof slates. It’s settled a little more, but I am on watch. Sleeping under the eaves, my nerves were a little rattled, and I tucked in, waiting, knowing, this storm too shall pass.

There are some years when the signs of the turnings are clear and there are other years, like this one, it almost feels like regression, in more ways than one — the sea being all winter, and signs of the times too, a dark unfurling. I write of the weather, but I write of these days too, where one would almost think there is a force beyond dictating the patterns. But somehow, I also take reassurance, for below the surface, something else is always moving countercurrent, putting down the roots of new life. The tap root is also known as the radical, and so to be radical, is to be out of sight with tendrils reaching for the loamy soil of new beginnings, gaining life-force. Soon they will be breaking through.

In the Celtic year, Imbolc, the beginning of Spring, is the threshold which invites us to tend to this rooting down in order to rise; a tending to the seeds, ideas, stirrings, inclinations towards the new growth which the dreamtime of winter has been nudging to consciousness. A winter of hibernation is a spring of becoming, rest reconfigured as part of the rhythm of emergence. But there is a beautiful recognition with Imbolc also. Those seeds, then saplings, take time. As the earth slowly warms, the tendrils will first embed deeper, and then being to rise through the cracks of their gestational castings, through the soil itself, nudged by the draw to the light.

There are mythological stories to carry us too. The Cailleach, the winter hag of darkness, is handing over her reins. It is Brigid’s turn. Goddess of fertility and fecundity, the directional feminine force for birth. She brings fire too, in spark form, as patron of blacksmiths, with alchemical kindlings to stir the earth to life again. And she brings the Arts, as patron of poetry- a life-force of the lyrical, reminding us that beauty is a mysterious forming of meaning and mystery; the Arts as carrier of what helps to make the world turn to the light again. Brigid, the bringer of the dawn.

Goddess Brigid became St. Brigid, the church not being able to rescind the power of the pagan force, instead integrated it. Growing up St Brigid’s Day, now marked by a new public holiday in Ireland, was a time for making Brigid’s Crosses, a weave of reeds and rushes, but I never really understood the significance. Now, as I weave them, I think of the elemental forces of earth, wind, water and fire, interconnected, as primal powers, around a central pivot. The cross is hung as a blessing; a warden from the cold, and protector of the kindled hearth/ heart.

Over the last few years, I have seen a resurgence, or re-awakening, of this knowledge and power from these old patterns, and Brigid’s Day, is now celebrated with festivals, gatherings and circles of women around the country, weaving, being, connecting. Brigid is at work again, reminding us that not all ways are lost; sometimes it just takes a remembrance.

In my own creative practice and business, it is really only now, in late January, that the intentions and ideas forming over the winter, and specifically the intentions I set at the beginning of the calendar year, in those quiet days after Christmas, are only now really taking shape with tangible plans and activities. There is a quickening within me, which I know is not coming from an external force, but something more instinctual which I sense are those whisperings over the winter, witnessed, and now seeking voice and expression. Imbolc, derives from the Irish for ‘i mBolg’, meaning, ‘In the Belly’, a time when the lambs are in the belly of ewes, gestating. When I rest my hands on my belly and listen, I can sense my pen is eager, and my body is wanting me to build more physical strength for the years ahead, and my energy for gathering others around this creative life- force is palpable there too. It is time, I hear, and I begin to stir.

But there is a word of warning also in my bones. I know too well from past periods of burn out and other over-extensions, that the tendrils of the new must go deeper, be in that way more radical, before coming to the surface. The quiet still needs to be protected, and dreamtime too. So the first thing I do in my weekly calendar now is to block in some ‘white space’. This is time for doing nothing, or at least, no expectations of anything. I might walk, nap, write, ponder, cuddle the dog. Below the surface, it’s integration time, reflection time, gestational time. The next thing I schedule is exercise time, putting in my weekly yoga class and my regular pool swims. Together, the white space and the exercise, are my roots of movement and dreaming, which I have learned, that without them, the activity and expression will not happen- at last not sustainably.

As I write all this, about Imbolc, the season, and Brigid, I want to give a nod to the women before who have been keepers of the old ways of the Celtic Year. In my own lineage, there is Dolores Whelan, and more directly, my dear friend Mari Kennedy. Mari in turn is connected to a web of wisdom keepers, women who have been countercurrent for years, remembering, remembering, mostly out of sight. Without them, these words would not be here.

It is so important what happens out of sight, in the margins, often in space of the Arts — experiments with new forms, but also reaching back to reclaim the wisdom before the smothering cloaks of colonialism and patriarchy took hold. Now, in parallel to all the decline, the circles are gathering, weaving. It’s mostly women, but not exclusively so. I find great reassurance in this.

What I also know for sure is that right now, there are seeds stirring, within me, in the earth, and within you, seeds which hold the potential for new life and growth. They may not be ready to rise yet, maybe not even this year at all, but they are quickening. Our invite at Imbolc is to listen into our bellies, into our gut instincts, and to those intuitive ways of feminine knowing, and to trust what we find there, then tend. Perhaps that seed will be a poem which offers promise, or a book which brings the healing words, or an idea which will act as a provocation to the patriarchy, or a gathering of friends around a fire, or even a story which lands in the heart of a child, stirring it to wonder and awakening. And perhaps, just perhaps, someday that child will become the one who cares for the robins, or the waves, or the electoral process, or the very seeds which will become the next harvest. For this is not just the work of a season, or a single cycle, this is the work of generations. And so the cycle will turn, in the hands of the artists and the weavers, in the wisdom holders and the elders, in the ones who learn how to tend the true seeds. Tending, always tending.

For Paid Wild Edge Members:

I have written and illustrated an Imbolc Guide, to support the process of sensing into and prioritising creative stirrings. It is a downloadable, editable PDF (which means you print out or type your responses directly into the guide). It also includes a guided audio meditation.

The Guide is in four short sections.

• The Ritual Spring Clean: Making Space externally and internally- this includes an 11 min guided meditation.

• ‘In the Belly’: Attuning Inwards

• Gathering Creative Seeds: Prioritising Ideas

• Greenhousing Ideas.

Imbolc Seasonal Salon

On Friday 31st January, I am also hosting a special season Imbloc Salon. This will include poetry, journaling and some seasonal ritual. It is a time to mark and honour the turning cycle of the year, and connect with words and wisdom to help guide us onwards. Gold Members of The Wild Edge have tickets included, but you can also purchase one independently of membership. 7- 8.30pm Irish/ UK time (11am PST/ 2pm ET/ 8pm CET)