Winter doesn't generally happen in Texas. It almost figures that the very week it finally becomes cold enough to bundle up under a few layers, it's the time my university's Pagan Student Alliance decides to hold ritual for Imbolc. But this is an important celebration, which signifies that even in the middle of this spontaneous cold weather, we're looking to the warm, rising sun that'll soon nurture the earth with new life.
Imbolc is one of the eight sabbats in the Wheel of the Year, the cycle of seasonal holidays pagans celebrate. Imbolc is between the winter solstice celebration, Yule, and the spring equinox sabbat, Ostara. As such, Imbolc is the first pagan holiday of the year; rather fitting as it celebrates new beginnings, be it in the coming spring season or within our daily life.
Usually celebrated on the second of February, Imbolc is an opportunity to pay tribute to the Celtic goddess of the hearth, Brighid. With that fire imagery, Imbolc is sometimes referred to as "Candlemas", as observers celebrate by lighting candles in honor of Brighid.
We usually hold our rituals outside, but this time we gather indoors for an early and humble celebration. There are some new faces among us as we gather in our circle; a good sign given that it's Imbolc - new faces, new beginnings.
Our chieftain puts a new spin on our meditation this ritual - instead of formally calling quarters (or the four elements of fire, water, earth, and air) as we usually do, she asks us to imagine a ball of light right in the middle of our circle. One by one, she evokes visual images of each element spinning and swirling within this ball between us - calm blue, gentle foliage, ribbons of light. The imagery feels appropriate, as if we were beginning to sprout spring right there in the room.
Then comes Brighid. Under the soft guiding voice of our chieftain, we visualize her cradling this ball of light we have all created, full of life and energy. We evoke the elements and Brighid for Imbolc this way, and they watch over us during our ritual as we open our eyes from meditation.
We're passed around pipe cleaners to begin weaving makeshift Brighid's crosses, which is usually made with rushes or straw. I decide to use colors that I correlated to life and firelight to make mine: white, red, and green. As of now, it rests at my window bring protection to my home and soak up the sunlight.
Fresh tea goes around. I go with a chamomile blend. Its warmth fills us, and reminds us of the earth that will soon melt away its own frost and give way to spring. The herbs and flowers that bring taste and comfort to our tea will sprout again from the soil. The days will grow longer once again as the sun begins to show its face more and more.
Light and life. These are the things we must remember during this day, and I'm reminded of the opportunity to light my own candle in my spirit to bring me guidance from the darkness of the winter left behind. There are many days when I let the cold in, and had my spirits lowered from the darkness. But on this day, I plant new seeds inside me, new resolves to keep close. The light of the candle flickers and is small, which is why it's precious and important to take care of.
When the crosses are done being made and the tea is all consumed, Brighid returns the light we made to us. We bid farewell to her bright presence, and unravel the light in our circle one element at a time until our energy returns right back to the universe and our core. With this, our Imbolc ritual ends.
It has since gotten a lot warmer. Even today as I write this, I've heard students around me on campus complain about how the temperature has risen again. Winter never lasts all that long in Texas. But I'm okay with that. Down here, Brighid comes to dance earlier, and each of her steps bring more light to our days, so that we may never forget it.