Brigid’s Flame

The time of Imbolc is nearly upon us, with the 1st and 2nd of February just around the corner. It is a time of awakening, of new growth—a moment when we can dare to glimpse new horizons. The first buds have already begun to emerge, and the bluebells are stirring beneath the earth, ready to rise from their bulbous homes. Yet, Jack Frost still lingers, veiling the land in white each morning, holding back the shoots that wait to burst into bloom with the coming spring.

Walk through the woods, and you can feel the stirrings of life beneath your feet. The birdsong is stronger now than in the depths of winter, though the chill winds still keep them roosting, only daring to venture out when necessary.

Within the Pagan community, we often hear of Brigid, the Irish goddess of hearth and home, of smithcraft, poetry, and healing. But did you know that Imbolc was originally a festival of the Dagda? The Dagda, chief god of the Tuatha Dé Danann, was a father figure, a king, and a druid. He was the god of fertility, agriculture, strength, and wisdom, wielding a staff that could grant life or death. He held dominion over the weather, the crops, and even time itself—an immensely powerful figure among the Gaels. Because of this, Imbolc was once considered a very masculine festival.

Yet here, in the British Isles, Brigid has long since taken her place as the goddess of Imbolc. Though known as a divine smith, poet, and healer, Brigid was also a real person—Brigid of Kildare—a learned woman who could read and taught the sacred poetry of the bards. The story of her life is fascinating. She led an all-women’s temple, where an eternal flame burned in devotion, offering healing and shelter to those in need. At first, she shunned Christianity, but she kept returning to the scriptures, drawn to the story of Christ. Eventually, she embraced Christian teachings, though she was well aware of the Church’s view of women as little more than servants, whores, or slaves. Some say she converted under pressure, as a monk was sent to investigate and discredit her, branding her work as immoral or even diabolical. Yet, despite all opposition, Brigid’s community endured.

The Church could not erase her, so they canonised her instead. To this day, she remains Saint Brigid, and her legacy persists. Though her temple was taken in the name of the Lord, the eternal flame continued to burn—a flickering reminder, perhaps, of the old ways woven into the heart of Christianity.

There is a beautiful poem, recited by Brigid at the gifting ceremony to the Fothairt people of southern Gaul in AD546, attributed to the bard Amhairghin:

"I am the wind which blows over the sea,

I am the wave of the sea,

I am lowing of the sea,

I am the bull of seven battles,

I am the bird of prey on the cliff-face,

I am sunbeam,

I am skilful sailor,

I am a cruel boar,

I am lake in the valley,

I am word of knowledge,

I am a sharp sword threatening an army,

I am the god who gives fire to the head,

I am he who casts light between the mountains,

I am he who foretells the ages of the moon,

I am he who knows where the sun sets."

I love this poem, and the thought of Brigid reciting it makes it all the more powerful. Though its words speak of a god, she delivers them with the authority of one who knows her own power. She was a woman who grew and adapted, flowing with the seasons yet holding firm to her purpose—to heal, to teach, to empower. She was a beacon for the women who were losing their voices as Christianity swept across these lands.

As Imbolc approaches, we remember Brigid in all her forms—goddess, woman, saint. Keeper of the flame, she still burns bright.