Brighidine reflections on Lúnasa.
(Image description: A photo of an altar. Three icons of Brighid by Mask Illustrations is at the back, featuring the Smith, the Poet, and the Healer. In front are a handmade Brighid doll, a copper sunburst disc, a couple Brighid’s crosses. A brass-colored bowl is surrounded by silk sunflowers, a large acorn, and pinecones. There is a black LED lantern and a jar candle off to the sides, along with an incense burner, a finger labyrinth, a journal and some Brighid’s mantles.) Credit: my original photo.
I tend Brighid’s flame during each of the Fire Festivals; this is an optional shift for members of the cill I’m in. Finding themes related to Brighid and the festival is important, as it provides a lens in which to see Her throughout the year and not just during Imbolc.
Brighid doesn’t have major connections to Lúnasa, compared to Lugh and Tailtiu. They should be celebrated because of Their respective ties to the holiday, Tailtiu for Her labors of clearing the land for agriculture and Lugh as one the Tuatha De’s kings and the creator of the festival in Her honor and memory.
Her holy wells were and are visited around Lúnasa and decorated with flowers. Lúnasa acts as a mirror to Imbolc, with the seeds planted around Her holy day now being harvested and enjoyed. It’s the start of the turn toward the home and the preparation for cooler, darker months. With Her domain over the hearth, it also feels right to honor Brighid during this time of year.
Tailtiu is Lugh’s foster-mother, but Brighid is also one. She has no mentioned foster-children among the Tuatha De, but it wouldn’t be surprising if She did have some. With Her role as Jesus’ foster-mother in Gaelic cultures, it makes sense for Her to be a foster-mother of devotees, if they wish to have such a relationship with Her.
The older name for Lúnasa, Brón Trogain, reminds me of Brighid’s keening ties, as the name likens the harvest festival to a sorrowful mother in labor. As Imbolc signals the coming of spring, Lúnasa does so for autumn. Despite the summer heat and storms, cool temperatures aren’t far off.
For the shift, I did the usual round of prayers to Her and lit my lantern. I played a game on a tablet; it’s not horse racing or tests of athleticism, but it contains the same spirit of those games. Brighid received offerings of incense, water, flame, and a poem I wrote and said aloud.
Foster-Mother of Many
Foster-Mother of Many
Gentle hand guiding,
encouraging and emboldening
Bringer of life,
from the first sprouts
to full sheaths of grain
Balance and harmony
are Your melodies
to strengthen and shape.
Plant, animal, human
each contain
the seed of life from Your day.
From the smallest kernel to
the greatest star,
they know their Muime.
Queen-maiden of the Harvest,
You turn the spokes of the Wheel,
from sowing to harvesting.
Your fertile hands
hold sway
over the wild and tame.
They grow in abundance,
even as death encroaches,
the promise of the cycle.
Foster-mother of Many,
guarding and tending,
Shepherdess of the Seasons.
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