Imbolc Blessings

The Wheel of the Year focuses on the cycles of the seasons and the natural rhythm of the earth. On February 1, the Wheel has turned to the festival of Imbolc, also known as Candlemas.

Though winter still prevails, Imbolc shows us that spring is not too far away. Imbolc heralds the approaching time where we can gather the inner peace and regeneration of our winter hibernation to utilize in the outer manifestation of our daily lives. The movement of the season is the outward birth from winter to springtime - the seed of spring is held within the womb of the earth. It is the lambing season, the birthing of baby lambs. The name Imbolc refers to the lactation of the lambs, the flow of life nourishing milk that heralds the return of life affirming spring. During this time in England, the flower called the snowdrop peeks above ground and blooms delicate white petals.

snowdrops at Chalice Well garden

Imbolc is primarily celebrated as the festival of Brighid (also called Briget or Bride), the triple goddess of poetry, smithcraft, and healing. Brighid has been venerated as a great goddess for centuries in England, Scotland, and Ireland. The Ancient Celts of Britain called upon the goddess Brighid to warm, heal, and inspire. Brighid reminds us to use her creative inspiration to guide our daily tasks, to be grateful for and tend the fire of the hearth that warms us, and to rely on nature’s herbs to help nourish and heal us.

In Ireland and Scotland, groups of young girls, symbolizing the newness and maidenhood of Brighid, processed through the village streets carrying a corn sheath dolly from home to home. The dolly was presented to those within the homes who would honor her by decorating her with flowers, shells, stones, and ribbons. When I lived in Glastonbury, I participated in creating a Brighid dolly which was processed around the ancient Brighid Slipper Chapel and then laid upon ‘Brighid’s bed’ alongside the other Brighid dolls from the two years prior – the mother and grandmother ancestry. My novel, The Keys to Remember, describes a fictionalized Imbolc procession in detail.

Another popular Imbolc custom was the making of Brighid crosses to hang high in house and byre. These were crosses of a triskele shape, to symbolize the three fold nature of Brighid. The crosses were made of rushes or braided straw. Rushes were traditionally laid down in the birthing place as they carry the symbol of new life. Today, Brighid crosses are often made with white and red yarn.

The goddess Brighid later became known as the Christian Saint Brigit. Imbolc, dedicated to the light-bearing qualities of Brighid, was renamed Candlemas. Candlemas was Christianized as the feast of the purification of the Virgin Mary, and was celebrated as a festival of lights. Candles burnt during Candlemas kept away storms, demons, and other evils. In this Christian version, Brigit was the foster mother of Christ and the midwife at Christ’s birth. As such, she was often invoked for her assistance at childbirth.

Legends say that Saint Brigit was the daughter of a druid who had a vision that she would be named after a great goddess. She was born at sunrise and she was reared on the milk of a special white cow with red ears, an animal often found in the Celtic Otherworld. You can see a carved representation of Brighid and her totem cow on St. Michael’s tower atop the Tor hill in Glastonbury, England. Also in Glastonbury is the famous St. Brigit’s mound, located in a field west of the town. Supposedly, in centuries past, there was a Brigit nunnery there. Some say it was earlier a convent dedicated to Mary Magdalene.

Saint Brigit founded a famous Christian abbey at Kildare, Ireland, in the heart of Leinster. There, in her convent, burned a perennial flame which became known as one of the three inextinguishable fires of Irish monasteries. The candle is reported to have burnt perpetually from the 5^th to the 16^th centuries, with Saint Brigit’s nuns tending and guarding the flame. The foundations of Saint Brigit’s fire temple where Brigit and her sisters tended the sacred flame still exist. Brigit's flame has now been rekindled and is being tended to. Many healing wells and springs are named after Saint Brigit/ the goddess Brighid. Nearby the abbey at Kildare, about a mile away, stands a famous Saint Brigit Well.

Rituals for Imbolc:

1.     Light a white candle to honor the sacred perpetual flame of Brigit. Make a prayer for Brighid's flame to symbolically spark the divine luminousity inherant within you. Ask Brighid to inspire you in whatever project you may want help for in your life.

2.     Pick dandelion leaves and eat them in your salad. This common weed, with their golden flower faces, remind us of the sun’s return.

3.     Leave a red or white silk ribbon on your doorstep for Brighid to bless on the eve before Imbolc. The ribbon can then be used for healing purposes.

4.     Make your own Brighid’s cross – instructions can be found here

 ~Jodine Turner, visionary fiction and magical fantasy author. http://www.jodineturner.com

Beyond Samhain’s Doorway: Visionary Fiction

Summer has exhaled and faded. The nights are beginning to lengthen. Leaves burnish in shades of red, gold, and orange, and drop from the trees. The last of the harvest is gathered, and the remains of the crops are tilled back into the fields to nourish the soil for next year’s planting. Our lived life is analogous to this turning of the seasons if we can view it from that perspective. As such, you may ponder what seeds you have planted earlier in the year, what you have created by mid-year, what has now come into fruition to be harvested in your life, and what needs to be nourished for the upcoming year.

Because I am an author of Visionary Fiction (VF), the writer in me also resonates with this season of autumn. And, more so with… yes…Halloween. Not so much the commercial Halloween of clever costumes and adorable children who ‘trick or treat’ for candy, as much as acknowledging this season ‘where the veils are thin between the worlds of the seen and unseen,’ or so the ancient Celtic people asserted.

October 31^st, mid-autumn, marks one of earth’s seasonal turning points with a festival called Samhain (pronounced sa-wen, which comes from two words meaning summer’s end), a festival later to be renamed Halloween. Samhain originally celebrated this mystical time when the usual barriers between our world and the otherworld opened to allow contact between humans and their ancestors, the spirits of the dead, as well the fairy folk. Legend says that these two realities now have the opportunity to come together and communicate.  

These otherworldly realities do not refer to unnerving horror stories often associated with Halloween. Rather, the reference to thin veils between the worlds addresses the unseen aspect of life that often goes unnoticed, and is patently undervalued in our society. In this regard, Visionary Fiction is a sort of ‘X Files’ of the literary world, or even an empirical starship ‘Enterprise,’ in that VF often goes places other fictional genres do not. More importantly, VF takes the reader to these otherworld realms in a manner that other genres do not. The other realms often include intuition, spiritual contemplation, paranormal events and beings, psychic abilities, dreams, visions, the power of synchronicity, the magic of everyday miracles, the metaphysical, or supernatural occurrences.

To be true Visionary Fiction, such realms and experiences are not used as mere plot devices by the VF author. Instead, they are the venues through which characters redeem themselves, as well as the conflicts in their lives and their relationships. Like any character in a well-crafted novel, VF characters struggle to transform their fears – the adversary that lies either within themselves or in their external circumstances. The uncharted and unseen realms that are outside mundane awareness are the arena Visionary Fiction draws upon in its effort to provide stories that give the reader their own internal experience of expanding their minds and their consciousness.

The VF author, or authors of any genre for that matter, can use the energies of Samhain/Halloween to stoke their creative fires. The Samhain passageway opens to winter, that dark half of the year where the earth slumbers and the seed gestates in fertile richness. As authors, we often get a preliminary jolt of inspiration for our novels. As part of our writing process, we plant that seed of inspiration in the rich earth of our imagination in the hopes it will grow. At this time of year, beyond Samhain’s doorway, lies the deep cavern of the Earth Mother’s womb from which all that is intuitive, creative, and natural on this earth is gestating, readying itself to one day be birthed. The stages of writing a novel are similar, whether it is the bare, newly forming concept of a story, or the kernels of ideas for a new scene or chapter.

This time of year can also add its energy to help us to strip away what no longer serves in readiness for rebirth into something better. In my writing world, that is called editing and re-writes!

I like to tap into the Samhain/Halloween energies by partaking in a writing exercise to re-energize my writing life. I invite you to do the same with the following exercise.

Samhain is a time to reflect on the past year’s writing and finish any old loose ends in your chapter, scenes, or manuscript from the previous year.

Have a piece of paper, a pen, matches, and a fireplace or fireproof bowl nearby. Take a few moments to go within. Acknowledge the energies of gestation and transformation that preside over this autumn–into—winter half of the year. Reflect on any old scenes, chapters, character development, plots, etc. that you would like to finish at this time. Your reflections could even include outmoded habits of writing, (or not writing) - whatever old business you’d like to complete or transform with regards to your writing and authorship.

Take your piece of paper and write down your reflections. Light a fire in your fireplace, woodstove, or fireproof bowl, as a symbolic remnant of the Samhain great bonfires of yesteryear. Place the paper in the flames and allow it to burn, to represent the finishing of your old business. As the flames consume the paper, speak your intention for the releasing, transformation, and completion of the old -- and the gestation, inspiration, and germination in your rich fertile imagination and soul, of the new.   Give thanks.

I would love to hear what is creatively gestating in your imagination from this exercise!

*************

Jodine Turner is the award winning, best selling visionary fiction, fantasy author of the Goddess of the Stars and the Sea series about young priestesses who have lived in Avalon down through the ages to today. www.jodineturner.com

Global Ebook Awards

We all like to be acknowledged for our talents, for our creativity, for our accomplishments. Writers are no different. We get input from our critique groups, our beta readers, our agents, editors, and publishers. But we especially appreciate the feedback and reviews received from readers.

We love to know if our book touched them, helped them, or changed some aspect of their life. Visionary Fiction authors such as myself, aspire to transform and expand perceptions for our readers through the experiences of our characters. Because that is one of the main goals of Visionary Fiction, I find myself craving feedback for my novels. Did the characters in my novel speak to my readers, and move them on a deep level? Did my novel expand their consciousness, heart, and soul in new and different ways?

So, when I get a favorable reader review, my heart feels fulfilled. And when I receive acknowledgement from the writing industry, I know I have done my job well as judged from the standards of my peers.

My novels Carry on the Flame: Destiny's Call and Carry on the Flame: Ultimate Magic have been favored with  four National Awards. And most recently, Carry on the Flame: Ultimate Magic just received Honorable Mention in Dan Poynter's Global EBook Awards. Dan Poynter is a prominent expert in the field of publishing, a leading authority on ebook publishing. All novels in his global contest went through a nomination and approval process in order to be entered.

I am so grateful when my novels are recognized. Happy dance!!

Beltaine Celebration Novel Excerpt

May 1st marks the ancient Celtic Festival called Beltaine. The word Beltaine means the magic of flowers. It is the season where nature's life force reawakens from winter's deep slumber, bringing us the budding and blossoms of spring. We feel the vitality of summer approaching, its greening energy courses through our veins. Fecundity abounds, making spring, and Beltaine, a natural season for lovers. 

Beltaine is also named for the ancient Celtic god named Bel - the bright one. And -tane stands for fire. The Celtic tradition honors a god of bright luminosity as the male force that is one half of the cosmic act of creation.

In honor of Beltaine, I am sharing an excerpt from my novel, Carry on the Flame: Destiny's Call. The main character, the young priestess Sharay, recalls how she first learned about Beltaine from her mother and the priestess elder, Rosheen.

Hawthorn Blossoms, special to Beltaine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sharay felt a cool mist spray her face and hands. She turned to her left, to the foot of the Tor. There, a chalky white spring tumbled out a rocky fountainhead. The font was banked against an earthen wall that sprouted a living, perfumed tapestry of hundreds of delicate purple and yellow flowers. The branches of a gnarled apple tree hung low to the ground, brushing against the sides of the font. A pathway to the left led into a small café and gift boutique, set into the banks of the Tor. Both shops were closed for the evening.

The milky waters of the White Spring prompted unexpected memories for Sharay. She crossed the narrow Wellhouse Lane and sat on the rocks that enclosed the small spring. She remembered splashing her hands in its waters when, as a child of five, she had visited it with her mother and Rosheen.

In the glimmering light of that early summer day, she had sat in the exact spot she sat now. Her mother, close by her side, had readied bright red ribbons to string on the nearby apple tree branches. The sun had dappled the water into diamond hued clusters of bubbles, colored just like the ones she used to make when she blew soapsuds through her fingers during her bath time.

“Make a wish,” her mother had said, handing her a ribbon. 
“And bind your prayer to the magic of the apple tree with your ribbon.” She helped Sharay tie a silken knot around the branch above.

“I wish...” Sharay had closed her eyes tight, silently wishing she would grow up to have a laugh just like her mother’s. Light and lilting, her mother’s laughter made her feel warm inside, warmer even than when she drank a cup of her favorite hot cocoa.

On that day long ago, Rosheen had joined company with Sharay and her mother, as she often did. Her long brown hair caught the sun’s rays and shone like new spun silk loosely woven with fine strands of silver. Sharay thought it was almost as pretty as her mother’s light blond hair.

Rosheen had sighed contentedly. “Now this is what magic is all about. The Goddess orchestrating the White Spring to flow so close to our own Red Well.”

Always ready to teach, she had pointed her fingers for Sharay’s sake, first to the White Spring beside them, then to the Red Well a mere fifty yards across the lane, gurgling behind the rock wall that enclosed the well and flower gardens.

A car’s headlights flashed along Chilkwell Street, but Sharay was so lost in memory she barely noticed, incorporating their high beam into her recollected images of that dazzling bright day with her mother and Rosheen.

“Let’s sing the Beltaine song, Blanche,” Rosheen had said, her face lit with enthusiasm.

Rosheen and Sharay’s mother began to sing the poem in unison. Sharay loved the tune, and the sound of their voices singing was high and pure. The words they sang rose up in Sharay’s memory—words heard repeatedly as a child, mysterious words she hadn’t understood then, but did now. 

She softly sang along with the memory of her mother and Rosheen.

“Milky white water, fluid male seed, vitality of the Father,
springs from deep within the Tor, releases near rounded womb of Mother. From the earth we see Her bleed,
Red Well water
joins with the seed.
In coupled chorus they sing,
and dance in harmony.
Male and female unite!”

The masculine White Spring rippled in harmonious compliment to the feminine red water, the Red Well of the priestesses, bringing Sharay further memories of that bright sunny day.

“What’s male seed, mama?” Sharay had asked after the song had completed.

Her mother had smiled at her, that special smile saved for Sharay alone. “Well... it has to do with the rites of Beltaine.”

“Rosheen taught me about Beltaine,” Sharay had said, proud she remembered Rosheen’s teachings.

“And what did I teach you?” Rosheen asked.

“Beltaine’s one of our holy days,” Sharay had replied dutifully.

Rosheen beamed. “That’s right, Sharay. Beltaine is a special time of the year. It’s the time of year when the star formation called the seven sisters rises low on the western horizon. Remember, we showed them to you last night?”

Sharay nodded yes, recalling how she’d marveled when the seven sisters twinkled and pranced across the night sky.

“Beltaine is when the first white hawthorn flowers bud, just like this one.” Her mother plucked a cluster in full bloom from the bush next to her and lifted it to Sharay’s nose for her to smell. Its many blossoms tickled Sharay.

“We celebrate the fullness of the flowers and the fullness of being a woman,” Rosheen said.

“It’s when the well waters rise high. The young men and women make their plans for the passionate Beltaine holy day,” Sharay’s mother added.

Sharay’s attention drifted from her mother’s voice and was drawn to a shiny black beetle crawling through the delicate white bloom of the hawthorn. It fell upside down on the rock she sat on, its legs wiggling wildly as it tried to upright itself. She touched her finger to its feathery legs and it lay still. She tried to help it stand.

“I remember my first Beltaine,” her mother reminisced, turning to face Rosheen. Her back was to Sharay, which usually meant adult conversation.

“I wasn’t with Jarred, but I was taught the pleasures of the Goddess.”

Sharay wanted to be included, wanted her mother and Rosheen to teach her some more. “What does that mean...the pleasures of the Goddess?”

Her mother smiled. “It means the depth of sexual union offered up in Her name. Something I’ll teach you about later.”

She picked up the hawthorn bloom, tickled Sharay’s nose, and turned to Rosheen once more. Sharay watched the beetle crawl slowly across the valleys and hills of the small rock enclosure around the font of the white spring.

“Jarred certainly benefited from what I learned on that Beltaine,” her mother said to Rosheen, her rich, lovely laughter punctuating her words.

Rosheen sighed wistfully. “And I remember my first Beltaine.”

Her mother grew serious. Sharay looked up from the beetle when the tone of the conversation changed. She wanted them to laugh again. She pulled eagerly on her mother’s skirt. Her mother reached down and stroked her hair, tucked a lock of it behind her ear, then turned to face Rosheen.

“I’ve heard from Dillon. We received a note this morning.”

“How nice. What news is there?” Rosheen’s voice was high and bright, almost forced.

“He says his grandson’s magical training is coming along nicely. That the boy is talented. Quick to learn.”

“I’m not surprised.” Rosheen looked down at her hands. “Will he visit us?”

“He didn’t mention that he would.” 
Her mother paused. 

Sharay carefully pushed the black beetle away from the spring water where she was sure it would drown without her help.

“Oh, Rosheen. I take it Dillon stopped writing you?” her mother asked.

Rosheen nodded. “There’s really nothing more he can say, Blanche. We took each other as Beltaine lovers to honor the Goddess. That was a long time ago. You know there’s no more to it than that.”

“Don’t minimize the power of your union, Rosheen. You honored each other in the Beltaine ritual. That’s a very special bond.”

“Yes, I know. And he’s always been extremely dear and kind since then. It’s just that...” Rosheen wiped a sudden tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s just that I managed to fall in love with him, and he managed to fall in love with another.” She shook her head and smiled. “Look at me. Years gone by. Me married to George. I really do love George, you know. Yet I still shed tears over Dillon.”

Sharay traced her finger along the rocky crevices of the White Spring well’s enclosure where the beetle had crawled that day long ago. Conversation that had little meaning back then, suddenly brought her new understandings. Dillon and Rosheen. The true meaning of Beltaine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jodine Turner is the award winning, best selling visionary fiction, fantasy author of the Goddess of the Stars and the Sea series about young priestesses who have lived in Avalon down through the ages to today. www.jodineturner.com