Imbolc turning this season

As dwellers upon Mother Earth, we live by the grace of the seasons that pattern our lives.  From the sowing of seed to the tending of herd, weather and daylight have always shaped the rhythms of our survival and thriving. Though our modern hands have learned be less reliant on nature—through things like greenhouses, factory farms, and hydroponics (to make our lives easier)—and some have moved so far away from our Mother we have become disconnected, thankfully we have not moved too far away and remain tethered to the turning of the seasons, and gives us a chance to remember, to reconnect. Mother nature’s timepiece still whispers when to prepare, when to wait, and when to begin again. And we hear these whispers on the winds deep within. 

Before walls and artificial warmth, there was only the sky and soil, rocks and trees. The seasons were not merely observed but honoured in harmony—followed with reverence and celebration. The great solar thresholds of Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn—known as the quarter days—were held in balance by the cross-quarter days that fell between them: Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain. The keepers of these thresholds were part of our lives. These are moments of pause and promise. Imbolc, poised between the deep cold and the coming thaw, calls us to welcome the lengthening light, ready ourselves for warmth, and greet the quiet stirring of life beneath frozen ground.

Imbolc (pronounced IM-bolluk, with a soft, guttural k) is a Gaelic festival observed between January 31 and February 2, halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. It is a hinge of the year, a joint perhaps—a threshold where endurance that came before now is transformed into keen anticipation. In ancient times, this was the season when lean days began to loosen their grip on all the amazing creatures of the Earth, when restlessness stirred and hands turned once more toward land and livestock, preparing for coming renewal, the rebirth.

The name Imbolc itself carries layers of meaning, its origins debated since it first appeared in Irish texts of the 10th century. The most widely accepted interpretation, i mbolc—“fire in the belly”—likely speaks to lambing season, when ewes begin to give milk and new life arrives despite the cold. Others suggest oimelc, referencing ewe milk directly, or imb-fholc, meaning cleansing or washing—an echo maybe our inherent pull, to hear the call of spring cleaning. Still another possibility traces back to embibolgon, a Proto-Celtic word for budding. Each meaning points to the same truth: life is gathering herself, quietly, insistently, beneath the surface, ready to once more burst forth. 

Imbolc is sacred to Brigid—both the ancient Celtic goddess and the beloved Irish saint.

In the mythic age of pre-Christian Ireland, the Tuatha Dé Danann were a divine race woven into legend. Brigid, daughter of the Dagda, their powerful king, was revered as a goddess of poetry, fertility, wisdom, and fire—forces that shape both spirit and sustenance. (And when we look deeper has a lot in common with Saraswati!). 

Centuries later, history gives us another Brigid: a fifth-century girl born into slavery in County Louth, who would become St. Brigid of Kildare. She founded Ireland’s first convent and was credited with miracles throughout her life. A 17th-century anthology of Irish saints even speaks of her friendship with St. Patrick, binding her story tightly to the Christian shaping of Ireland. Are they the same perhaps, the legend on which we stand maybe?

It is said when Ireland embraced Christianity, its people were reluctant to release their gods (as with all takeovers, we keep the essence of what went before with us). The Church, rather than erase Brigid, transformed her—allowing the goddess to live on as a saint. Thus, St. Brigid’s Day was born. The blending of belief systems is often greatly debated, but the imprint is unmistakable.

Brigid's presence is felt most vividly at Solas Bhríde in Kildare Town. There, legend tells of a sacred flame kept burning for nearly a thousand years, until it was extinguished during Henry VIII’s suppression of the monasteries. In 1993, the Brigidine Sisters relit that fire. The Perpetual Flame is burning today—a living echo of devotion, continuity, and light.

Celebrations of Imbolc are rich with symbols of protection and renewal. Fire is everywhere: candles, hearths, lamps, torches—each honouring Brigid as keeper of the flame and the bringer of the waters once more. So a rebirth can happen. 

Our invitation this week is to move a little and then bring ones self to rest, to sit and light a candle to remind us all of those that have gone before and to all those that shall begin to grow. Our departed and our new borns.

A nod to the echos, heard and unheard, seen and unseen, their influence and impact known and unknown, so we can be here right now and so that we can be free in our own life time, The purpose of yoga,

kaivalyam, liberation lived in service to all life. Whether we know it or not, this remembering is our journey and yoga our collection of tools to realise. And the spark, the light, the baton if you will, that we shall pass on with pride and honour to those that are yet to come forth to walk with the beautiful green lady of the lands.

Let us bow our head in reverence and breathe deeply in thanks as she brings forth the new.