2025 has been one of the hardest years of my entire life. 3 days into the new year, I lost the individual who made it worth waking every day—the one symbiotic soul who brought me boundless inspiration, joy, and solace, never expecting anything in return—never wanting anything more from me than to just be me. This profound loss, coupled with the daily bludgeoning that is Long Covid, and a series of challenging events in the first half of the year, sent me into crippling anxiety and laid across my chest the heavy, sodden blanket of depression, all against the backdrop of the collective pain swirling around all of us in this country, and the world at large. My story is not unique. So many of us these days are facing an unprecedented internal uphill climb.
By the time I reached autumn, I was tattered and torn and barely limping along, just trying each day to make it to the relief of rest and the temporary peace of unconsciousness. Until a miracle happened—beautiful, blessed angels in my life and sacred synchronicities made it possible for me to take a spiritual pilgrimage I thought I would only ever be able to dream about to my ancestral homeland—back to Ireland. I traveled with a group who, like myself, all identified to some degree (both veteran practitioners and those very new to these ideas) as followers of the path of earth-based spiritualities, what we term “Nature Religions” on our newest site, Living Earth Community. And it was a true Pilgrimage, equally abundant with ahas and transformative lightning bolts of understanding, as with discomfort, challenge, and deep, difficult emotions. I would have been disappointed if all had been easy—through pain and challenge so often comes our greatest growth, and I was very ready to step through that threshold into something new.
Brigid
Our elemental focus for this journey was the Water and the Fire, that dynamic tension so beautifully and harmoniously held by the figure of Brigid, both Christian saint and ancient goddess. As the keeper of the forge, she symbolizes Temperance, in the literal sense—the fire that creates, and the water that cools and tempers the creation. Solas Bhride was our first stop, the home of the wonderful sisters of St. Brigid, who embrace all travelers who come to seek the spirit of Brigid, goddess or saint. There they gifted us each with her eternal flame, lighting our candles from her sacred source. The peace was so tangible there in the house of Brigid, I would have stayed watching the fire flicker until my candle was spent and melted all across my body, if I could have. We sang reverence and appreciation to our new flames within the stone walls of the ancient fire temple outside Brigid’s cathedral and lay beneath the oak, infant and elder, that wove in and out of the Celtic crosses that marked the resting place of so many who had come before us.
Newgrange/Sid in Broga
I had visited Newgrange (Sid in Broga or Sid an Bhru), previously, about 20 years prior, on a day where throngs of tourists milled about and filled the massive cairn with a steady stream of humans. But this time, all around was stillness. No others save our own group came to this iconic megalith that morning. And in this pregnant silence, I was able to see and be present with the miracle of its existence—to touch each unique kerbstone, carved more than 5000 years ago, and feel the energy of their millions of years of life coursing through me.
Once inside the monument, since no others were present, one of our group leaders asked if we may sing. The tour guide seemed surprised by the request but was happy to oblige. He extinguished the ambient electric light within, and we all began to sing our prayer to Brigid, softer at first, then growing in swells and waves through the darkness, as our voices merged and resonated within the womb of the ancient tomb:
I am the Fire
The union of opposites
I am a mystery
I am calling you in your dreams
I am bringing you home to me
Not a single one of us emerged from the darkness unchanged or unaffected. I close my eyes now and still feel every cell buzzing, my soul singing along with the ancients, both human and more-than-human.
Boann
When we first caught site of the River Boyne, so sacred in Irish history and legend, I was overcome. I had waited so very long to meet her. A goddess in her own right, Boann long ago dared to approach Nechtan’s well that was reserved only for the men. The waters rose up from the well, dismembered her, and poured into the valley. Though she lost her life as she knew it, Boann became the most sacred River Boyne, always with us, nurturing us and all the riparian life teeming within her.
Through the work of Irish writers like Anthony Murphy and Manchan Magan (who tragically passed very suddenly, just 2 weeks before my pilgrimage began), my engagement with all I experienced was deepened, broadened, and substantively affected. I saw all through the eyes of those who had been on this land thousands of years before. The deep connection to both the land and the lore of these Irish wisdom keepers informed my every step and taught me how Irish mythological history is abundant with these themes of dismemberment—bodies of high kings, creatures like the Mata, and Boann herself—pulled apart or hacked to pieces and then thrown into the Boyne to emerge transformed and reborn, sometimes literally, and sometimes as new features of the sacred landscape, often symbolizing the death/rebirth cycle of the seasons. From Boann’s water comes life, renewal, and rebirth.
As we sat by the water, singing a blessing for the healing of the river, I tried hard to get closer, crawling down in the mud as others approached more tentatively, understandably not wanting to soak shoes or pants on such a cold, windy day. But I didn’t care. I wanted to sink into her muddy banks, to throw myself in the water and be carried down and along by her swift current, and burst forth reborn, renewed, and forever changed. And in that moment, I realized that Boann’s dismemberment stories not only symbolized the birth/death/rebirth cycle of the year, but the dismemberment caused by pain, grief, and trauma and the post-traumatic growth that can result, if we allow it and surrender to the healing process. 2025 pulled me to pieces. Boann put me back together, substantively different—tangibly changed.
But these days, Boann herself is suffering and needs us to renew her, as she has done for so many, for so long. Sewage, farming runoff and E.coli, and many more pollutants are now abundant in the River Boyne—we humans are causing great harm to her and to all the life within her. Teeming with salmon for thousands of years, and the home of the great Salmon of Knowledge of Irish legend, their population is now in deep crisis and has dwindled to such a scanty number, fishing is now banned for fear they will disappear completely.
We held all of this in our hearts as we sang to her. Will a group of 13 sending her love and blessings restore the River? I always hold out hope and keep the door open for unexpected miracles. But most likely, no, this humble offering is not enough to turn the tides of ecological devastation, there. But if a critical mass of those who visit Boann’s shores could express their love and gratitude—give back to her, as she gives so freely to all of us? These are the wishes I send out to all this season. As Archbishop Desmond Tutu said “Do your little bit of good, wherever you are. It is those little bits of good, all put together, that overwhelm the world.” Naïve, some say, in the face of all we’ve come up against in recent years. But perhaps that assessment stems from a lack of belief—or even a fear—that we have that much power. I guarantee you, we do. Believe your “little bit” is an integral piece of a greater whole, and the strands will once again begin to weave together to form a garment, that like Saint Brigid’s magic cloak, can cover the land and its inhabitants with hope and protection.
Solstice Blessing
It has not been quite as easy as I’d hoped to hold on to the profound connection and peace that I found with Boann, Brigid, and deep in the belly of Sid in Broga—that suspension of time created beneath the branches of Brigid’s sacred oak and the profound long-view perspective felt in the presence of massive stones that have been standing watch for 5000+ years. Life has a way of rushing back in and quickly filling up the quiet spaces with the roar of the worried world. But I know it is all—the river and the rocks, the legends and the land—still with me.
As the solstice approaches, I light Brigid’s eternal flame, dab water from her sacred well on my forehead, and step back into that sacred space, reminding myself once again that I am not who I once was after my time there, and that growth is so often achieved through pain and discomfort, openly embraced. So, I will let Brigid temper me—forged in fire, then cooled by the waters of Boann, I surrender to each day.
wishing you and yours a profoundly peaceful Winter Solstice.
Solstice light streams into the womb of Newgrange once a year, at the Winter Solstice.
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